13. June #2
I manage to choke down a taco and a half, my usual at this place.
It’s not that they aren’t delicious, I just don’t have much of an appetite these days.
After a bit of pushback, Simon finally accepts that as having had enough.
He threatened to feed me again after I refused to touch the second one, but I gave in and had a few bites to satiate his desire to boss me around.
“How about go-karting?” Simon scrolls through his phone and glances up at me.
I narrow my gaze. “You’re going to have to try harder than that.”
"Paintball?"
"Glorified babysitter." I scoff. "Listen, I held up my end of the bargain, now you need to hold up yours. I want danger, not bumper cars at the mall."
“That reminds me, we could go bowling?”
“Simon, do you have a knife by any chance?”
“Uh, no. Why?”
“Because I’m going to stab you.” I laugh. “Actually, no really, can I stab someone? That might make me feel better.”
I think back to when I slit that guy’s throat, and his blood splattered onto my face. Simon had smiled through the whole thing. Where’s that version of him? The one who teased me with the danger he could provide every chance he got.
“Calm down, Cujo.”
“Are there any fights tonight? That was perfect the other day. We can do that again.”
He sighs. “They haven’t announced when the next one will be. And that was almost too close, love.”
“Do they have those for girls? I’d love to kick some ass. Maybe not to the death.” An idea sparks in my head. “You should teach me how to fight.”
“What?” Simon peels his attention from his phone to me.
“Yeah. You guys are all bat shit about my safety. Shouldn’t I know how to defend myself? Maybe the next time I get kidnapped I’ll have a fighting chance, literally.”
Simon’s nostrils flare. “If I have any say in it, next time will never happen. Don’t you dare talk so carelessly about your life like that.”
“Geez, who’s the one who needs to chill? Why are you so against me knowing how to defend myself?”
“Because that’s what I’m here for. You should never have to lift a finger.”
I raise my hand in the air. “What about five? Wait…” I point to my thumb. “Unless you don’t count this one, then I guess there’s only four.”
Simon pinches his eyes shut. “You are so frustrating.”
I bop him on the nose. “I know.”
A group of motorcycles whizz by us and revs their engines.
“Fucking tool bags,” I mutter. “Letting everyone know how tiny their penises are.”
Simon glances in the direction they went and then at me. "I have an idea."
“If it’s not better than finger painting, I swear to God…”
“Trust me.” Simon downs the last of his water and tosses his bottle into the recycling bin. He clears off the rest of our trash and discards it. “Come on.”
I follow him, because what other option do I have? My only hope is that he doesn’t let me down. But I guess with how things are currently going, the bar isn’t exactly that high.
We drive in Simon’s Volvo across town and pull into a parking garage. He punches in an access code and the gate opens, granting us access.
“Where are we?”
“My place.”
So much for those boundaries. Simon is really going all out with the things we aren’t supposed to be doing.
“Don’t get any ideas,” he tells me before my mind can run too rampant. “We aren’t staying.”
“Oh, no. I totally wasn’t.” I release the grip I had on my knee. “What are we doing here?”
“Switching rides.” He pulls into a spot at the far end, where no other cars are parked. Simon puts the car into park, cuts the engine, and hops out, darting around to my side before I can get my hand on the door handle.
I step out onto the pavement and look around, wondering what the heck his intentions are. There aren’t any vehicles near us but maybe he plans on having us walk to whatever we’re swapping to.
But Simon doesn’t lead us away from here. He fumbles with the keys on his chain and unlocks the small garage we’re next to. Simon’s shirt rises as he lifts the door, a bit of his torso exposing itself in the process.
I blink to see into the darkness of the small enclosure and settle my sights on what he must have in mind.
Simon strolls inside and pushes the two-wheeled machine out into the open.
“A motorcycle. You own a motorcycle?”
He chuckles. “This isn’t just any bike, love. It’s a Ducati Panigale.”
“Am I supposed to know what that means?”
“No, probably not.” He turns the key and pushes a button to start the bike. The thing roars to life, and the sound alone is enough to send a chill down my spine.
Okay, maybe Simon might actually pull tonight off.
He revs the throttle but not as excessively as those douchebags in town. No, Simon does it like doing so has a purpose.
Still, I can’t help but find an opportunity to tease him. “Is this your way of telling me you have a tiny penis?”
His seductively green stare locks onto mine. “That is for me to know, and for you to find out.” He winks at me.
