by Ava Lohan
“The only car I ever had was an old Ford Laser. It was supposed to be my starter car, to get some practice. Then my parents were going to buy me a new one.”
I thought about my dad’s words, before he lost his job, about the car he promised me for my twenty-first birthday. The dream of ever owning a new car died with my parents. I had stopped thinking about it since.
“I’m sorry about your grandpa, you must have loved him so much.”
“Not at all.” Kegan’s expression shifted. “I hated him. His death was my liberation.”
He walked away from me to look at a different car. His response was glacial. Unmovable. He didn’t think twice about what he’d said. His conviction made me shiver. Kegan’s back was now turned. I didn’t get it. I hadn’t been lucky enough to ever meet my grandparents, and he was happy to see his die. Maybe Kegan hated his grandfather for what he’d made him become?
He kept walking until he reached a Porsche convertible. One of the few luxury cars I could recognize. Maybe I could even afford one, someday, after saving up for ten lifetimes.
“Have you picked a car yet?”
His mood had shifted—now he was decidedly annoyed. His arms were folded across his chest and his gaze was empty. Yet, even when he sulked he was still more attractive than his car collection. He could have been a model on set, advertising the car he was leaning against. And if it were really an ad, it would have been a pity because he was far more enticing than the vehicle itself. People would have admired the photo and dreamed of buying Kegan, not the gray Porsche. The cherry on top? A pair of sunglasses on his head, keeping the hair out of his eyes. Even if it were an ad for sunglasses, all the attention would still have been on Kegan. There was no competition, there was no man or object that he couldn’t eclipse.
“Rose?” He shot me an inquisitive look that brought me back to the moment.
I took a few steps toward him. “When is your birthday?” I asked.
He narrowed his eyes. “Do you want the real one or the fake one?”
Shame washed over me, and I regretted asking. I concentrated all my attention on my white Converse sneakers and shoved my hands into the back pockets of my shorts.
Kegan took a few steps toward me. “My fake birthday, coincidentally, was yesterday.”
I could only picture the smile growing across his face. My lie had been anything but convincing and this was the proof. I didn’t dare say a word.
“My real birthday...” he whispered, placing his fingers under my chin and forcing me to meet his gaze, “…is the same as Jesus Christ’s.”
I raised an eyebrow. His sarcastic tone made me think he was still making fun of me. He couldn’t be serious. I wasn’t going to fall for it.
“Your birthday can’t be on Christmas.”
It couldn’t be. He was the Devil; he couldn’t possibly have been born on such a holy day. No, he could have only been born in August, on a hellishly hot day. He pulled his driver’s license out of a pocket in his leather jacket and waved it under my nose.
“Tell me now, Rose. When is your new god’s birthday?”
After giving a quick look at his perfect picture, I looked for his date of birth. I gasped in shock. It was true. He was born on December twenty-fifth. I pulled my crucifix out from underneath my black tee and brought it to my lips. Mother Superior would have found a divine message in all of this, made a sign of the cross, and swore he was the anti-Christ. She already considered him some sort of demon—if she’d only known his date of birth she would have sent an exorcist home with him.
“Pick a car, Rose,” he reminded me, now serious again.
I shrugged. I wasn’t interested in cars—I just wanted to get away from Lust with him. The red one, the matte black one, the most ridiculously priced one, it didn’t matter to me at all. I was just about to tell him to choose when I saw his motorcycles. Jenna had always loved riding motorcycles. She said it was like flying. She used to describe the sensation at length, the air blowing down your spine and across your skin. She always told me I had to try it. I decided to go take a closer look at the bikes. I had never been on one, nor did I ever think I would have a chance to experience the same thrill that my former best friend had. Maybe I was wrong. I walked toward Kegan’s six motorcycles, hearing his footsteps following me.
“Let me make it easier for you. I’ll ask you the question differently,” he said, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me toward him. For the second time that day, my chin ended up in his fingers. “What car do you want to be fucked in?”
