I pick up my bike from the lock-up, noticing Damon’s is already gone, and ride to my apartment building. From a distance, I see Ryder standing next to his bike, waiting for me to go to the wake together. I speed to where he is waiting, brake hard, jump off, and tear off my helmet. I am so happy to see him, I run straight into his arms. Tangling his fingers in my hair, he presses his mouth to mine, and I melt into his kiss. I don’t know what he’s done to me; I’ve regressed into the infatuated teen that I’ve never been.
Just looking at the grin on his face when we pull away makes my insides flip.
“I missed you, beautiful.”
“I missed you, too.”
I haul him towards me, and when his mouth covers mine for another hot, deep kiss, I wish it would never end. But it does, and Ryder gently untangles himself from me, leaving me feeling empty and cold after the warmth of his embrace.
“We better get going, otherwise we’ll be late,” he says, his voice cracking a little.
Sighing, I get back on my bike. I don’t know if it’s me or the weather, but I feel frozen to the bone when we ride to the funeral wake. We stop behind a mass of bike riders, many of them familiar faces. Flashes from police car lights bounce off the shiny bikes that block off the whole street from traffic. Rather than attend the wake itself, we will partake in a ride-by with his club and other riders who have known him from the racing circuit.
In front of the Abyssinian Baptist Church stands a black hearse with its back doors open. The family stand in a straight line on the curb, and when a group of young black men pick up the casket, an older woman—his mom or his aunt—wails loudly and shakes her fist at us bike riders. Apparently his family never approved of his racing, and now they’re blaming the street racing community for his death.
Even so, custom demands that we give him tribute. To show our respect to CJ and say our final goodbye, we twist the throttle hard, revving our engines with exhaust smoke spiraling up in the cold air. While the procession starts advancing slowly, I think of all the funerals I have attended, most of them street racers’. Shivering, I grip my handlebars tightly.
Until now, I don’t think I’ve fully realized the real dangers of street racing. Or maybe I did, but I never really cared. So what if I had an accident? My life wasn’t worth much to begin with. But for some reason, seeing CJ’s casket carried into the church makes an aching sadness fill my chest. If this is how I feel for someone who, apart from his riding skills, I knew little of, how would it feel to lose someone I really care about?
Ryder is ahead of me, and I accelerate to catch up. He points to the side, and I spot Damon riding next to him, so I wave and gesture to him to stop for a coffee. We find a café just up the road, and after parking the bikes, we savor the warmth inside as we sit down by the window, fingers curled around our steaming cups.
Lost in thought, Damon stares out the window, and I say, “It really sucks about CJ. He was such an awesome racer. I just don’t understand how it could have happened. Do you know?”
He nods. “He was racing Mikey Miller. In the middle of the race he suddenly lost control over his bike. He hit a tree and died instantly.”
“Jesus.” Ryder shakes his head.
I knit my brow. “I just don’t get it. It doesn’t sound like CJ. I know he likes taking risks, but to lose control like that? Something just doesn’t add up. Mikey must have sabotaged his bike, or the road.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Nowadays you have to be extra careful. Especially with guys like Mikey, who’d do anything to get back his title. Even if that means taking out his opponent.”
I take a sip of my double espresso, but its warmth does nothing to stop the chills creeping up my spine. Grabbing Ryder’s hand, I lock his gaze with mine. “And that’s why I don’t want you to race. The dangers are real. From now on, I won’t be racing any more either. It’s a different world out there.”
“I agree. Maybe this is the wake-up call we needed,” says Damon, looking at his watch. “Listen, I have to go. Work. See you guys.”
A moment later, it’s only Ryder and I sipping our coffees. But I don’t want to stray from the topic; this is too important to me.
I say, “You know, you were lucky when you raced me for your first time. It could have ended very differently.”
“Yeah, I agree with you there. I was lucky. Very lucky.” His large, warm hand cups my cheek, and I lean into it. “But danger is everywhere. Sometimes you have to take a risk; that’s what makes life worth living.”
“Still, I want you to promise me that you won’t do any more street races. Ever.”
At that moment, that’s all I worry about—his safety.
Ryder’s eyes light up. “Aha. You can’t deny it now. You care about me.”
I let out a deep sigh. “You’re bossy, you’re stubborn, you’re a filthy rich capitalist. And have I ever told you, obnoxious?”
“You forgot hot.”
I nod, smiling. “And hot. And yes, I do care about you.”
“I knew it.” His self-satisfied grin makes me swat his arm, but I forgo my smile to show him I am serious. I can’t be with him knowing that he would put his life in danger. It would break me if anything would happen to him.
“Promise me, Ryder.”
Ryder
Elle cares about me.
I think I must have known, from the way she’s been acting towards me since I spent time with her in the soup kitchen: her offer to join me to the fundraiser, the glances she gives me when she thinks I’m not looking, the passion with which she kisses me when we haven’t seen each other for a while. But to hear the words coming out of her mouth affects me like nothing ever has before—it feels like my heart is bursting out of my chest.
And then she asks me to promise her not to race again. I have never seen her so serious; she looks at me as if her life depends on it.
I ask, “This is really important to you, isn’t it?”