I swallow and internally shake off that flutter that flickers in my belly. Or maybe it was between my legs, I can’t really tell with the reverberations of the bike rattling through me too.
Simon goes back into the garage and brings with him two black helmets to match his blacked-out bike. “Here, put this on.”
“Really? You’re going to make me wear this?”
He glares at me. “We can be reckless, love, but your safety is still my utmost concern.”
I groan and slide the thing over my head. “Fine.” I fumble with the little straps, unsure how to fasten them the way he does his.
Simon swats my frantic fingers away. “Allow me.” In a quick second, he’s secured the thing on my head, the heat from his touch lingering after it’s gone.
“Thanks,” I say loud enough for him to hear.
He gives me a thumbs up but then pushes something on the front of his helmet, then reaches to do the same to mine. A crackle comes through the inside of my helmet followed by his voice. “Save the screaming for later, love.”
“You wish,” I say with a grin through whatever microphone is installed in these things.
Simon tugs down the garage door, letting the thing slam shut. He throws his leg over the bike with ease and holds his hand out to me. “You ready?”
I slide my palm into his, step onto one of the foot pegs, and climb onto the back. Unsure of what the fuck I’m supposed to do with my hands, I keep them to myself.
Simon tilts his head slightly back toward me. “You’re going to want to hold on tight, love.”
I wrap one arm around his waist, my body pressing up against his.
He does something with his foot, or maybe his hand, I can’t really be sure how these things work, and gives the bike some throttle while we slowly take off.
It’s a clutch, or something, I think, that he lets out to make us move.
Maybe I can convince him to teach me how to operate this thing so I don’t feel so fucking stupid trying to figure it out.
Or I could just accept that I don’t need to know everything and just roll with it.
I mean, if we’re going to be stuck together, I’m sure it might come up sooner or later.
Simon moves us through the garage, the vibration of the bike purring like a fucking cat. He stops us at the gate, waits for the thing to open, and then shoots us out onto the street.
The air is a mixture of a warm breeze with a slight chill—perfect conditions for a night ride.
He glides through traffic with much more ease than we do in his car. He’s not exactly a grandma in his Volvo, but on this, it’s like he’s someone else entirely.
We go around a corner at what feels probably too fast. Naturally, I grip him tighter and lean from the opposite direction of the pavement.
“Lean with the bike, love,” he says through our headsets. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”
"Sorry," I tell him, because what else am I supposed to say at potentially almost killing us both for moving in the wrong direction. It's not like I got a passenger manual.
Of all the guys I’ve screwed around with in the past, I’ve never once gotten on the back of any of their motorcycles.
I was stupid enough to follow them to their apartments and fuck, I wasn’t going to cross that line of danger even further and get on their bikes.
I’m reckless but not completely foolish.
And here I am, never having had sex with Simon but playing the role of backpack on his crotch rocket.
“I want to show you something,” Simon tells me before twisting the throttle and weaving around cars. We speed through intersections, maneuver traffic, and get across town quicker than I ever have in my whole life.
I take turns positioning my helmet on the left or right side of him, taking in the view as I can.
Buildings blur and people seem so unrecognizable, but all of it is a different kind of beauty.
It’s new and fresh and so fucking exhilarating.
It’s not exactly the danger I had in mind, but it’s a thrill I didn’t know I needed until I was shooting down Third Street with my hair whipping behind me.
I’ll worry about all the tangles later.
I don’t doubt the guys will be livid when they find out, but they didn’t state specifics about getting on a motorcycle with Simon—and considering Simon insisted on me wearing a helmet, he’s following through with his promise of my safety. No one said we couldn’t have a little fun.
“Aren’t you worried about cops?” I ask Simon.
He chuckles. “Most of them are on the payroll.”
“So, you’re above the law.”
“How else do you think your boyfriends get away with as much as they do?”
“Touché.”
"Plus, lane splitting is legal in our state. The speeding not so much, but I can outrun them."
“Think so?”
“This thing goes almost 200 miles per hour, so yeah, I’d say so.”
I grip his waist tighter at the idea of going that fucking fast on these two wheels. If we wrecked, I’m fairly certain my body would just explode on the pavement. At least then there wouldn’t be anything left of me for the guys to murder.
“Don’t worry, love. I’d never go that fast with you on the back.”
“You shouldn’t go that fast with you on the front, either.”