Kegan’s voice was deeper, his tone provocative. I was more than certain that the Lord had created him to seduce me. The question echoed in my head, louder than any prayer I had ever recited, louder than any sermon that Father Abel had tried to instill in me on a Sunday morning. God, the question began thundering in my mind as I imagined the two of us in every single one of his cars.
He let go of my chin and looked at me with a smirk on his lips, as if he could read my mind. He lowered his head toward me, his mouth now brushing against my ear. “On the passenger seat of the Lamborghini, in the backseat of the Porsche, or right here on the hood of the car next to you?”
The heat became unbearable. I could feel it on my skin, as pressing as his breath on my cheek. The day had become the hottest of my life. He had on a leather jacket but I was dying in my cotton tee. Kegan was immune to the heat, but it was knocking the wind out of me. It was both inside and outside of me, threatening my very existence. It felt as if the sun itself was inside the garage. For him, the sun hadn’t moved from its spot in the sky. And the more I imagined certain scenes—thanks to his new provocation—the more my heart beat. He and I in the red car. His hands all over me. He and I in the black car. His mouth on mine. He and I in the gray car. His hands all over me, his mouth on me, my hands moving from his pecs down toward his dragon tattoo. He and—
“You only think about sex,” I accused, pushing him away. I had to get away from him to stop myself from spontaneously combusting. I held out my arms and stepped away. “Do you ever think of anything else?”
I was directing my charges at him, but I was really scolding myself. My rational side had emerged from her hiding place to take control of my voice and to remind me of my faults. Soon she would turn back to her refuge and each and every one of my neurons would focus their attention on sex and Kegan; to Hell with the convent and my life as a nun.
“I think about a lot of things. I think about food, sports, my cars, my aquarium, and then, you’re right, I think about sex and about how many times I’m going to have you in the next twenty-four hours… and in how many ways.” He smiled in a way that made me blush. “And I also think that most of my sexual fantasies come true.”
The temperature outside must have risen one thousand degrees. My internal temperature would have broken any thermometer. Jump him, now. It was an irresistible urge. I only managed to keep my composure because my rational side had yet to go back into hiding. I turned my back on him and started back toward the motorcycles.
“I want to ride one of your motorcycles. The black one.”
I peeled the bottom hem of my black tee away from my body, revealing my belly button. Maybe a motorcycle ride would help me breathe normally again and bring my body temperature down. Sweat dripped down my back as he observed me.
“No, the motorcycles are off limits.”
I ignored him. I had arrived at my destination.
“Wonderful,” I murmured, touching the black motorcycle.
Jenna had never had the pleasure of sitting her behind on anything this glorious. Maybe I would be the luckier of us two. The idea of riding it electrified me, and I smiled like a six-year-old standing before the rides at the county fair.
“I’m not taking you out on a motorcycle.”
My smile vanished.
“Why not?” I snapped. He was teasing me, that must be it. “Because I want to ride one?”
Kegan was standing right in front of me;
the only thing separating us was this new battle. “Because I don’t take girls out on motorcycles.”
He wouldn’t budge. I watched my fingers as I tapped a rhythm on the seat in pure irritation. I quickly tried to think of a way to ruin the leather—at least then he would have a valid reason to be annoyed. I ran my fingers through my hair. No, that motorcycle was too beautiful to mess with. I held a lock of hair between my fingers and twisted it mercilessly. I don’t know why, but my mind immediately shot back to the guy I saw him kiss in the pool.
“Because you only take guys out?” I prodded.
“What?” He shot me a quizzical look. “I don’t take anyone out.”
It was a really stupid thing to say, but I wasn’t going to apologize for it. I folded my arms across my chest and narrowed my eyes, issuing a challenge. I wasn’t going to move from my position. I didn’t care how much the sun—or his eyes—were burning me.
