by Joey Bush
A traffic light turned red ahead of us and Emerson hit the brakes, causing me to slide forward on the seat. My body came to rest pressed firmly against his.
I wondered if he could feel my breasts pressing into his back and if it stirred anything in him. I certainly couldn't deny feeling more than a little aroused by it. He turned his head to the side and flipped up his visor to speak to me.
“You alright back there?” he asked.
I mirrored his action with my own visor to reply. “Great!”
“You're not scared? No rollercoaster flashbacks?”
“Nope! I'm actually enjoying this!”
“Awesome.”
A flicker of a smile played on his lips before he tapped his visor back into place. Two seconds later, the light turned green and we took off again. I could sense the machine had so much more to offer than Emerson was allowing. I almost yelled over the engine for him to open the throttle and gas it, but there were still a few butterflies fluttering around in my stomach, no matter how much I was enjoying the ride.
After fifteen minutes of the wind racing by, we arrived at what I assumed was our destination — a hole in the wall that had a warm and inviting feel. It might have been small, but it looked classy from the outside. Emerson maneuvered the bike into a parking spot and killed the engine, and I released my arms from around his waist, a little disappointed that I had to let go. He booted out the kickstand and dismounted the bike then helped me off. It was a gentlemanly thing to do, and I couldn't help being a little impressed.
I removed my helmet and beamed a broad smile at him. I could tell he appreciated it.
“That was so cool!” I exclaimed. “Wow! I totally get bikers now! Well, okay, maybe not totally…but I can really see the appeal.”
He chuckled. It was a really sweet laugh.
“Yeah, it's great, right? I've been riding motorcycles since I was a little kid. My dad was into dirt bikes and motocross. He got me my first dirt bike when I was six. I've been hooked on bikes since.”
“Have you ever had any bad accidents?”
“I've had plenty of spills in the dirt, yeah, but that's to be expected when you’re riding off-road. I had a pretty bad spill in a race when I was twelve. Broke my collarbone and my left wrist.”
“That didn't make you want to give up riding?”
“Hell no! I know guys who have broken both legs and been stuck in wheelchairs for six months. Guess what they did as soon as they were out of the wheelchair?”
“Get back on the bike so they could break their legs again?” I replied with a smirk.
“You got it.”
“So guys are all nuts, huh?”
“When the biking bug bites, it's generally a lifetime infection.”
“But it's so dangerous, Emerson. Seriously.”
“What's life without a little danger, a little excitement? I mean, I could play it safe, never take any risks, and still get hit by a drunk driver while walking on the sidewalk one night.”
My eyes widened. “That’s a little extreme,” I said.
“That actually happened to a guy I know. Now he's a quadriplegic. He was one of those by the book types. Was crazy obsessed with his health. Never smoked, never drank, never partied, worked out six days a week. I mean, this guy was even vegan, didn't want any animal products in his body because he said they cause cancer. Then one night, he took a walk down the street to buy a newspaper, and as he was walking out of the Kwik Stop, a drunk driver lost control of his car, skidded across the intersection, and plowed him over. He was in a coma for three months and now he's in a wheelchair. And, this was a guy who took zero risks. Now he doesn’t have the option to take a risk.”
I nodded. I couldn't really argue that point. But I wasn’t so sure I completely agreed, either. “I understand what you’re saying, but still there are risks and then there are risks,” I said. “Sure, bad luck sometimes strikes no matter what you do, but riding a motorcycle increases the risk factor exponentially.”
Emerson shrugged. “If something happens, it happens. It's better to live life fully without regrets and have something bad happen than to creep through life in a state of constant worry and fear and still have something bad happen to you because it was fated to happen.”
“You believe in fate?”
“Yeah. I do, actually.”
“Like in those Final Destination movies?” I joked with a grin.
He laughed. “Man, I used to love those when I was a kid! Are they still making them? I mean, they must be up to like Final Destination 12 or 13 now if they are!”
I chuckled. “I think they stopped on number five or six.”
