Chapter 5 Morgan #2
Morgan looked up, curiosity burning inside her. “Can I ask why the secrecy? Most people don’t work this hard to remain anonymous.”
“Most people aren’t me.” He tapped his fingers on the table, considering his words. “Let’s just say my life is... compartmentalized. Work in one box, personal life in another. Meeting you was unexpected. I’m still figuring out which box you fit in.”
“Maybe I don’t fit in a box,” she challenged, raising an eyebrow.
“That,” he said softly, “is what I’m afraid of.”
The waiter returned to clear their plates and deliver the main course. Morgan used the interruption to gather her thoughts. This was supposed to be a simple thank-you dinner, yet the conversation kept veering into deeper waters.
When they were alone again, she steered toward safer ground. “So, Bullet. Obviously a nickname. Any chance I get to know the story behind it?”
“Military,” he replied after a moment. “I was known for being... direct. Precise. Always hitting the target.”
“You served?”
“Special forces. Feels like a lifetime ago.”
Morgan nodded, pieces falling into place. “That explains a few things. The way you carry yourself. How you handled my ex without escalating. And you mentioned Kane had military background, did you serve together?”
“Observant.”
“Designer’s eye.” She smiled. “We notice details.”
“What else do you notice?”
The question felt loaded. Morgan took a sip of wine, considering.
“Your watch is expensive but understated. You’re comfortable in this setting but equally at ease on your motorcycle.
You choose your words carefully. And despite the whole mysterious biker aesthetic, you’ve been nothing but respectful. ”
“Is that why you agreed that we keep up the anonymity? Because you feel safe?”
Morgan set her wine glass down. “Partly. But it’s also... I just got out of a relationship that turned out to be built on lies. There’s something refreshing about this—” she gestured between them, “—where the mystery is right up front. No pretense.”
“Except for the helmet.”
“Except for that,” she agreed with a laugh. “But it’s an honest deception, if that makes sense. Clear boundaries.”
He was quiet for a moment. “That might be the most insightful thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
The main course—a perfectly cooked filet with roasted vegetables—was delicious, but Morgan found herself more hungry for the conversation.
They established a rhythm without the screen, she would close her eyes or study her plate while he took a few bites, then they would continue talking while he wore the helmet.
She told him about losing her parents almost three years ago—her father to a heart attack, her mother to cancer just six months after.
He spoke of his company in vague terms that suggested success but revealed little about its nature.
They discovered a shared love of old film noir movies and a mutual disdain for reality television.
By dessert—a decadent chocolate creation that made Morgan momentarily forget her dining companion—she realized she was genuinely enjoying herself.
Not just the novelty of the situation, but the man himself.
Whoever he was beneath that helmet, he listened.
Really listened, in a way Jason, or really everyone she’d previously dated never had.
“I have to ask,” she said as they finished their dessert. “How did you arrange all this? Private courtyard, personal chef, the whole setup.”
“I told you. I know people.”
“Must be some impressive people.”
“They have their uses.” The amusement in his voice was evident even through the helmet. “But I wanted to do something special. To thank you.”
“Thank me? I was supposed to be thanking you. The locks, the dinner..."
“For trusting me,” he clarified. “When you had every reason not to. Most women wouldn’t agree to dinner with someone whose face they’ve never seen, especially in a mysterious location.”
“Well, I’m not stupid, I had a contingency plan.” She shrugged one shoulder before continuing, “But maybe I’m not most women.”
“I’m starting to see that.”
The air between them felt charged, intimate despite the physical barrier of his helmet. Morgan found herself wondering what it would be like to kiss him, to feel the man behind the mystery.
As if reading her thoughts, he said, “This is where things get complicated.”
“How so?”
“I’d like to see you again.”
Six simple words that sent her heart racing. “I’d like that too.”
“But the helmet stays on. For now.”
Morgan should have found the request strange, off-putting even. Instead, she felt a thrill of anticipation. “For how long?”
“Until we both decide it’s time for it to come off. There’s things you’d need to know, but I’m not ready to share just yet.”
She considered this. The logical part of her brain screamed that this was insane—developing any kind of relationship with a man whose face she hadn’t seen, whose real name she didn’t know. But some deeper instinct told her there was something genuine beneath the mystery.
