“You have a Harley?” I ask, approaching Jack as he dismounts the bike, setting his helmet on the seat.
“Eh,” he says, sliding his hands in his back pockets and shrugging. “It’s my dad’s. He’s had it forever and I’ve always loved it. I do regular maintenance on it for him and he occasionally lets me take it out in exchange.”
Okay. Let’s take stock for a moment. I’ve been stewing this whole last hour about how I’m in danger of getting in too deep with this guy, and then he rolls up on a motorcycle, looking all badass and dangerous. I see what you’re doing, universe. You’re fucking with me. Well played. And not only that, he works on it for his dad. Like a nice son. The hits just keep on coming.
“So,” he says, bringing me back. “Have you ever ridden?”
“A few times,” I answer, sweeping my hand at the bike, which is for the most part black on black with a few chrome embellishments. “My dad has one too. He doesn’t go out on it a whole lot anymore.”
“Nice. Sounds like they’d get on great.” Is he talking about our dads meeting one day? We’ve known each other not even four days. I’d say we’re definitely fast friends, and I’m already so far gone that I know I want it to turn into something more, but not so far that the idea doesn’t also scare the shit out of me. And when he says something like that, that hints at the future, it’s all I can do to keep it from messing with me. “Do you want to go out on it with me? It’s beautiful out,” he says, gesturing around us. He’s right. It’s a beautiful spring day. It’s sunny and in the 70s with only a slight breeze. But get on a motorcycle with someone I’ve just met? I’d have to be crazy.
“Yeah.” I’m giggling with excitement like an idiot. Turns out, I’m certifiable.
“All riiight,” he says, obviously excited that I agreed, as he turns to pull another helmet out of a saddle bag.
Jack
“Where are we going?” she asks as I place her helmet down on the seat next to mine, and she slips her bag off her shoulder. I take it from her and stash it in the saddle bag.
“How about the Riverfront? There’s a nice stretch of road, and we could grab lunch or a beer somewhere.”
“Sounds like fun. Let’s do it.” She’s excited. If she’s at all nervous, she doesn’t show it, and it’s amazing. Some chicks are scared of bikes. Not that I’ve ever taken any out on the Harley, come to think of it. Mayzie’s the first. That realization settles over me and for a moment, I’m perplexed. I knew when I asked her that I was going out on a limb. We’ve only known each other a few days, not very long to expect a certain level of trust to ride on the back of a motorcycle. But I had planned to call and possibly hang out with her today, and when my father calls and tells me to take the bike out and get its juices flowing, I do it.
She slips on her jacket and zips it up, and I have to say, this look on her is hot. In two seconds, she went from looking soft and feminine in a white top with her hair down and loose, to hardcore and cute, as she ties her brown hair back in a knot and reaches for the helmet I’m holding out to her. I throw mine back on and fasten it before hopping back on the bike. She climbs on, her knees just grazing either side of my waist. This is the most we’ve touched since shaking hands and I have a feeling it’s going to be a fun, but painful ride.
“All right, hold on to me,” I say to her, meaning it in more ways than one, as I start up the bike and it rumbles to life.
Mayzie
I love this. The loud puttering of the bike’s motor, the scenery whipping by us, the thrill of the speed, the… guy… between my legs… Okay, since you can see my mind going there, I’m just going to say that the vibrations of the Harley and the breeze blowing Jack’s scent on me is not boding well for my panties. I think tonight I might have to get reacquainted with my vibrator, Johnny Rocket. Anyway…
Besides all that, this is exciting and fun, and watching Jack operate this piece of machinery is yet another impressive thing about him. We make our way through town to start at the bottom of the Riverfront and work our way up it. When we get to the north end, we park the bike and walk a couple of blocks to a bar where we order a beer and share a plate of fries. I’m enjoying myself, but am still so confused about where this is going, but too afraid to ask. Whenever a girl dares to ask a guy where things are headed between them, it seems he takes it like she’s demanding commitment and freaks out, running away screaming for the hills. I don’t know Jack well enough yet to know if he’d react like that. I don’t know whether to think of this as a date or another hangout though, and it’s frustrating.
We stop at one beer, since we’re riding a Harley today, and decide to go for a walk by the water. We pass the carousel, and head down the sidewalk through the park where it’s quieter.
“So does your dad still take your mom out on the bike?” I ask, as we adopt a lazy stride.
“No., actually, my mom passed away a long time ago,” he says casually, looking out at the river.
“Oh, I’m sorry. How long is long?”
“Really long. I was four.”
“That sounds like a tough age to lose your mom.”
He shrugs. “You’d think, but I actually don’t remember it happening. It was a car accident, and I think it was harder for my sisters. Sarah and Melanie were seven and six at the time. They have more of a solid memory.”
“Do you remember your mom at all?”
“Yeah, a little. A few vague memories.”
“What was she like?” He looks straight ahead but smiles, and I notice that beautifully sweet dimple forming on the right side of his mouth.
“She was fun. I remember her smiling and playing with us a lot. She’d chase us around. I don’t remember much else.”
“Just enough to remember she was a good mom. That’s nice.” He simply nods, and I decide to change the subject. “So how was it, growing up with your sisters? Did they look out for you or pick on you and boss you around?” He chuckles.
