24. Rook
Chapter twenty-four
Rook
Inhale… Exhale… Concentrate on the road.
That is the mantra I keep repeating to myself as we weave through the city streets. I’ve got no idea where I’m taking her, but as she grips and leans against my body, part of me wants to make this last as long as possible.
Pulling up at a traffic light, I rest my foot on the ground, the bike now idling underneath us. While I watch the light, I press my body back into hers, turning my head to speak closer to her helmet, my voice competing with the rumble of the bike’s engine.
“Are you doing okay?” I ask.
She fumbles with the visor, eventually flipping it up so her eyes can meet mine. They glimmer as she eagerly nods. “This is so much better than I expected!” Her voice sounds breathy, just like the other night in my hotel room. My dick stirs at the reminder and I lean more of my weight onto my foot to try to subtly adjust it.
I glance back at the light, making sure it’s still red.
“Do you want me to take you home?” Every cell in my body is screaming no , that it wants her to stay pressed up against me, but I have to ask. I can’t force her to stay on my bike with me all night, even though I would happily ride until sunset with her leaning on me. Chasing this connection I didn’t realize I was missing. Her arms are wrapped tightly around my waist as a coconut and vanilla scented breeze envelops me.
“Mm,” she hums. “If it’s okay with you, I wouldn’t mind grabbing something to eat. I kind of walked out on Clay before we had a chance to actually eat.” I flex my fingers on the handlebars at the mention of that asshole’s name, trying to rein in my anger.
My flight had arrived an hour before I saw her. I was just stopping past the burger joint next door when I saw her standing on the street. Her tight jeans cupped her ass perfectly, while her sweater highlighted the sweet spot on her collarbone that I couldn’t stop kissing the other night.
Memories flooded to the surface as I watched her on the sidewalk, the echoes of her screams filling my ears as I held her against the wall. But then my attention was drawn to him.
The all too familiar flash of malice that swept across his face when she turned to walk away. He didn't like what she had to say, but she was too involved in the argument to even see the danger she was in.
The second he grabbed her, my feet were already slamming against the brick sidewalk. When he refused to let her go, his fingers digging into her arm, I lost it. I could’ve killed him. No, not could’ve: I would have if she didn’t step in and grab my arm.
Seeing the scared look on her face ignited a deep desire within me to comfort and protect her, while also fueling my burning anger towards him.
I thought she was scared for him; she was right to be. But when she spoke about it not being worth my job, I almost laughed when I realized her fear was for me.
For those few seconds, I didn’t care about any of it, until I saw the hurt in her eyes, the way she pleaded. I had looked around, finally taking in the scene without rage blinding my vision. Dozens of people stood around us or pressed to the window of the restaurant, all with their phones trained on us, and I knew I had to get her out of there.
“Yeah, I know a place,” I say, feeling the smile tip up my lips as the light turns green. As I lift my leg and turn the throttle, Othelia presses her body tightly against mine, her nails lightly grazing my abs, as we speed towards my favorite spot in Chicago.
We coast along the boardwalk, my gaze drifting out to the waves, my mind clearing as I inhale slow lungfuls of crisp, salty air.
I can’t hold myself back from running my hand up the side of her thigh, reassuring her she is safe. With each pass of my hand, her legs squeeze tighter around me, as if trying to get closer. I gently squeeze her thigh, leaving my hand there as long as I can as we ride along the straight, only releasing when I need my hand to veer around a bend.
I keep repeating to myself that it’s for her benefit, but deep down, I can’t ignore the overwhelming desire to feel her once more.
Fuck… I know just how soft she feels under these jeans. How sweet she tastes on my tongue. One brush of her fingers could make me explode in my pants.
I take the scenic route, trying to squeeze as much time as I can with her arms locked around me, but eventually, we pull up to my destination. I stumbled onto Montrose beach on my first day in Chicago. After training that morning, I took off on my bike to explore my new city and ended up at this small grill overlooking the water and I have been coming here religiously ever since.
I pull my bike up in the park closest to the front door, slipping off one glove to hold my hand out for her to use. Her hand slides into mine and I clasp it as she climbs off. I keep my grip on her for longer than necessary, ensuring she regains her stability on the ground before reluctantly letting go.
She stands next to the bike, fighting with the clasp as she attempts to unlatch the helmet. I remove my other glove with my teeth, my lips curling into a smile as I watch her. I leave the gloves on the fuel tank and dismount.