Kegan swore. I stood my ground. He looked up at the ceiling and rubbed his hands down his face before turning to look at me again. “I haven’t been on a motorcycle in three years, not since…”
He didn’t finish his sentence. Something in his eyes faded. His arrogance, irritation, self-confidence, desire—everything I used to see in him suddenly disappeared from his magnificent green eyes, leaving space for something new, something I didn’t know he was capable of feeling: a blend of hesitation, fear, doubt, and grief. He no longer seemed annoyed—he was nervous. His expression was disturbing, as if he were trying to tell me something that he would never get the courage to actually say. Something that I could never understand anyway; the only thing I knew was that I didn’t think I would like it. Not one bit.
Kegan exhaled. “I haven’t been on a motorcycle since the accident,” he said, finally. “I buy them because I like them, but I don’t ride them. Not anymore.”
I stood in silence, now regretting my insistence. So this is what I saw in his eyes. He’d experienced trauma and now I was trying to force him to take me out for a ride like a little girl throwing a temper tantrum. Maybe he’d gotten hurt or had almost died. Maybe someone else had died. I’d seen him naked so many times, but I’d never noticed a scar on his perfect body. I’m sure I would have seen a scar if there were one.
His gaze abandoned me, focusing instead on his hand as it touched the bike’s glossy finish with extreme caution, as if he hadn’t done it in years or was afraid to get hurt. We stood there in silence. I had no idea how to apologize and wanted desperately to relieve the tension in the air that filled my lungs with every breath. A tension that he was now reliving. Maybe I should have relished in the effect of this accidental low blow, as it was only this morning that he’d forced me to relive my parents’ accident. Yet, seeing how much this memory tormented him gave me little pleasure. I reached out to caress his hand in an attempt to comfort him, but it was all in vain. He jumped at my touch, suddenly reminded of my presence. Kegan looked at me through a haze. I understood and froze in embarrassment. Lost in his thoughts, he’d forgotten about me. He’d probably forgotten our flirtations from just moments before as well. His brain had suffered a blackout and I had no idea if he would be able to recover the lost data. I cleared my throat.
“Let’s take the Porsche.”
Kegan didn’t smile or move, my confirmation that there would be no reboot. “It was like this one,” he said, without taking his eyes off the bike. “I sold it after the accident. There wasn’t a single scratch on it. But I couldn’t stand to look at it anymore after that night.” He concentrated on me, his expression dark and cold. A cloud had moved in front of the sun, allowing for a snowstorm to take its place.
Kegan shook his head. He brought his hands to his scalp and massaged it. “I thought that buying a new one would help me forget everything and get back on the road, but it didn’t work. All I can do now is come here and look at them, almost every damn day. Maybe I should sell them and finally put it all behind me.”
He stopped to reflect.
“Have you ever been on a motorcycle?”
His question caught me off guard. My brain told me to say yes, but my mouth decided to go with the truth.
“No.” Even I had trouble hearing my response. My cheeks warmed up. The sun was back.
Kegan didn’t respond, but I wished I’d lied. A yes would have made everything much easier. I could’ve just pretended that I missed riding motorcycles, and said things that Jenna used to say. I could’ve pretended to have driven one myself or that my dad or some imaginary ex-boyfriend had one. Instead, after my “no,” I had nothing more to say. His eyes were alert, calculating, concentrated on me. His forehead was wrinkled and his jaw clenched. My instincts told me to look elsewhere. I listened to the voice in my head and looked around, only to find his hands, clenched tightly into fists at his sides. All signs that he didn’t like my answer. The air was heavy. Kegan wasn’t talking. I had to do something, like disappear from his sight immediately.
“I think we should cancel our outing,” I said.
This was hardly the afternoon I had planned, but I saw no alternative. Trying to get away from Lust had backfired and I only had myself to blame.
Kegan’s eyes were like two lasers—at any moment his irises would start shooting out beams and I’d be finished. I made my way to the other side of the two-wheeled beauty, ready to run away. He didn’t take his eyes off me for a second.