“They weren’t too bad. There was the occasional attempted makeover, but my dad had my back and always put a stop to it.” I laugh out loud and hard at the visual. He’s laughing with me, and asks “Did you ever do that to Ian?”
“Yeah, once. I did it in his sleep. We’re only a year apart, but he was seriously bigger than I was and he was always so rough when he picked on me. I wanted to get back at him but couldn’t do it physically, so I had to pull pranks. I think we were nine and ten when one night I took my mom’s makeup bag into his room and gave him the works when he was out cold.”
“And how did he react when he woke up?” Jack asks, genuinely laughing at the story.
“He was clueless. He came downstairs with it all smeared. My mom freaked out and asked him why the hell he got into her makeup. I acted like I had no idea how any of it happened, and he totally lost his shit when he checked himself out in the mirror. I think everyone just chalked it up to him sleepwalking, and he felt like an ass.”
Jack is laughing his ass off, the sound of it deep but gentle. I think I’m in love with it. It makes me want to make him laugh more. The motorcycle, the dimple, the laugh. This day is just throwing one grenade after another at my barricade of defenses. Our shoulders brush briefly as we laugh, the closeness giving me a small thrill that I fight to tamp down, afraid it will take over. I get quiet as we approach a lookout area, and walk up to lean against the rail to look out over the water. Spending time with him like this feels so good, but it’s so damn scary. I’ve felt this way before, more than once, and it’s always been a precursor to heartbreak.
There is one difference, though. Jack hasn’t touched me. Sure, I had to have a hand planted on either side of his waist on the bike, but that’s kind of a necessity when one doesn’t want to be smeared all over the road. Jack doesn’t mention my silence. In fact, we spend several minutes just watching the sun sparkle on the water, neither one of us feeling a need to break the quiet. Occasionally, we do glance over at each other and exchange a peaceful smile, before looking back at the v
iew. It’s not awkward, surprisingly. It’s comfortable and peaceful, and actually calms me. Maybe this is okay. Maybe we can just take things slow, if we’re taking them anywhere at all, that is.
Eventually, our conversation picks back up. We talk more about our respective childhoods, and what we each were like in high school. Come to find out that period was not full of finer moments for either of us, which gives me some relief. It makes me feel like I’m not alone in that boat. We all have pasts, and I find myself not caring about his. Whoever he used to be is not who he is now and that’s all I care about. I guess they call that growing up. I like to think I have too, although I can definitely be immature sometimes.
When the sun has changed its position in the sky, we walk back towards the bike. Our time on the river has been almost two hours. The first two times we hung out, it was fun getting to know each other, but there is something different this time, like some kind of bond was formed between us, and I think it happened during the time we were saying nothing at all.
We continue to talk and make each other laugh right up until our helmets are back on and the noise of the bike’s engine makes it impossible.
Later, when I get home, I pull up Annie’s number on my phone. It’s early evening, high time to change into lounge-around clothes. I pull open drawers as I wait for her to pick up. I put it on speaker so I can wrestle my bra off and throw on an old t-shirt. Good thing too, because she picked up as I was pulling it over my head.
“Hey! I lied to you! I’m so sorry, but I lied, I’m a liar.” I’m leaning over my phone on the bed, and shouting my confession into it while I undo my jeans.
“What the hell are you talking about, crazy pants?” She sounds bored.
“When you asked what I did on Thursday, I did something!” I say, pulling the jeans down and stepping out of them.
“Uh, yeah, you went to the new ‘cozy and cool’ B&N,” she returns, still sounding monotone.
“No, there’s more.” I start stepping into a pair of plaid pajama pants. I get one leg in.
“Oh, yeah. You went for a walk.”
“With a guy!” I shout, before getting my second foot stuck in the pant leg, losing my balance, and falling to the floor with a thud. Ow.
“Ohhh…” She responds, and I can practically see her setting down the magazine she was probably flipping through, and an evil smile coming over her face. “Do tell.”
I roll onto my back to finish shimmying my pants the rest of the way up, and climb up on the bed, retrieving my phone. I tell her everything, from how I approached Jack, our walk in the park, our second walk in the park, the text I got before bed after the second walk, and the motorcycle ride I just came back from.
“Oh my gosh, this all sounds like a romance novel,” she says, trying not to sound cynical. “I bet you’re thinking it’s too good to be true.”
“Well, yes. Any time I have ever thought something was going good with a guy, it’s blown up in my face,” I say, getting more comfortable against my pillows.
“Just don’t go into it with any expectations, and you’ll be fine,” she says, expertly.
“Okay…” I say, nodding to myself. “I can do that. Pffft!” I scoff and shrug. “We’re just hanging out.” I’m trying to sound like I don’t have a care in the world.
“There you go!” she says, sounding like she wants to pat me on my head. “And I’m proud of you! You went after something!”
“Yeah, it was scary.”
“That was the point.”
“Go me. Now what?”
“Now see where it leads. And if it leads nowhere, you’ve given yourself an experience, and next time you won’t be such a damn chicken. So, is he a good kisser?” She asks, switching gears.
