Chapter Twenty #2
“Sure,” I say, using the same polite tone Knox did. I know my tone hides my annoyance.
This Gill has no idea that she is messing with the afterglow of an earth-moving kiss, and I try not to be too angry about it.
After all, this is the exact thing I want for the Nightshades and the Heirs.
Fans, followers, and future concertgoers.
I genuinely want Gill to be the first of many positive interactions for him and the rest of the Nightshades…
Starting tomorrow.
After a few more moments of exchange, Knox encourages her to make sure she’s following him on all the socials.
“It’s really the best way to stay informed of all our upcoming shows,” he says, his long fingers wrapping around mine once more.
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m following.” She flips her hair over one shoulder, batting her dark eyes at him. “I actually heard you play years ago, here in Denver.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Gill says, her expression becoming even more animated. “Gosh, now I can’t remember the name of the venue, but it was downtown. Mission something or Orven Theater or… actually now that—”
Gill’s words are caught off by one of the many sound makers in here, a custom-built organ that is the size of a building that I’m tempted to go play. I try to catch her words, but whoever is playing the organ is enjoying their jam session.
“Awesome, well,” Knox says when there is a break in the sound making, “I hope to see you at another one of our gigs soon. Have a good one.”
She looks like she wants to say more, but Knox is already turning and moving in the opposite direction.
Something pulls at the back of my psyche and draws my attention back over my shoulder as we leave the not-so-soundless Soundless Subspace.
Gill still stands there, watching us until we turn the corner.
“Very smoothly done,” I observe.
I’m relieved to have his focus fully back on me.
Huh. Turns out I am strangely possessive of this man and his attention.
“Honestly, Via and Zeke are the social butterflies and total naturals in the band, but I’ve gotten plenty of practice over the years at running into all sorts of fans. The totally obsessed but playing it cool fan. The I’m just here for the music fan. The here’s my underwear fan…”
“Gross.” I giggle.
His smile widens.
“Actually, it was gross. This bra just comes flying out of the crowd from nowhere and hits me square in the nose.”
“Oh, no!”
“We made the whole thing into a joke for the night, but that was not my favorite gig.”
We continue through room after room of the exhibit, my attention bouncing from Knox to our surroundings to my thoughts.
I won’t lie and say that I am not into Knox.
I was the first night we met, and that has not changed.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t need to think through the implications of where this is headed.
All my feelings are too big for a first date, so I compartmentalize them and set them aside for later evaluation, choosing to stay in the moment with him.
Knox and I leave the building and are greeted by the hot, dry air of high summer. The sun is behind the mountains, but it remains bright. The street lamps have not switched on. Still hand in hand, we step out into the parking lot. I see his motorcycle toward the front of the lot.
“Well, this was fun, Knox. Thanks for a good time.”
“Anytime.” He smiles, then pauses before saying, “Can I walk you to your car?”
I point over my shoulder in the general direction of my stop. “I actually took the light-rail to get here.”
“Did something happen to your car?”
“No, it was a rental. I decided to give the public transit system here an honest go.”
“And what’s the verdict?”
“It’s only been a few days, and I do kind of miss that instant freedom a car can give you. But I already don’t miss the cost. The gas, the services, the random things that seem to break as soon as you fix the last thing that broke.”
Knox chuckles.
“I’d like to pretend that having a bike is somehow less expensive than a car, but I swear some days it does not feel that way.”
“It’s beautiful though,” I say, taking in his bike.
I see it in the parking lot all the time, but I have never taken a moment to really stop and look at it.
Even though I know next to nothing about the differences between the brands and features, I can still recognize a well-styled machine when I see one.
Even stationary, the bike seems to want to move forward.
The curved metal is painted in a gradient from black to red, and from afar it gives the illusion that the back end is on fire.
“Thank you.” His expression softens to pleased as we gaze at it together. “I love this bike. I was able to buy it outright with the earnings from our second album.”
I nod but don’t respond, my mind drifting back to the day in my apartment where I spent the entire morning listening to their music.
Knox asks, “Would you like a ride home?”
“There’s only one helmet,” I observe.
His black-and-red helmet hangs from one of the handles, the dark full face shield closed.
“Your head is far more important than mine, so in a pinch, it’s yours.” I open my mouth to argue, but he’s already reaching into the side bag. Knox unzips it quickly and pulls out a second helmet. It looks like the sibling of his, red with black accents and a clear shield.
“So, would you like a ride home?” he repeats. “I promise I’ll get you there safe and sound.”
I’m torn.
Part of me—the inside-my-pants part of me—cannot and will not forget how fast he made me come back in that alley. That part of me is screaming all-caps YES and wants to continue the evening. The functioning part of my brain is reminding me that a yes is a textbook bad decision.
“Yes.”
Denver is different from the back of his motorcycle—closer and more vivid somehow.
The street and traffic lights pass in a multicolored blur, the warm summer air pulling at my jacket and catching my long braids.
Our helmets make it hard to converse, but I don’t mind.
He seems to want to bike to do all the talking, revving the engine unexpectedly and accelerating from every red light like we’re in a race.
It’s both scary and exhilarating, but I keep my occasional startled gasp firmly behind closed lips.
I can’t stop my grip from tightening around his waist, drawn in by both his smell and the motion of the motorcycle under me.
My apartment is twenty minutes away, but Knox takes a roundabout way to get there, so it’s a full half hour before we finally slow and pull up in front of my building. Knox cuts the engine. The aggressive purring is gone, replaced by soft ticking.
Slowly, I swing my leg over and pull off the helmet. He pulls off his as well, but remains seated. His eyes are alight in delight, his hair messy.
“Home safely, as promised.”
“Thank you for the ride. And thank you for the suggestion. That place was…wild. We were there for over three hours, and I feel like we only saw half of it. I need a whole second day to see the rest of it.”
“I guess it’s a second date.”
“I guess so,” I respond after a moment.
His grin gets even bigger, and that tug on my chest gets even harder to ignore.
After another brief pause, I ask casually, “You want to come up for a minute?”
That adorable gap reappears as his smile fully breaks.
“Yes.”