“Oh, you don't know how much Hollywood loves horror sequels. They'll milk it until it literally can’t be milked for another drop.”
“I think they may have reached that point in number five. It was awful,” I replied.
“Nope. It can always get lower. Always. I mean, didn't you see that South Park episode where James Cameron took a submarine into the deepest trench in the ocean to find out how far the bar has been lowered?”
A grin broke out over my face. “I did not. I don't watch South Park. It's so crude, come on. Do you really think that sort of stuff is funny?”
Emerson shot me a mischievous grin. “It's hilarious, Brooke! C'mon, you shouldn't just write it off like that without giving it a chance. It's actually pretty awesome social commentary.”
I couldn’t believe he’d just said “social commentary.” I wasn't expecting that from a guy like Emerson. A guy who admitted to doing awful in school the previous semester. A guy who rode a motorcycle, partied, and spent more time in the gym than one guy probably should. I didn’t expect it, but I had to say it was stimulating to hear it. The more he showed me this side of him, the more attracted to him I found myself.
“Social commentary, huh? Alright, alright, maybe I shouldn't be so quick to judge. Maybe I should give it a chance.”
“I've got every season on my hard drive. I'll lend 'em to you.”
“You're that big of a fan, are you?” I gasped with mock surprise.
“Yes, I am! How did we get onto this topic again, anyway?”
“Uh, fate. We were talking about fate. Then Final Destination, and then-”
“Oh, right. Yeah, got it. Well, like I was saying, I do believe in fate. Destiny. If something is meant to happen, it happens.”
I wanted to ask, “So you believe if two people are supposed to meet, they will?” But I didn't. I didn't want to be too suggestive of anything at the moment, and I suddenly realized I had been letting my defenses down with Emerson, something I had explicitly set out to not do. Things were starting to get a little dangerous and I began to question my decision to come out to eat with him. I rarely made impulsive decisions, so what had prompted me to agree to dinner?
I needed to back off a little, to cool things down because they definitely seemed to be heating up. Of course, I could not back out of dinner. We were already at the restaurant, and it would have been a bitchy thing to have made up an excuse and asked that he take me home. So for the rest of the evening, I'd just have to keep my guard up and make a conscious effort to keep some distance between us. I couldn’t keep letting myself get drawn too deeply into conversation with him. I couldn’t let myself fall for his charm — charm that he certainly had. I couldn’t allow that suggestive glimmer in his eyes or the curve of his heart stopping smile get to me. Whatever attraction I was feeling to him, it seemed pretty certain he was feeling for me.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so at ease chatting with a guy. It felt like forever, to be honest. Granted, I’d had some good chats with Garrett from class, but nothing that felt quite as comfortable and easy as how Emerson and I had suddenly been chatting. It was just natural, and that’s what had me concerned. I had to wonder what exactly was happening.
Everything that I had hoped wouldn't happen, that’s what. I made a conscious attempt to reel things back in.
“Well, enough talk about what we don’t have any control over. I’m hungry, and we do have control over that,” I offered with a forced smile. “Besides, I've actually got a lot of work to do, so let's quit standing around and go inside and get some food.”
“Alright,” he agreed. “I've got a lot to get done, too, so, let's go.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Emerson
It was almost like I’d flipped channels with a remote control. One minute, the conversation was easy and fun and we seemed to be hitting it off. The next, I saw something wash over her beautiful face, and just like that, the mask returned, the armor was back on, and the walls were erect.
But for a few moments, I got to see something more. The real Brooke. The girl hiding inside that suit of armor. And I have to say, I liked her. I liked her a lot. Which might have been the problem.
I think she sensed that. And not only did she sense it, but she felt it, too. That’s why she put the walls back up so abruptly. There was no doubt about it, Brooke was afraid of letting someone in. I don’t know how the asshole was, but someone had done a number on her in the past. She’d apparently been hurt pretty bad and her number one concern had become protecting herself. I had to give her credit, she was doing a bang up job of that.
