13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
Katie
“Katie, you're out of milk!” Paxton shouts from the kitchen and I sigh and put away the laundry I was folding.
“You mean we are out of milk,” I shout back as I walk through the hallway, popping my head into the doorway to the kitchen. I glare at him, which he doesn’t see because his back is facing me, his head buried in the fridge.
Paxton has been living here for two weeks already. I’m still not completely used to it, but a new routine has more or less cemented itself by now.
Luke and I still see each other in the morning before he leaves for school, and I head to bed. He seems stressed. No wonder, his finals are starting soon.
Meanwhile, Paxton keeps to his room a lot while I’m at home. After his little cooking-stunt he has definitely been more mindful of his noise. It doesn’t always work, but I can tell that he tries.
I was awakened a few times when various delivery drivers brought a bunch of stuff he ordered for his room and rang the doorbell, but each time he apologized to me later on and told me they had ignored his delivery instructions to text him instead of ringing the doorbell. He seemed so sincere and apologetic that I had no choice but to believe and forgive him. It wasn’t an ‘I’m sorry you feel that way’ apology, but a real one, so that has to count for something.
“So, what am I supposed to do about it?” I ask him, my eyebrow raised and nodding at the apparently empty milk carton on the table. I was fine with him using some of our stuff right after he’s moved in, but it’s been a while already. Plus, where does he get the audacity to order me around when something he used up is empty?
“When do you usually go grocery shopping?”
“When I'm feeling like it, or the fridge is empty.” I chuckle and peek behind him into said fridge.
“Do you feel like it now?” He raises his eyebrow and looks from my profile into the open fridge.
“Not really.” I hide a yawn behind my hand. “But I guess I need to go pretty soon.”
“So, let's go now, come on,” he says and closes the fridge, pushes past me and grabs his jacket on the way outside, hurrying down the few steps and walking over to his bike.
I stay frozen to my spot for a moment, blinking surprised until I spring into action and follow him, slipping my shoes on and grabbing my backpack. Wait. How the hell does he want to go to the store? He doesn’t mean…
“We can’t go on your bike, Paxton,” I tell him, cocking my head.
“Yes, we can.”
I eye the monstrous machine, skepticism bubbling in my stomach. “How would we even transport the groceries? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Not with your pathetic excuse for a backpack,” he chuckles. I mean it might not be big, but it’s better than nothing. “But mine is bigger. Hold on.”
He climbs down from his bike again, runs inside and returns with a giant backpack. Where did that come from? I thought he only had his duffle bag. It must have been in one of the ten million things he ordered since he moved in. That thing is almost half as tall as me! If I wanted to, I could crouch in there and have him carry me around, that’s how big it is.
“Here, wear this.” He hands it to me, and I slip it over my shoulders, feeling like a first grader on my first day of school.
“This is crazy.” I shake my head.
“No, it’s not,” he chuckles and hands me a helmet. Why does he have a second helmet? “I do it all the time.” Then he looks me up and down. “Do you have a jacket you can put on?” Spring is starting to turn into summer, and it’s pretty hot today so I'm only wearing a tank top and shorts. “And maybe some long pants?”
“I'm going to get a heat stroke,” I protest but he waves me off.
“Once we’re driving you’re going to be thankful. The wind is pretty cold. Plus, better a heat stroke than skin scratched off in case we were in an accident. Trust me.” He winces as he remembers something, and my eyes grow wide as his words sink in. Did he have an accident? How bad was it? How likely is it that we can get into one?
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m an excellent driver but I can’t speak for everyone else on the road.”
Any protest is stuck in my throat. Without a word, I turn around and I hurry to my room where I change into jeans and put on a long jacket, then rush back outside.
I can't believe I'm doing this. Bikes are fucking death machines.
Then again, so are cars, I guess.
Plus, it’s the only vehicle available right now to go shopping. In a perfect world, I’d have a car and that would be that. Mentally, I was preparing for another, rather exhausting hike, because I'm not paying for a taxi. And I'm not asking Micah to take me shopping. I still think he’s wasting his time picking me up and bringing me back home every day, asking him for more would just be taking advantage of his kindness.