She nods, staring into her coffee cup as if it is going to give her the answer she wants to hear. And how I wish I could simply give her that. But how can I make that promise? Never would I have expected that I’d even be considering this—getting a woman to rule my life, telling me what and what not to do. And here I am, wondering if I should make that promise. I’m clearly losing it; I’m losing control over myself. Damn, this was never supposed to happen.
Elle lifts her eyes, swimming with uncertainty and vulnerability, and I’m done for.
“Okay. I promise, beautiful.”
She lets out a relieved breath, and I lace her fingers with mine.
“But you have to promise me something, too. Promise to have trust in me. Don’t just run when things get too hard. I know we are going to hit tough times, especially with our pasts. But stay with me, help me see things your way.”
“I do trust you. And I promise I’ll take my distance from The 99. I want to help you. I’d like to get involved in that construction project for the homeless.”
“I’d like nothing more than having you by my side. And you’ll see, it’s going to be worthwhile. You’re going to see how money can make a difference. This is your chance to do something positive for the people you care about.”
I place her hand in the middle of my chest and cover it with mine. “Including me.”
Her mouth forms into the sweetest smile, and I start leaning forward to kiss it when she says, “I’d like to. I’d like to stay by your side.”
My heart slams against my ribcage. Who would have guessed that Elle—the cool, tough bike chick—would ever say things like that to me? All I can think about is us, together, in a future that I’ve never could have imagined. Now I want everyone to know she’s mine. Especially the most important people in my life.
“That reminds me, what are your plans for Thanksgiving? I thought we could take a little trip together. I’d like you to meet my family in Chicago: my aunt and uncle, and my cousins.”
My chest tightens when she averts her gaze
and fingers her eyebrow piercing.
“I don’t know. My sister has been hounding me for months to have lunch with my mother and the family. I usually don’t go. Every year I give her some lame excuse. But Rose has been helping me out a lot lately. And I wondered—I was hoping—if you’d go with me, maybe I could bear it.”
I lift her hand and brush her knuckles against my lips. “Of course. I’d be happy to go with you. We can always visit my family later, maybe around Christmas. I’m sure they won’t mind if I won’t make it this year.”
Elle’s eyes start sparkling, making her look like a young, innocent girl. “Really? Will you come with me?”
“I’d do anything for you. You know that, don’t you, beautiful?”
She flings her arms around my neck. “You’re so… sometimes I think I don’t deserve you. Maybe one day, when you finally see me for who I am, you wouldn’t want to be with me.”
What the hell is she talking about? It must have something to do with the tough act she puts on, but I’m not having any of it.
“Don’t you dare say that ever again. I see you for what you are. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I’ll gladly go to Thanksgiving lunch with you. I’ll be on my best behavior, I promise. I’ll try to be a good boy for a change.”
“Hey, I don’t want you to change. I happen to like the bad boy.”
I brush away the hair from her ear and whisper, “I know exactly what you like. I’ll show you tonight.”
I feel her shiver, causing me to grin from ear to ear. I’m already thinking of the thousand things I could do to her that will make her cry out in ecstasy.
We get ready to leave the café and make our way to our bikes. Elle has a class to go to, and I will be going back to the office to tackle a pile of work that I have been neglecting. Used to doing twelve-hour or longer work days, I’ve always been telling myself I don’t have time for relationships. But now I realize that until Elle, I’ve never met anyone worth making time for. In the past weeks my long hours have been shot to hell. Not being able to concentrate, I’ve been slipping in and out of the office, not getting much work done.
I yank her towards me for a last goodbye kiss, tracing my fingers across her silky cheek.
“I’ll see you tonight, beautiful.”
I am about to put on my helmet and get on my bike when Elle cocks her head towards the street. A black sport bike, a Hayabusa, is approaching.
“That’s him,” she hisses.
I arch my brow. “Who?”
Before she can answer, the guy on the Busa stops right in front of us, roaring with an extra rev of the engine, and opens up his helmet shield.
“Elle. Wassup?”
“Mikey. It’s been a while.” Within a few seconds, Elle changes her demeanor, putting up the tough front she used with me when we first met. I realize “Mikey” must be Mikey Miller, who CJ raced against.
Clad in his all-black Vanson leathers, he regards us with a menacing glint in his eyes.
“Where you been? Lost your nerve to race?”
Shaking her head, Elle looks down at her helmet. “No, I’ve just been busy.”
Scowling, Mikey looks at me and back at Elle again. “Huh. I can see that.”
Her jaw sharpened, Elle crosses her arms, so I decide to change the subject. “So, you’re the Mikey Miller? The street racing champion?”
“Yep. That’s me alright.”
He turns his head, checking out my bike. “Yours?”
I nod.
“BMW, huh? Sweet wheels, man.”
“They sure are.”
“Ever raced before?”
“Yep.”
“I’d like to see it in action some day. But it won’t stand up to this beast of mine.” He taps his engine with his gloved hand.
From the corner of my eye I see Elle glowering at me, and I say, “We’ll see.”
Mikey lets out a vicious laugh. “White boy pussy. Come and see me when you’ve grown balls.”