I wasn't sure what to do next or even what to say. The reality of it all was this: I was attracted to Brooke. Really attracted to her. In a way I hadn't felt before. She was incredibly different from every other girl I knew, especially Melissa. Somehow, I think she knew how I was feeling and wasn’t ready for it. Maybe all she saw when she looked at me was this guy she could really connect with, who also wanted to truly connect with her. And that only made her want to reinforce those walls around her heart with even more steel and concrete.
So, as I walked into Patak's behind her, I tried to decide how the next hour might play out. I wondered if I should keep things light or address the elephant in the room and try to actually have a serious discussion with her about how I felt. How she felt. Because no matter how she tried to deny it, she felt it, too. I could see it on her face, hear it in the tremble of her voice, feel it in the magnetism between us.
I was walking a razor's edge. If I told her how I felt about her, she might shut me out completely — and permanently. Was that a risk I was willing to take?
I didn't know. And not knowing was my answer. So, I decided to keep it light. Do exactly the opposite of what I had told Brooke only moments earlier. I decided to play it safe.
Mr. Patak, the owner of the restaurant and my friend's dad, was walking out of the kitchen as we entered. He immediately greeted us.
“Emerson!” he called to me, his voice colored with a heavy Indian accent. “So good to see you, my boy!”
“Good evening, Mr. Patak,” I replied.
He walked over to us with a large grin pasted across his face and extended a hand to me. I took it, and he shook my hand vigorously, grinning all the while.
“How are you? And, who is this lovely young lady? Is this your girlfriend?”
He extended a hand to Brooke and shook her hand gently.
“No, no,” I insisted, maybe a bit too hastily. “She's my neighbor. Brooke, this is Mr. Patak, owner of this fine establishment.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, a real pleasure!” he said. “Such a beauty! Why are you and Emerson not girlfriend and boyfriend? You two are both so good looking. You could have such lovely-looking children.”
We both laughed, albeit somewhat uncomfortably, and I could see Brooke blushing.
“Oh, I'm just too busy for a boyfriend,” she said, her cheeks still glowing red.
He shook his head and held up his forefinger, as if he was about to make a profound point.
“No, no, no. Nobody should be too busy for love! Love, young lady, that is what life is all about. Without it, well, life is like eating only bowls of plain white rice. Yes, it will keep you alive, but life will be so bland and boring and flavorless that you will wonder if you're really doing anything beyond merely existing and surviving. Love, young lady, that is the spice, the herbs, the exotic dishes and flavors and aromas that make life worth living! Don't make yourself too busy with merely surviving. One has to live, as well.”
She smiled at his words of wisdom. They were delivered with such charm and sweet sincerity that all she could do was beam a smile at him. Hell, even I felt a bit warm and fuzzy inside after hearing it.
I knew, though, that once Mr. Patak started talking, he wouldn't stop, so I gently steered Brooke in the direction of the nearest table.
“Can we sit here, Mr. Patak?” I asked.
“Of course, of course.”
“Sorry, we're just in a bit of a rush. We're both in the same chemistry class, and we've got a lot of work to get done over the weekend.”
“I see, I see. Well, then, I won't take up any more of your time. I'll send a waiter over with some menus right now. I must get back to the kitchen anyway; we have new staff, and I have to be strict with them to make sure they get things right. You know how I, how do you say, run a tight ship?”
“That's right, Mr. Patak. And you run the best ship in town!”
“Oh, thank you, my boy, thank you! Oh, and I must tell Sanjay that you came by.”
“Yeah, please do. I was chatting with him on Facebook just the other day. Seems like he's enjoying medical school.”
“Oh, he is! And, he is doing so well! His mother and I are so proud of him. Anyway, off with me! I'll send a waiter over.”
With that, Mr. Patak hurried off and shortly after a waiter arrived with menus.
“You know him pretty well, huh?” Brooke remarked.
“Yeah, like I said, I went to school with Sanjay, his son.”
“He seems like a really nice man.”