When I walk out of the door, Paxton is already seated on his bike, fiddling with the clasp of his helmet under his skin. I just can’t help but remain standing in the open doorframe for a few moments and stare.
It’s not a surprise to me that he grew up to be hot. In our youth, I saw it coming from a mile away, and I’ve seen him on screens over the years. But that’s nothing compared to how good he looks in real life. The way his broad shoulders fill out his leather jacket. The way his ass fills his pants as he leans forward on his bike to check something on the steering wheel and the way his long legs keep the bike upright.
Drool-worthy. Immediately, an image of his only towel-clad body pops up in my mind and I shake my head. Focus, Katie .
“What are you waiting for?” His shout rips me awake from my daydream. One where we do very PG-18 things with him wearing his leather jacket and nothing underneath. Shaking my head, I try to also shake the image, but now it’s burned in my brain. God, I need to get laid.
“Just locking the door,” I shout back and fumble my key out of my pocket. Hesitantly, I step down the tiny stairs in front of our apartment and walk over to him.
How do I even get on this bike? I’m not even sure how or what to ask him, at first. Without looking up, Paxton holds out a helmet for me. I eye it with question marks in my eyes and he chuckles when he finally looks up and sees the confusion written on my face.
“Come here. I’ll help you put it on,” he beckons me closer to him. With a surprising gentleness, he moves strands of my hair behind my ear and then pushes the tight helmet over my head. It’s tight and it squishes my face together.
“Ouch,” I whine when my nose gets caught in it. He shakes his head and chuckles, twisting the helmet until my nose is free, and I really wish I could see more of his smile.
It’s addicting. He might be challenging at times, but when he smiles at me, the world seems okay for a moment.
“Look up for me,” he instructs, and I lean my head back. His fingers fumble with the clasp under my chin, adjusting its straps and finally snapping it closed. I wince as a bit of my skin gets caught in it.
“Sorry.” His voice is muffled through his now-closed visor and my heavily padded helmet. I shake my head. There’s nothing to apologize for, after all. “Okay, now you step up here-” he points at a small edge on his bike, “-and then swing your leg over the saddle. Like you’re mounting a horse. You can hold onto my shoulders so that you don’t fall.”
I roll my eyes. When in my life would I ever have to mount a horse? We’re not exactly living in the Wild West here. I eye the bike skeptically.
“You're going to be fine. I won’t let you fall,” Pax assures me. I look from the bike to him and then back to the bike. For some reason, I find myself trusting him.
He talks me through it again, sitting still and not complaining as I hold onto him for dear life until I'm finally in the seat behind him.
“One more thing,” he shouts. I feel his torso move against mine, there’s not really room on this bike to keep a distance from him. “When we’re turning you have to lean into it. Don’t try to counterbalance.” Then he starts the bike and I startle. The powerful vibrations under my legs are intense. I shift, a bit uncomfortable. Engines make vehicles vibrate, that much is not new to me, but holy shit, I’ve never experienced this .
“Hold on to me,” he shouts over the roaring noise of his bike. “If you need me to stop, tap me twice.”
“Okay,” I shout back, shrieking when he pushes the bike forward and off its stand.
So much for not pissing my neighbors off, yet I can’t find it in myself to truly care about that right now. I hold onto his hips, but Paxton shakes his head. He reaches for them and grabs my hands, then pulls me forward until my helmet collides with his back and wraps my arms around his middle, tapping the back of my hands until I interlock them on his stomach. Once he’s satisfied with my grasp on him, he nods .
“Hold on tight,” he shouts again, and I nod against his back, suddenly extremely unhappy about the helmet. I’d prefer to feel the warmth of his strong back on my cheek, and to smell the leathery scent of his jacket. He already wore them before he got a bike, and the smell of leather quickly became synonymous with him. The helmet is like a border between the two of us keeping my sanity somewhat in check.
