Chapter 9
NINE
EMMA
FEbrUARY
“Nothing to be afraid of, Chef. Hop on.”
I was a single mother. I wanted to live to see Liam graduate. High school and college, preferably. He was closer to me than to his dad. Hell, he was considering staying home just to stay close to me. I had a mama’s boy to support.
Then again, he’d probably get a nice life insurance settlement if I died while he was still seventeen.
Morbid. Not the point. Terrible line of thinking.
A leather-gloved hand wrapped around my wrist and gave a playful squeeze. “I’ll be gentle.”
Funny how quickly our roles had reversed. Now I was the one in a mild panic.
“Why should I trust you?” My voice sounded high pitched and strained over the engine’s soft rumble.
Harlan laughed. “You saved my life, Em. I owe you one.” He flipped his visor up and looked me over. “Let’s review the rules. What did I tell you?”
“Left to right to get on. Feet on the pegs. Lean with you.”
He knocked on the helmet in my hands. “And?”
“Wear the helmet.”
“And?”
“Hold onto your waist or the seat behind me.”
“Good.” He flipped his visor down. “Come on. You can do it. I’ll make it fun. Promise.”
I whined and shook out my hands, pacing from foot to foot while a breath hissed out of me. “Fine.”
I tossed my hair back and settled the helmet over my head. I swung my leg over the motorcycle seat and wiggled until my legs were flush with his.
“Where to, Chef?”
“The burbs. Take High Street north for a while.”
“There’s good steak in the burbs?” he asked.
I snaked my arms around his front and patted his stomach, surprised by how firm it was even through his leather jacket. And how dang narrow his waist was. “You’ll see.”
“Alright, then. We’ll be turning at the bottom of the drive here. Kind of a practice run. Ready?”
“Okay,” I whimpered.
“You’re gonna do fine,” he said, and his warm voice through the speakers in my helmet made goose flesh rise from my skin. “I just know it.”
He revved the engine and we were off. At the bottom of his short driveway, he leaned left and I followed. We got to the stop sign at the corner and Harlan didn’t stop completely, looking all ways before turning into the intersection.
“There you go,” he hummed. “A natural.”
He was being nice, but it still felt a little like I was going to die.
Harlan pulled out onto High Street and we were on a longer straightaway.
Far more cold air than I expected rushed over me and the blast of it made me clutch his waist and turn my head to the side.
We got to a red light and Harlan chuckled. “Doing okay back there?”
“Mhmm,” I hummed, even though I absolutely did not feel “mhmm.”
Warmth pressed through my jeans as his hand squeezed my thigh. “You’re a good backpack. You’re doing great.”
I closed my eyes, letting the praise and his soothing touch hit me. Was I that touch-starved? A realization thrust my eyes open again. “Hey, whose jacket am I wearing?”
“My ex’s,” Harlan said.
The light turned green and Harlan took it upon himself to go exactly as fast as was possible. This was surely how people died in motorcycle accidents.
“I love you, Liam,” I whispered, thinking the end was near.
“Who’s Liam? Your man?”
“Fuck off,” I growled.
Harlan’s shoulders shook under me. “You’re squeezing me awful tight for someone who wants me to fuck off.”
“Well, stop driving so crazy!” I shot back.
“It’s riding. And I swear I’m going easy on you, princess.”
I huffed. “I never want to find out what hard feels like.”
“You never know, Chef. You might like it.” He paused to let his words sink in, but his delighted giggle soon peppered into my ears. Still, he slowed down.
I loosened my grip on him and shifted to hold the seat behind me. “Perv.”
As we rode on, I got more comfortable. Harlan didn’t want to die, and he’d probably be putting himself in some sort of peril if he tried to hurt me on it.
Even though it was frigid, I was surprised by how much I was enjoying myself, and about the weird affection I felt for the man sitting in front of me.
Of course, I’d had inappropriate thoughts about him, but it was some unrealistic version of him based on the few nice things he’d ever said to me.
That look we shared in the street after we almost died haunted me in a way I’d never admit out loud.
For so much of the time I’d known him, I felt disdain for Harlan. But here, with the wind rushing over us and his waist under my arms, I couldn’t think of a single reason why I didn’t like him.
Maybe it was seeing him break a little, reminding me that he is a whole human and not just the guy who lives to pester me.
Maybe it’s hard to dislike someone when you have to cling to them to stay alive. Maybe the cold air physically put all of our hostility on ice.
The thing that kept coming back to me was his soft, “Doing alright back there?” and his hand on my leg.
But perhaps it was more that it had been too long since someone checked in on how I was feeling, and it felt nice to have someone actually care.