I desperately try to ignore the sound of her sharp intake of breath as I lean in to help her unhook it and gently pull the helmet off her head. Her silver hair cascades over her shoulders, falling into her face. I force myself to turn away, resisting the urge to push her hair back.
I distract myself by securing the helmet to my bike and stow my gloves in the locked box on the back before turning back to her. She stands, gazing out at the water, deep in thought. Taking her hand in mine, she snaps back from wherever she drifted off to. I expect her to pull away from me, but when she holds me tighter, I guide her up onto the sidewalk and through the front doors of the small restaurant.
Though I’ve become somewhat a regular here, I’ve kept relatively anonymous. The owners appear to be massive football fans, which I gathered by the walls covered in NFL memorabilia, meaning most days I can eat in peace. Though most days I can move through the city without being recognized, which is how I prefer it.
It’s a fairly mild night, so I direct her past the hostess stand, nodding to the chef who greets me with a tip of his spatula. We zigzag through the tables and out onto the small deck that overlooks the water.
I release her hand as we reach the table, pulling out the chair with the best view of the ocean and taking the seat next to her. Not long after we take our seats, the server arrives, greeting us with a warm smile, one Othelia easily returns as she thanks her when she hands us our menus.
We sit in silence as she spends a few minutes looking over the menu. I can’t help but steal glances at her, careful to divert my eyes back to the menu whenever she looks up.
“Oh, they do tacos here!” My stomach flips as her face lights up. That smile. Jesus fucking Christ. I'm way over my head. Thankfully, the server reappears and asks for our order.
Othelia’s brows furrow and she pauses before flipping to the section of the menu that has salads. Rolling my eyes, I look at the young girl waiting with her pad and pen.
“Can we please have a serving of every taco you have? I think I’ll grab a beer. Whatever you’ve got on tap is fine.” I look over to Othelia, a timid smile lifting at the corner of her lips.
“A beer sounds good. I’ll have one too, thanks.” She gives the girl another small smile as she leans in to take the menus away from us and then those piercing steel eyes quickly glanced back at me before she shuffles in her seat and her attention flicks back out over the water.
“It feels like it’s been years since I’ve been to the beach,” she sighs contently. “It’s not something you realize you’re missing until you’re staring at it again.”
“How come you haven’t gone? Plenty of beaches in LA.” My body naturally angles towards her and I rub my hand over my stubble before placing it back on the arm of the chair, trying to not look like I’m hanging on her every fucking word. She mirrors my posture, her knees turning toward mine as she leans back in her seat, getting comfortable.
“Well, when we aren’t touring, we’re usually in the studio. It’s easy to lose days—hell, weeks—when you’re locked inside a windowless room just creating. Then there are interviews and promotions. I try to get to some sort of charity event every few months if I can, so it doesn't leave me with a lot of free time.”
She pauses, looking back out to the water as another wave crashes against the sand. “I suppose that’s not the case at the moment.”
Her body pulls away from mine as she retreats into herself. When the server returns with our beers, she grabs her glass and has a huge mouthful. As she wipes the foam mustache off her face with a napkin, her laughter fills the air, contagious and genuine. I can’t help but smile as I wipe at mine with the back of my hand.
Savoring another mouthful, she places her glass back on the table and relaxes in the chair, absentmindedly tugging at the sleeve of her sweater.
“You weren’t on the flight back yesterday,” she says. A statement, not a question.
“Ah, yeah. I had to leave early and fly to Seattle to see my mom. There was an emergency I had to deal with. I just flew in a few hours ago.” A tightness in my gut has me wanting to explain more—that I hadn’t bolted after she ran on me—but I hold back and take another sip of my beer.
“Oh,” she says, reaching forward, her hand covering mine on the back of my chair. She gives me her complete attention, and God does it feel like a thousand suns just turned towards me. I could bask in this glow forever. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah,” I choke out, coughing to cover the fact that I just wanted to blurt it all out. That he had found her again. That it took me twenty-four hours of nonstop phone calls and more money than I care to think about to find her a new home. “She’s okay.”
She stares at me, eyes roaming my face as if she is cataloging my reactions, like she knows I’m holding back.
I almost cave under her stare, but she releases my hand to grab her beer, letting me off the hook.
She smiles as she takes a mouthful. “So, why hockey?”