“Are you ready?” I nod against this back. Slowly he prods the bike forward until we reach the street. Excitement is starting to bubble up inside me. I’ve never driven on a bike. He bought one back then with the money they made off their first few gigs. I remember how meticulously he went through specs and catalogs until he found the bike he wanted. That was shortly before they moved to L.A., and I never got to ride it with him.
I wonder how many girls he’s taken on rides already and it causes my mood to drop. To him, I’m probably one of many.
When no car approaches, he turns into the street and finally starts driving for real and I tighten my hold around his middle. Holy shit. Even though we're not going that fast, it feels like we're on the highway. The bit of my hair that peeks out from under the helmet flies in the wind and I curse. I should have gathered or braided it. Brushing it out later is going to be a bitch but damn, it's going to be worth it.
We arrive at the supermarket in a flash, even faster than going there in a car.
The turns feel scary on a bike, though. Gravity really pulled on me, and more than once I was scared of falling off. I started clinging to Paxton like an aggressive koala, digging my fingers into his stomach. Even now that we’ve arrived at the supermarket, I’m still pumped with adrenaline, not wanting to let him go when he parks the bike .
He chuckles when I finally lessen my grip on him. He stays seated to stabilize the bike as he explains to me how I can best climb off. When my feet hit the ground, I’m quick to clutch onto him again, though. My knees are shaking uncontrollably, and my legs don’t want to carry my weight. When he notices, he bursts into barking loud laughter.
“The first time I make a woman’s knees weak and you're not even my girlfriend,” he says, almost disappointed, and I chuckle as I unclasp the helmet.
“First time my legs give out and it’s not from sex, imagine my disappointment,” I tease him right back and hand him the helmet. Turning, I catch a glance of myself in the window of the car parked next to his bike and gasp. Damn, I look like a mess.
Pouting, I try to pat down my hair and make myself remotely presentable. “Maybe take some notes for future girlfriends,” I add with a chuckle and wink at him.
I think I'm saying this more to remind myself that there will be future girlfriends. That this crush is not going to go anywhere. That I'm supposed to keep my distance. It shocks me, how much I still react to him. When he looks into my eyes I can feel my heartbeat in my throat and my palms start sweating and it’s starting to take a lot out of me to hide my nervousness.
So far, I've done a good job of not letting it show. I can manage to be friends. I will manage to be friends; I vow to myself, and I remind myself over and over.
Paxton puts the helmets into a compartment under the seat of his bike, then runs off to get us a cart, pulling a cap out of his jacket. Meanwhile, I take my wallet out of my jacket. It's the end of the month. There is not much money left anymore, so I will have to be creative about this grocery run. Well, I’ve made do with less.
“Come on,” he beckons me. Paxton gets a cart and pushes it through the rows, tossing food and items in it seemingly randomly. Meanwhile, I skim the shelves for sales and offers, keeping the calculator on my phone open. I have a credit card, but I’d rather not use it, but buying more than I can pay for would be really fucking embarrassing.
To my dismay, there's not much this week. I grimace when I see how quickly everything I throw into the cart adds up, putting some stuff back when he isn’t looking. Just as we reach the freezer section, Pax stops. He looks at the cart. Then at me. Then back at the cart.
“That's all you're getting?” he asks, cocking his eyebrow at me confused. “That’s only the stuff that Luke eats.”
“Yeah,” I reply with a shrug and clear my throat.
“Why?” he sneers. “That’s barely enough for, like, one dinner.”
“Because,” is all I answer him. His eyebrows furrow in annoyance and I shrink into myself, biting my lip and firmly looking at the ground, blinking back some exasperated tears. It's not easy to admit that I can't afford shit, especially in front of a person with at least an eight-digit fortune.
I bet he's never had to count his money. Calculate the amount of his whole cart to know whether he has enough money to pay for it or not. Had his card declined at the register and did the walk of shame out of the store without any food for the day.