“I don’t know. Probably. He looks like he would be.” With all that sexy confidence, pheromones, and that full looking bottom lip, he has to be. It would honestly be a crime against nature if he wasn’t.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“We haven’t kissed.”
“You’ve hung out three times, including a day on a motorcycle where he was literally between your damn legs, and he hasn’t kissed you?”
“Nope.”
“How about a hug? Hand holding? A tender caress of your cheek?” She’s sounding incredulous.
“Nothing. He hasn’t touched me.”
“Oh.” She pauses. “This changes things…”
No shit.
7
Mayzie
Two weeks later, I still don’t know what the hell Jack and I have going. We’ve taken our dogs walking a few times, and we’ve met up for lunch and drinks on occasion. The thing of it is, we are in some kind of contact every day. Even if we don’t see each other, I always get a call or a text from him, our line of communication wide open, and it’s usually just checking in or to tell each other something funny. It hasn’t lost its ability to give me a shot of adrenaline when I hear my phone ring, and at the same time, it gives me a sense of security and comfort, knowing he’s thinking of me, unquestionably, several times a day. When I hear his voice, I feel like I can feel his strong, warm hand resting gently on my chest, transmitting a sense of assurance. And then come the goosebumps with the feeling I get that he might even adore me a little. It makes me want to reach out to wherever he is, wrap my arms around him, and rest my head against him, feeling safe forever. And then comes the growl in the back of my mind when I realize I don’t know what to do to achieve that feeling for real.
It’s Thursday night and I’ve had a hell of a day working. I bit off a little more than I could chew when signing up for some work projects, keeping me up late the night before and having me up early this morning. On top of that, I’d gotten on a roll with an assignment for class. I’m tapping away on the computer in the nook, just in the middle of my conclusion, when my phone rings. I stop what I’m doing and smile to myself when I see that it’s Jack.
“What are you up to?” he asks. By now, our banter comes so easily it’s like we’ve known each other for years.
“I’ve been slammed. I got stuck on a paper this last week that I finally had a breakthrough on and finished today. And I’ve had two jobs to send in. I’ve barely stood up today.”
“Ooh, rough. Should I let you get back to it?”
“No, I can talk. I’m almost done. I’ve just been at it since six a.m. and I’m fried. What did you do today?”
“Matt and I just spent about five hours updating the demo, which can be a lot like trying to solve a puzzle sometimes.”
“That’s way over my head, all the possibilities you could do with even just one song.”
“Yeah, but I think we got it. We just finished and I’m leaving. Are you doing anything tonight?”
“Just finishing this up which should take another half hour or so, then nothing. Why?”
“You know what I haven’t done in a while?” he asks, totally changing the vibe of the conversation. “Kicked back with takeout and a movie.”
“Oh my gosh, that sounds perfect right now. I really need to wind down.”
“We’re doing it together then.” I inwardly squeal, just like I do every time he tells me he wants to spend time together. “Hey, we’ve never hung out in the evening before,” he says, realization in his voice.
“I know. You don’t turn into a werewolf do you?”
“Wanna find out?”
“Sure. My house or yours?”
“I’m already out, I’ll come to you if you text me your address.”
We deliberate whether to get pizza or Chinese before settling on pizza, which of course, Jack insists on paying for. We agree on an hour and we hang up. I text him my address, and race to finish my work. After running a check on it for errors, I submit it and slam my laptop closed. I take a deep breath and allow myself a minute to absorb the idea that Jack is coming over. My heart starts booming in my ears. He’s going to spend time with me in my house. It will be evening and in a private setting, which is new for u
s, and I’m wondering if that will prompt him to make a move, which I’ve been waiting for two weeks to happen. Yes, I’m well aware it’s the twenty-first century and I could make the first move if I wanted, but I’m worried that there’s a reason he hasn’t taken things any further, and if I cross that line, I could ruin whatever this is and won’t get to hang out with him anymore. I like spending time with him. In fact, I yearn for it. I don’t want this to go away.
Moment over. I race around the house packing up my computer, wiping down the counters, vacuuming, and straitening up the living room. Penny follows me across the house, probably wondering if she needs to call an exorcist. I run to the bathroom to pick wet towels up off the floor and wipe down the sink. While I’m at it, I floss, brush and rinse, wanting to be ready for the fateful moment. Seriously, tonight is already a night of firsts, which is an indicator that there could be more, and I’m really counting on that meaning some lip action. Jack is gorgeous with that sweet but dangerous look. He’s charming, and his scent is phenomenal. It has been utter torture holding myself back from climbing him like a tree for the last two weeks.
When I’m satisfied with the condition of the bathroom, I charge into my bedroom to pull off my frumpy yoga-slob get-up. I change into a black vintage t-shirt with the name of a brewery on it, and ripped jeans. I’m seriously trying to look like I’m not trying here. I’ve just lit a scented candle on the kitchen counter and am brushing my hair when I hear a knock at the door. I steel myself with a deep breath, let it out come shuddering out and head to the door. I shake my hands out one last time, then I let Jack in, carrying the pizza box in one hand and a six pack of beer in the other.
See Her (Turn it Up Book 1) Page 6