He clicks down his visor, revs his engine, and speeds off with a roar, producing a cloud of smoke.
One hand on her hip, Elle flips him off. “Asshole.”
I nod. “Yeah, someone should teach that jerk a lesson.”
Narrowing her eyes, she takes a step towards me. “Don’t you dare.”
I raise my hands. “Hey, I promised, didn’t I? Come here.”
I pull her against me, and she burrows herself into my chest. Pressing a kiss in her hair, I breathe in her alluring scent of exotic fruit.
“Ryder?”
“Hmm?”
“Don’t you ever leave me, okay?”
I stroke her soft, silky hair. “Hey, I’m not going anywhere.”
Feeling her relax in my arms, I smile into her hair. Elle constantly amazes me. One minute she’s tough and cusses; the next, she is sweet and caring. She’s a puzzle, a mystery. I am determined to find out what has happened to her in the past that’s made her like this. And when I have solved the puzzle that is Elle, I would like nothing more than make it right, to make her happier than she’s ever been before.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Elle
Today is the day my sister has been looking forward to. It is the first time in years I am celebrating Thanksgiving with my family. I told Rose the news over the phone, and I could hear her jump up and down from excitement while she screamed the house down.
But now the day has arrived, I am having doubts if this is a good idea—meeting my mother usually ends up in disaster. The last time I met her was around Christmas time last year when I came by the house to drop off my sisters’ presents, knowing that my mother would be out visiting her cousin in New Jersey. But when I rang the doorbell, it was she who opened the door. My immediate reaction was to shove the gifts into her hands and turn to leave. But of course she wouldn’t let me off easily like that. Tugging on my jacket sleeve, she shrieked in Chinese, “Where’s my present? Nothing for me, your own mother?”
“I could say the same about you. Have you got a present for me? I don’t think so.”
“I’m your mother. You should show me some respect. You are such an ungrateful daughter.”
We ended up screaming at each other—as usual. The same thing could well happen today, though I have no doubt she will be thrilled to meet Ryder. If I know Rose, she will have told my mother all about him, and his money alone will instantly put him in her good books. I can imagine her kowtowing to him as if he’s the new emperor of China, but I have no idea how it will play out with me in the equation. I hope I can get my emotions under control when she starts dissing me, as she always does.
I plan to have the lunch over and done with as quickly as possible, so we can enjoy the rest of today together. I have been missing Ryder. We’ve only been apart for two days this week: the day after the charity event weekend and yesterday, the day after CJ’s funeral, when he went away for a business trip interstate. Though we’ve been texting and calling, those two days seemed to be never-ending. I desperately miss seeing him, touching him, kissing him. Thankfully he is back today. The thought of going without him for another day would drive me insane.
I can’t believe I feel this way. It’s the first time in my life I have ever had such strong feelings for someone. How did this happen? How have I become so attached to him in only a few short weeks? It scares the hell out of me, opening up to him and making myself vulnerable. But I just can’t help myself—I’m in deep.
I take a short black vintage dress with tulle ruffles out of my closet that I bought on impulse at a Brooklyn flea market. I pair it with high-heeled boots, which I know Ryder will dig. A messy, high ponytail, red lips, and mascara complete my unusually modest look.
My phone double-beeps with a message: I’m downstairs.
My heart starts to race, and I knock my hairbrush onto the floor while I snatch my bag off the table and rush out, almost stumbling down the stairs. I can’t wait to see him. The moment I open the front door, my hea
rt stops beating. Ryder leans against his Mercedes with one hand, wearing a white button-up shirt, the top two buttons undone, underneath a dark-gray expensive-looking suit. He has shaved, and his thick dark hair is slicked back. The corners of his mouth curled up a touch, he strides towards me, and I am rooted to the spot—he looks scorchingly hot, like he has just stepped off the pages of GQ magazine.
In an instant, he is right in front of me, and I fly into his open arms, breathing in that delicious scent that is all Ryder.
“You look gorgeous, beautiful.”
“So do you.”
He trails his finger down my cheek and along my jaw. “I missed you. It feels like it’s been so long.”
I grab his wrist and look at the time on his elegant black leather-band watch. “Thirty-five hours and twenty minutes, to be exact.”
Ryder’s deep, rumbling laugh makes my stomach flutter. “Too long. Come on, let’s get this over with, and then we’ll make up for lost time.”
His hand on the small of my back, he leads me to the car and opens the door for me. He gets in and we head east, towards Flushing. On the way, I tell him what he can expect from a meal with my dysfunctional family: little things like only starting to eat when my mom gives the signal, pouring tea for others before your own, and serving others the best morsels of food before serving yourself. I don’t particularly care about these ridiculous Chinese customs that my mother has drummed into us, but I will not let her or anyone else embarrass Ryder in any way. While I’m chattering away, he stays quiet, keeping one hand on my knee and nodding once in a while.
The tree-lined streets we drive through become more and more familiar as we approach the house. We turn a corner and there it stands: the house I grew up in. The front yard is just as unkempt as it always is, thick weeds growing among the long stems of uncut grass and spreading to the driveway. The condition of the house isn’t much better, with its once-white paint peeling off the horizontal wooden slats.
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