But I have. And it never gets easier. Realization dawns on his face as I uncomfortably shift my weight and cross my arms in front of my stomach.
“Well, that's bullshit,” he says, way too loudly, pulling his cap deeper when people turn around. “Let's try this again.” he adds more quietly and turns the cart around. I follow after him meekly.
“No, Paxton. It's fine,” I assure him, but he doesn’t stop.
“It's not fine,” he barks, rolling his eyes when he realizes he’s getting attention from strangers once more. “Yesterday I heard your stomach grumble through the wall. I thought you just forgot to eat because you were exhausted.”
“I'm fine Paxton. Really.”
“No, Katie. Fuck this. You're not going hungry. Not on my watch.” He pushes past me to the entrance of the store and then turns it around so we can start from the beginning. “I don't want to hear it.” He snaps and fucking raises his hand to scold me with a finger wag when I open my mouth to protest. “We're shopping. It's on my dime. Go ahead.”
“I can’t do that, Paxton.” I fidget with the hem of my shirt.
“If you're not throwing stuff inside of this fucking cart, I will. And if I need to, I will force-feed it down your fucking throat. So, you can either get stuff you like, or we can get stuff I like and you're going to have to deal with it anyways. Which will it be?”
I stare at him anger bubbling up inside of me. Anger at myself. Even anger at him even though I know it's not justified at all. But at the end of the day, he’s not leaving me a choice here. I might as well play along. So, finally, I nod.
“Good girl,” he praises me with a smile and ruffles my hair. I grimace at him and swat away his hand.
“I’m not a dog,” I say and roll my eyes.
“I know. A dog wouldn’t object as much as you do.”
I glare at him, but he just starts to walk, paying me no mind. I follow him through the aisles and this time, he makes sure that I put groceries into the cart, nodding each time I do as he approves and adding more when he’s not satisfied.
I get bread, cheese, some fruit, and vegetables. I still try to not spend so much and pick the cheapest options when available. While he raises his eyebrow challengingly from time to time, he lets me get away with that.
Of course, I try to take out my wallet at the register, just in case he changed his mind. My credit card would be really expensive to pay off, but it’s better than having to put stuff back. But the threatening glance Pax shoots me makes me put it back into my pocket really quickly.
The threatening side of him is unusual, but it makes the hair on my neck stand up. In a good way, I think . I’m sure Paxton’s stern voice makes women swarm around him like moths to a flame and has caused many wet panties and orgasms, but I’m too deep in my embarrassment to give it the appreciation it actually deserves.
“Thank you,” I tell him quietly when we exit the store, full cart in tow. This quick grocery run has turned into a shopping spree that costs as much as I usually spend on groceries in two months. It's unreal to me, getting to spend this amount without even blinking.
“You’re welcome,” he grumbles and swiftly takes the grocery bags out of my hands.
We put some of them into his giant backpack and some others into the seat of his bike. He helps me onto the bike and only then lifts the backpack so I can slide it on. I can feel the refrigerated stuff through my jacket, the cold making me shiver. Paxton puts the helmet on me again and helps me onto his bike, then off we go .
This time around the vibrations and swift movements of the bike are not as unexpected. No, what's unexpected is the way Paxton's muscles feel stiff under my hands and his back feels like a wooden board.
Carefully, he helps me climb down from the bike when we're back, the backpack messing with my balance as I try to step down. But as soon as both of my feet hit the ground, he rushes inside. My brows furrow as I look after him. What’s going on now?
I carry the backpack inside, groaning under the weight. I carry it into the kitchen, wondering if he’s going to get the rest of his stuff from the compartment in the bike seat, but the door to his room is closed. What the hell is his problem?
After I put everything into the cupboards, fridge, and freezer, I make myself a bowl of cereal. Which seems laughable considering we just got a ton of proper groceries, but I need to hurry. A look at my phone reveals that Micah is going to be here in half an hour, and I still need to get ready for work.
Whatever his problem is, he’s going to have to sulk about it on his own.