“I’m sorry I was so insistent and made you think about something unpleasant. I think I should just go back to my room. I don’t feel so—”
Well. I was just about to finish my sentence and pretend I had a headache, or something like that, when he began to move toward me. His fingers relaxed from their grip and did something I never expected: they grabbed me by the belt loops and pushed me toward the back of the motorcycle. Staring me down from his six feet and two inches, he forced me further and further until I couldn’t move back any more.
“If you’re not feeling well, I know how to make you better,” he finally said, now holding my face in his hands.
A malicious smile spread across his mouth as his eyes slowly regained their usual mixture of arrogance and self-confidence. Kegan was back to his old self. I didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. It meant that something was brewing in his mind, and I needed to figure out what it was before it was too late.
“So, we’re going to go by car?” I asked. The words came out shrill, as if he were squeezing my neck instead of holding my cheeks, a sign that my confidence was melting away as his was coming back. Images of the two of us in each of his cars flooded my mind, reducing me to a puddle.
“No.” Kegan put an end to my pornographic visions and studied my face.
I couldn’t hide my disappointment. Just when I had given up all hopes of riding the magnificent example of engineering behind me and settled on taking his preferred means of transportation, Kegan had given me a decisive no.
“But don’t worry, I don’t need a car to make you say the Hail Mary.”
Oh Lord, now it was definitely too late.
I hoped I was just hearing things, but I knew in the back of my mind that my ears were working perfectly well. My heart and stomach became one. His last words had been a reference to what had happened in the Arabian Nights room. I wanted to die. It was hard to say what was more embarrassing: the fact that he had heard me that day, or seeing him issue this new blasphemous provocation without batting an eye.
“Next time say it a bit louder. Hearing you pray makes me hard.”
He pushed his thumb into my chin, opening my mouth slightly. I didn’t have the strength to close it. He wouldn’t be satisfied with just blowing my mind; he was set on destroying me.
He leaned toward me. The smell of his skin and his cologne was inebriating. If the attraction between us were a matter of chemistry, Kegan was a sulfuric acid that burned and dehydrated me. All it would take to save me was his kiss, but he had no intention of giving me one. My throat was dry and my body was covered in
burns that were invisible to the naked eye. What would he say now? I was prepared for the worst, ready to call on Jesus and a good number of his apostles.
“It’s almost as exciting as the look on your face when I say certain things.” His hands ran down my bare arms. Goosebumps trailed his fingertips. He made his move. “In honor of your fake birthday, we’ll take the bike. Wait here.”
He took off toward an unknown destination.
I snapped out of my trance. We were really going out on the motorcycle? He’d just confided in me that he couldn’t do it anymore, and now he’d changed his mind. What was going on? What made him decide that now was the right moment? I felt disoriented. I followed him. He passed his cell phone over an electronically locked safe.
“I didn’t ask you to come with me.”
I pretended I didn’t hear him. “Why? You said—”
He didn’t let me finish my sentence. “I know what I said.”
From the tone of his voice and the accompanying hand gesture, I could tell it was best not to continue. He wanted me to mind my own business and rejoice in his decision without asking any questions. Pity I had other plans. He took out a key and closed the box, then put his cell phone in the back pocket of his jeans, all without further acknowledging my presence. He started walking again.
“Why?” I insisted.
Silence, except for our footsteps. It hurt that he was ignoring me.
“What made you change your mind?” I raised my voice. “You can’t go from saying you want to sell all your bikes because you haven’t been able to ride them in years to wanting to take one out in a matter of minutes.”
What if he was just messing with me? What if it was all an act to make me feel guilty? I gently shook my head. No. The suffering on his face had been real.
Kegan suddenly stopped and turned. “Maybe taking you out on it could be my atonement. Maybe it’s my chance to start over with that bike, and with the others.”
“Your atonement?” I echoed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”