21. Share His Passions With Me
The front door opens,and my eyes shoot up. I lower the top of my laptop, wetting my lips as I put my lollipop in the glass on the nightstand. God, my heart is going to burst through my chest. He’s back. He’s finally back.
He left at two, and the police kept him for well over three hours.
I stand and walk to the corridor, the noise drawers being opened and shut and things being moved around reaching me from the living room.
Crap. It didn’t go well, did it?
I find Logan rifling through a cupboard in the living room, his helmet on. “Hey,” I say tentatively as he slams it shut, then flips to the top drawer. “Is everything...okay?” I wince as that one slams too.
“I don’t know where I left my keys.”
I nod as he smacks books and knick-knacks from one side of the shelf to the other, but he doesn’t seem in the right state of mind to be riding, flustered as he is. Even without seeing his face, I can tell. He’s moving like there are bugs inside his clothes.
“Logan?” When he walks into the kitchen and begins a new search, I follow him. “What happened?”
With every one of his erratic movements, my heart beats faster and faster. Is this it? Have we been made? Maybe the police are right behind him, coming here to arrest me. Maybe they’ll arrest him, and he wants to run away.
“Logan, please, just tell me?—”
He snaps his visor up, his bloodshot eyes meeting mine. “I told you,” he mumbles. “I’m looking for the fucking bike keys.”
Shoulders falling, I walk closer. He’s desperate, and that’s much scarier than his anger. It reminds me of that first night, when he had a panic attack. Is he having one now?
I rest my hand on his jacket’s faux leather sleeve, wishing there was some indisputable way to show him he can open up to me and trust me. But I know better than to try prying his mind open. All I need is for him to abandon the idea of driving the most dangerous vehicle he can get his hands on when he’s this upset.
“How about we sit down for a minute? We don’t need to talk. We could just...” I shrug, knowing that “snuggle” isn’t the right word. “Just sit there and exist.”
“No, I need to—” He moves past me, opening yet another drawer, the forks and knives clinking together as he roughly pushes them around. “I’m going out. Need to clear my head.”
I guess these are the zoomies Kyle mentioned.
“Then let’s take the pickup. We can?—”
“I’m going for a ride, Barbie,” he says, and fishing into the cabinet next to the stove, he takes out his keys. He turns around, his unhinged gaze set on mine. “I’m fine to drive. Promise.”
I follow him to the door, my heart beating loudly in my chest. But I don’t know what else to say to stop him, and he’s not thinking straight right now. Watching him walk away, my stomach twists. I need to do something.
I shut the door behind me, then march after him. He turns as I approach his side, but I blatantly ignore him and step in front of the bike. Determined eyes set on him, I cross my arms. “You want to leave? You’ll have to go through me.”
He stops an inch away from my nose. Through the gap in his helmet, he stares down at me, and the disparity in size nearly makes me cringe. “My, oh my,” he says flatly, a flicker of faint amusement in his eyes. “What will I ever do?”
“You’ll do what any smart man would do once he’s been overpowered.” Tilting my chin up, I try to keep a straight face. “You’ll listen to the much smarter woman telling you to come back inside.”
“Yeah? You want me inside, Barbie?”
Look whose mood has suddenly improved.
Logan’s head shakes, and backing up to walk around me, he says, “I’ll see you later.”
“No—no way,” I say as I block his path again. I stare deeply into his eyes, though I’m not entirely sure he wouldn’t run me over.
I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t.
“I think I’ve already established I can move you around quite effortlessly, Barbie.”
“Then do it,” I say, not solely because I’m dying to feel his hands on me. I’d take anything to keep him off that bike.
“Okay.” He approaches. “Hope you don’t mind me locking you in the bathroom.”
I take a step back and turn to face away. “Stop, Logan. This isn’t fu—” I shriek when he lifts me from behind, then burst into laughter and kick my feet forward.
