Chapter One #2
A resolution that was made after a weekend of eating chocolate, watching nonstop regency dramas, and crying into three boxes of tissues.
A detox of men. Until I am ready, dating is at the bottom of my list. And for good reason too.
After five years of dating my college sweetheart, shattered my heart into a thousand pieces and then stabbed each jagged shard into my back.
While out Christmas shopping—for Felipe’s present no less—I spied him mid-lip-lock with the new KOSI 101.
1 intern. Not only did I lose the love of my life, I had to find a new radio station where I didn’t hear my ex’s voice every day.
This year is supposed to be about new beginnings and fresh starts. The only man I’m interested in is the one I can find in the pages of my book. Give me all the Mr. Darcys, Peeta Mellarks, and Gilbert Blythes. They will never let me down.
Though I will admit . . . Desmond is easy on the eyes. But I will not be tempted.
“We need to leave before someone plows into us. We’re lucky it hasn’t happened yet,” he says, pulling me from my thoughts. “Where are you heading?”
“Rocosa. It’s a small mountain town not far from here. You might not have heard of it.”
“I have, actually. What brings you to our little hideaway?”
I blink in surprise. Half the time my co-workers forget this sleepy town is nestled in the mountains only fifteen minutes away.
“Work.” I jab my thumb behind me at the bookmobile. “But I’m also visiting a good friend.”
“Who? I might know them.”
“Oh, I don’t think you will.”
He laughs and leans against his bike, crossing his feet at the ankles. “Try me.”
I raise a brow at his confidence. Even if it is a small town, my college roommate only moved there at the end of last school year to be a substitute teacher for a lady who left on maternity leave.
She loved the cozy mountain town so much that she jumped at the school’s full-time offer.
Based on our last conversation, most of her apartment is still littered with moving boxes.
“Julia Peterson,” I say as if one would say “checkmate.”
His eyelashes flutter as he thinks. Just as I’m about to gloat, he springs off the motorcycle in surprise. “The new teacher, Julia?” His eyes flick to the bus and back to me. “Are you the librarian everyone’s been whispering about? The one coming to spruce up our library? We sure could use it.”
Guilt plows into me like a Mack truck. “I—uh—yes. How did you know?”
“Small town . . . word travels fast whether you like it or not.” He grins another smile that has me taking another step away from him. What else does this stranger know about me?
And why am I getting all flustered?
“Ready?” he asks, gesturing to the motorcycle.
I eye the bike with mistrust, especially the tiny spot that looks like the rear seat. “I’ve never been on one of those before. I’m not sure I’ll fit.”
I pat my hip in case he hasn’t noticed. I’m not some model-thin girl you see on the backs of these things in leather or booty shorts.
My body curves in all the right places. Yes, it makes clothes shopping a pain, which is why I settle on skirts or dresses more often than not.
But when I do find a nice pair of jeans or leggings that fit me, I’ve been known to turn a few heads.
“Oh, you’ll fit just fine.”
His silver eyes darken the longer he stares at me, and I shiver at the intensity. I never understood the phrase “eyes darken” in all the books I’ve read before, but seeing it in person, it suddenly makes sense. And wow, I get it.
I take another step back, bumping into the bus. “Let me lock this up before we leave.” Not that I think someone would steal a bus with kid handprints painted on the side, but I need to shake some sense into myself.
Almost eight months of not dating has turned me into a giggling schoolgirl when someone shows me a sprinkle of interest. Climbing into the bus, I eye myself in the overhead mirror as I pass and point to my reflection, sending my book earrings swinging.
“Don’t turn this into a romance novel, Maya.
He’s just giving you a ride to town. Ignore the butterflies.
” I nod, like I’m a sane person who doesn’t talk to herself, and grab my purse and useless phone and lock up the bus door.
As I approach, he picks up a second helmet that was strapped to his seat and hands it to me. “If you ride with me, you have to wear one of these.”
“You just happen to carry an extra one?”
“Not usually, but, uh . . .” He trails off, his cheeks reddening. “The why doesn’t matter. What’s important is that you wear it and probably my jacket too. You have way too much skin showing.”
My spine stiffens. Too much skin? I’ve worn this sundress to church a time or two. Since when is showing my arms and neck a crime?
Unaware of my inner turmoil, he unzips his leather jacket, shrugs it off, and holds it open for me.
I shake my head, my neck heating. “No, thanks. I’m fine with what I’m wearing.”
“It feels that way now, but it will be colder once we get moving. Plus, it’s for safety. If we get into an accident, there is zero protection between you and the road.”
Oh. For my protection. My argument dissolves on my tongue, leaving me with a sour residue of assumption. Of course he is talking about safety and not my body.
Quickly I agree before I wedge a foot in my mouth.
He slides the soft leather over my shoulders, the interior still warm and smelling like musky aftershave.
“Here. These too,” he adds and hands me a bulky set of gloves. They’re oversized on my small hands. I open and close my fists awkwardly.
“How do you ride with all this on? I’m overheating.”
“It’s like wearing a seatbelt in a car. You won’t notice your gear the more you ride. Now the helmet so we can get going.”
“Getting rid of me so soon?” I joke, then blush. Why does it sound like I’m flirting? Stop talking, Maya.
I smash the helmet over my head so fast, flattening my wild curls. A surprise waft of floral perfume hits me, and my heart sinks. Another woman has recently been wearing his extra helmet. Here I’ve been shooing off the butterflies in my stomach when he’s a taken man.
“May I?” he asks, pointing to the helmet’s chin strap. As soon as I nod, he clicks it in place and smiles. “They can be tricky with gloves on.”
Why is he so nice and not single? It seems unfair. The good guys are always taken, leaving the rest of us with the Felipes of the world.
“Thanks,” I say, disappointed for some reason.
Desmond places his helmet on and swings his leg over the bike with the grace of someone who’s done it a thousand times. Muscles from his biceps strain through the white dress shirt. For a split second, there’s a strange crackling in my ears as he adjusts his helmet.
Goodness. Seeing him up on his bike twists my insides into heart-shaped knots. Who knew bikers were so sexy?
Shutting my visor, I give myself one last pep talk before I hop on. “Maya, get it together,” I whisper to myself. “You’re acting like you’ve never seen a hot guy before.”
Desmond whips his head toward me, probably at the end of his patience.
“Now stop ogling the man and get on the bike before he drives off without you,” I scold under my breath. My eyes catch on the metal piece that suspiciously looks like how I’m to mount the bike. “Is that little peg going to hold me?”
He clears his throat, and it pipes into my helmet in surround sound. “It will. Feel free to hold on to my shoulders for balance if you need it.”
“?Ay!” My heart nearly explodes out of my chest. “You can hear me?”