“I have conditions,” she said finally.
“Name them.”
“One: I don’t share. So this is exclusive, or nothing at all.”
He nodded. “Agreed.”
“And two..." She hesitated, then decided to go for broke. “I want to be able to touch your face.” She raised her hands to halt the objection she could feel coming, “Not see it, just... feel it. Tonight.”
The silence that followed seemed to stretch forever. Finally, he said, “Why?”
Morgan wasn’t entirely sure herself. “Because right now you’re not quite real to me. You’re a voice in a helmet. I need something just a little more tangible than that.”
He considered this, the helmet tilting slightly as if he were studying her. “Alright. After dinner, outside. But with your eyes closed.”
The rest of the meal passed in a blur of anticipation. When the waiter cleared their dessert plates, Bullet paid the bill without letting Morgan see the amount.
“This was supposed to be my treat,” she protested.
“Next time,” he promised, standing and offering his hand.
They walked through the alley hand in hand, back to the street. The cool evening air a shock after the intimate warmth of their private dining space. His motorcycle gleamed under the streetlight, powerful and sleek.
“So,” she said, suddenly nervous. “About my condition..."
“Eyes closed,” he reminded her, his voice low.
Morgan took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She heard him move closer, felt the warmth of his body near hers. Then his hands were on her shoulders, steadying her.
“Keep them closed,” he murmured, the sound closer, less modulated.
She nodded, heart hammering against her ribs. The faint rustle of the helmet being removed and placed on his bike sent a thrill of anticipation through her.
“Hands,” he instructed, his voice now clear and rich without the helmet’s filter.
Morgan lifted her hands, and he took them in his and guided them to his face.
Her fingers met warm skin, the slight roughness of stubble along a strong jaw.
She traced the contours slowly—high cheekbones, a straight nose, she felt a small scar near his right eyebrow, a dimple in his strong chin.
His firm lips parted slightly under her touch as he softly let out a breath.
Under her exploration, she felt his breath quicken. His hands came up to cover hers, pressing them more firmly against his skin.
“Morgan,” he whispered, her name sounding different in his true voice—deeper, almost reverent.
She hadn’t realized how close they were standing until she felt his breath against her hair. A little lean forward and she’d easily be able to pull him down for a kiss. The temptation was overwhelming.
But something held her back. Not fear, but a strange sense that once that line was crossed, everything would change. The mystery that made this connection so intriguing would shift into something more complicated, more real.
Morgan let her hands drop slowly, eyes still closed. “Thank you.”
She heard the helmet slide back into place. “You can look now.”
When she opened her eyes, she was facing the blank visor once more, but everything had changed. The man behind it was no longer an abstraction. He had a face she had mapped with her fingertips, a voice that had spoken her name without electronic filtering.
“I should get you home,” he said, the modulator back in place.
Morgan nodded, suddenly overwhelmed by the intimacy of what had just transpired. She glanced toward her car parked down the street, then back at him.
“I’m not ready for the evening to end,” she admitted, surprising herself with her boldness. “Would you like to come back to my place? For coffee or a drink?”
The invitation hung between them, loaded with possibilities. She watched his helmet tilt slightly as he considered her offer.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his modulated voice somehow softer. “The helmet stays on.”
“I’m sure,” Morgan said, feeling reckless and alive. “Besides, I make excellent coffee, and Kane can vouch for my muffins.”
He chuckled, the sound warm even through the helmet. “Lead the way. I’ll follow you on my bike.”
As Morgan walked to her car, she felt a flutter of nervous excitement. She was inviting home a man whose face she’d felt but never seen. It was madness, and yet it felt more honest than any date she’d been on.
She fished out her phone to send a quick text to Tessa: Everything’s going great, I’m bringing him home... Talk later.
Tessa’s reply was short: You go girl!
She caught sight of him swinging onto his motorcycle in her rearview mirror as she pulled out of the parking space. The sleek black bike followed at a respectful distance as she drove through the city streets toward her apartment, his headlight a constant presence behind her.
What was she doing? This wasn’t like her. And yet, something about tonight—about him—made her want to throw caution to the wind, see where this took them.
She constantly caught herself making sure he was still following behind her as he followed her home.
By the time she parked outside her building, her mind was made up. Whatever this was—she wasn’t ready for it to end.