When he finally releases me, his eyes are considerably more serene than they were just moments ago. He brushes some hair off my cheek, slowly shaking his head. “You know what’s really annoying?”
“Me?”
“That too. But I was talking about how you can turn my mood around in a matter of minutes.” He thoughtfully stares at me, his gray-blue eyes shining. “Even when I have every reason not to be happy, you still make me smile.”
“And we all know how much you hate that.”
“Just worried about wrinkles.”
I tilt my head toward the house. “Come on. Let’s go in?”
“I have a better idea.” He walks to the garage and emerges a moment later with a helmet and gloves.
“You want me to...” My eyes dart to the bike.
“Yes, if you’re up for?—”
“Yes!”
With a huffed laugh, he slides the helmet over my head. “Lucky you. You get the good helmet.”
“Good helmet?” Unprepared for its heaviness, I wobble. Adrenaline courses through my veins, and my common sense slips away. “All your helmets should be good if you’re riding that.”
Jesus, I can’t see anything with how dark the visor is, and it’s so thick, it’s setting me off-balance.
I slide the gloves on my fingers next, though they’re easily two sizes too big. “What now?” I ask. I’m not even sure he can hear me through the helmet.
He reaches under and taps my neck, so I crane my head back. His fingers move to the clasp, but he pauses, staring at my neck for long enough that I wonder if there’s something weird on it. A mole? Yogurt from breakfast? He brushes my hair back, his pupils blown, but he still doesn’t move.
“Logan?” I whisper.
A grunt travels up his throat, and he snaps the clasp closed, then pulls the string until the helmet is tight under my chin. Once he’s pulled my visor up, he straddles the bike and offers me his hand. “Done. Now, come on.”
“Shouldn’t I be wearing biker gear? A jacket—pants?”
“Well, it’s always safer to use protection, but it feels better when you don’t.”
When my eyes narrow over his face, he smirks. “Are you still talking about the bike?”
“What else?”
He knows what else.
I squeeze his gloved hand with mine. “What now?”
“We’re not holding hands, Barbie. Get on.”
“Huh? I—yes. How do I do that? I don’t know how to do that.”
“First, foot here,” he says as he points at a tiny metal piece jutting out from the side. “Second, push yourself up. Third, there is no third. It’s climbing a bike, not metaphysics.”
With an eye roll, I set my foot on the pedal. But—what if it breaks? Or even worse, what if the bike falls on me? “I’m afraid the bike will tip over.”
“Nah, it’s stable. Hop on.”
“But I’m...” As I widen my eyes, he stares at me with the same blank, low-key bored expression, so I mumble, “Heavy.”
His brows knit tightly over his eyes. “Again with this? You’re one-foot-and-a-cucumber. You must weigh?—”
Gasping, I smack the side of his helmet. “Don’t you dare.”
He grimaces. “Do you think you’re heavier than the bike? Or me?”
My eyes run down his broad chest, his hips, the thick thighs straddling his bike. “No, I guess I’m not.”
“No, you’re not.”
Right. The bike’s heavy. He’s heavy. Nothing will happen; it’s fine.
But my stomach twists with anxiety, freezing me on the spot until Logan stands off his bike with a sigh and crouches down in front of me. “Arms around my neck.”
“Wh-what now?”
“Your arms. My neck.”
I shift closer to him, then tentatively lock my hands at the base of his throat. When he reaches back and grabs my thighs, pressing them to his sides, I squeal.
My feet abandon the floor, and he pulls me up, ensuring we have a good grip on each other. My chest is pressed against his back, and I’m most likely choking him, but he doesn’t seem bothered as he walks to the bike, then carefully throws his leg over and sits.
I land behind him with a gasp, my thighs still pressing the sides of his. My chest rises and drops quickly against his back, and I swear I can feel the heat of his body through both our clothes.
I’m sitting on what might potentially kill me, but Logan is in front of me, my legs hugging his, and it feels just a tad less scary.