“Oh yeah, but he'll talk your ear off if you let him.”
She chuckled and I hoped that meant the walls might be coming down a bit.
“I can see that,” she replied, the smile fading as quickly as it had appeared.
Back to business, it seemed.
“So, what do you recommend?” she asked. “They don't take too long to prepare the meals, do they?”
“Nah, Mr. P will get them done quickly because I just told him we're in a hurry. Um, man, there are so many great dishes here, it's kinda hard to pick a single one to recommend. I'd say the korma curry or the dhal makhani. Those are my go-to dishes. With garlic naan bread or butter naan. And maybe some samosas on the side, too. They make to die for samosas.”
“What's a samosa?”
I gave her a mocking shocked glare. “What?” I teased. “You don't eat Indian that often, do you?”
She allowed herself a smile.
“Not too often, I confess.”
“Samosas are awesome. They're like these little pastry triangles filled with potato curry. But they’re like a hard, crispy kind of pastry. Deep-fried. I guess they're not that healthy, but as a once-in-a-while thing, they're a real treat.”
“I'm sold. Let's get some of those. And, I guess I'll go with the veggie korma. It looks pretty amazing on the menu, at least.”
“You won't be disappointed. Everything they bring to the table looks just like the pics in the menu and tastes just as good as you imagine, too.”
“Cool. Let's do it then.”
I called the waiter over and ordered our meals. I knew there would be a good twenty-minute wait before the food arrived. They were fast, but not that fast. The question running through my head was how I might pass the time if Brooke was avoiding eye contact and I was avoiding spooking her even more than I seemed to have already.
That’s when fate stepped in.
A couple who appeared to be around our age walked in. I didn't recognize either of them, but Brooke clearly did. Her eyes grew deer in the headlights wide.
“Oh my God,” she gasped.
I cocked my head to the side and looked over at her. “What is it? Everything okay?”
“No. Ben and Jess.”
“Uh, who?
She held the menu up to hide her face as they walked past us.
“Did they see me?” she whispered from behind the menu.
“Umm, not that I could tell,” I replied. “They walked past without even looking. Looks like they're going to sit at a table at the back. You can come out now, they can't see you from there.”
She slowly lowered the menu and peered over the top then sighed with relief.
“Whew. Thank goodness. So anyway, what about dessert? Is there anything go-”
“Whoa, hold up, hold up, missy! You can't act like you’re hiding from the cops and not tell me what that was about!” I cocked an eyebrow at her curiously and narrowed my gaze. Waiting. I halfway expected her to try to weasel her way out of explaining, but to my surprise, she obliged my request.
“That's Ben Smout and his girlfriend Jessica Avery. They were…”
She stopped as if trying to get her thoughts together before she continued.
“Well, that guy, Ben, he's the best friend of my ex, Andrew. I haven't seen him — Ben, I mean. Well, or Andrew — so, I haven't seen them since the breakup. And, I don't want to see them. Ever.”
“Oh, I see,” I said uneasily.
The waiter walked by our table just in time to keep me from having to think of something to say. Which was great because I didn’t have a clue what to say in the situation. When the waiter continued to walk away, he left us to the awkward silence.
“You know, uh,” I began, “you don't have to talk about this if you don't want to. We can just forget those two are even here. Eat quick and leave quick and they won't ever see you.”
She was silent for a moment. I imagined she was struggling with whether she wanted to shut this whole thing down or not. After a few moments, she looked me dead in the eyes, and did exactly the opposite of what I had expected her to do. She opened up.
“Andrew was my first love. We started dating in high school. I fell head over heels for him and he had me convinced he felt the same way about me. I thought — and I know this is gonna sound stupid, but it’s just how I felt — I thought he was going to be the guy I married, the guy I’d spend the rest of my life with. He’s the reason I’m even here. I could've gone to a better college. I'm talking Ivy League. I could have…but I didn't. I chose to stay here, in this town, because of him. I couldn't bear the thought of being away from him for weeks at a time.”