“You good, Barbie?”
“Y-yes.”
“Cool. This is your first time, right?”
If my heart beats any faster, it’ll explode. “Yes.”
“Feet.” He twists to one side, moves my leg back until my foot comfortably fits on some other part of the bike, then does the same with the other. “Hands go here—you gotta let my neck go. It’s called Backpack, not Necktie.”
Right.
Carefully, I unlock my arms and move them to his waist. Suddenly, it makes sense why he’d call this “intimate.”
“Yep, just like that. You’ll have to hold on to the gas tank if I brake, or I’ll get off this bike as a eunuch.”
“Hm?”
“You’ll crash my balls against the tank.”
“Hands on the tank when you brake,” I say, gripping his waist. “Got it.”
“Cool. If I do this,” he says as he taps the side of my thigh, “it means I want you to hold tight. I’ll likely speed up, and my body will shift forward like...” His chest presses against the tank. “You’ll need to do the same. Go on, try it now.”
I lean forward, and when he straightens, my body follows.
“I probably won’t do it this time, but you know anyway.”
Thistime? As in, we’ll do this again?
“Is everything clear? Got any burning questions?”
“Yes. Do they make pink helmets?”
He snorts, and the bike roars to life as if vibrating with anticipation, its engine emitting a low, rhythmic hum. My hands tighten around his shirt as he turns back to me.
“Remember my promise?” he calls over the gentle roar of the engine. With a deep breath, I press my helmet against his, the cold touch offering some comfort, and nod.
He’s not going to let anything happen to me. I know it, because I feel safe around him in a way I’ve never experienced before.
“Okay, Barbie. One more rule.” I meet his gaze again, and he snaps my visor shut, then says, “Never, for any reason, let go of me.”
“Still talking about the bike?” I tease, raising my voice over the noise of the engine.
He winks, and before pulling his own visor down, asks, “What else?”
The bike moves, and with a shriek, my hands clench around his shirt. I close my eyes as the engine picks up, my heart thumping in my ears, and the world fades beyond the thick helmet.
It’s unlike anything I’ve experienced before. As we reach cruising speed, the wind rushes past, tousling my hair and sending a shiver down my spine. I instinctively lean into the turns, mirroring Logan’s movements, and the world blurs into streaks of colors—the landscape too fast-paced for me to keep track of.
It’s terrifying at first. Then, not so much, until I’m confident enough to detach my face from Logan’s back. I look around slowly, then a little more confidently, seeing the bike isn’t affected by it. Every bump and dip sends a jolt through my body, and I cling to him, adjusting to the rhythm of the ride until I find myself enjoying the scent of asphalt mixed with the crisp air.
I look past Logan’s shoulder, and a sense of liberation washes over me. The open road stretches out ahead, filled with unknown adventures. And the way he rides...How silly of me to think he wouldn’t be in the right mind for it. It’s like a synchronized dance between Logan and his bike, and I feel part of something powerful and dynamic.
I wish I could see his face. Or that we could talk. That I could ask him the million questions I have, or that I could comfort him, because he seemed so distraught when he got home.
I wonder what the hell happened at the police station.
Letting go of his shirt, I press a hand to his stomach. His body shifts, but it doesn’t seem like he wants me to stop, so I use both hands to rub soothing circles, enjoying his closeness.
When his hand cups mine, I pull back, thinking he wants me to stop with the cuddles. But before I can inch my hand away, he’s pressing it against his stomach tightly, his gloved fingers entangling with mine.
It’s so hot. Why is it so hot?
Because he craves my touch. Because he’s refusing to let go, as if he needs me. I’ve never been happier about a potentially deadly decision, especially when his hand moves up, dragging mine along until it’s resting on his chest, right above his heart.
I move the other hand up too, and hug him tight, legs, chest, and arms, as he lets go of my fingers. Then he’s back to gripping the handlebars, and feeling equal parts thrilled and calm, I close my eyes.