2. Chapter Two - Strange Escort
Before I could fall, a strong hand caught my waist and steadied me. My breath hitched as I glanced down. His gloved hand was firm yet careful, his fingers resting just above my hip. A strange, electric sensation flared where he touched me, pulsing outward through my skin in ripples.
I shoved his shoulder, flustered. My cheeks were already burning from how much I liked the way he touched me. “Hey, watch where you’re putting your hands, buddy!”
He stepped back at once, both hands lifting in surrender. “A thousand apologies,” he said. “I meant only to prevent your fall.”
I felt as though I needed subtitles and a history degree just to talk to him. A laugh slipped out of me, rough and edged with disbelief.
“You always talk like that? Because if so, I need at least ten minutes to adjust before you say anything else ridiculous in that voice.”
He paused. “I do. Is there… an issue with my manner of speaking?” There was no defensiveness in his tone, only genuine concern, as though my answer mattered to him.
Issue? Sir, you sounded one bad day away from writing poetry with a feather quill.
He wasn’t faking, though. That much showed in the steady way he held my gaze. It left me wondering whether he was some sort of performer I’d never encountered before or simply someone wired differently from anyone I knew. And strangely enough, it was almost endearing.
Still, something about him held my attention despite every sensible instinct telling me to keep walking toward campus.
The contrast between his awkward phrasing, old-fashioned habits, and the intensity in his eyes stirred a curiosity I couldn’t ignore.
Worse, he watched me as though he already knew what I would decide, and that confidence left an uneasy knot twisting low in my stomach.
I let out a breath. “Fine, okay. Sure, I’ll take you up on the offer.”
He brightened instantly, as though he’d been waiting for that. “Before you reconsider,” he said, holding something out to me, “take this.”
He offered me the helmet, and I eyed it suspiciously. My hair was already damp from the rain, and that thing was about to flatten it beyond saving.
“I’d rather not.”
“I will not accept your refusal,” he replied, completely serious, as though it were a principle he genuinely followed.
Oh, cool. So he was insane.
He stepped closer and lifted the helmet toward me with careful consideration. I leaned back. “Don’t you dare mess up my hair!”
The second it touched my head, I knew I’d lost. I let him settle it into place, scowling through the visor while he fastened it carefully, as though my safety mattered more than anything else around us. “Why’d I say yes again?”
This was exactly how girls ended up in documentaries, making one bad decision in cute shoes. Amy would’ve slapped me upside the head.
“Ira,” she’d say. “You can’t die just because a hot man asked politely.”
He adjusted the strap beneath my chin, his cold fingers brushing my skin. That same strange sensation followed again, making me wonder how the chill outside seemed to exist inside him too.
“Your complaints are valid,” he said quietly. “However, I prefer you safe.”
The words slipped past me, simple enough to sound polite but close enough to feel like something more. I hated how warmth crept into me despite the cold rain surrounding us.
I cleared my throat. “Where’s your helmet?”
“I only have one,” he said, his voice calm and steady.
I reached up to pull it off. “Then take it.”
His hand moved fast and caught mine. Not harsh, but firm. The glove brushed my skin, and even through it, that same electric spark flickered again.
Twice now.
Too much to ignore.
“You are my passenger,” he said. “I would sooner ride into a storm bareheaded than risk your injury.”
My mind scrambled for a response. I drew in a quick breath, and his cologne settled into my senses: warm cinnamon edged with crisp mint.
The scent heightened everything around me and pulled me deeper into the moment.
It smelled strangely recognizable for some reason, and I couldn’t explain why it left me softening around the edges.
By the time he swung onto the bike and gestured for me to follow, my heart was already pounding. The rhythm matched the low hum of the engine as uncertainty settled heavily through my limbs while I climbed on behind him.
“Careful, little lamb,” he murmured, the words softened by the engine and the helmet.
My stomach tightened. The nickname ought to have sounded condescending or unsettling or, at the very least, too intimate. Instead, something in the way he said it settled low and warm inside me.
If he started calling me “my dear” next, I was jumping off the bike.
“What’s that?” I asked.
He paused just long enough to make it obvious he was choosing his words carefully. Then, with ease, he said, “I said… hold on tight.”
I didn’t question it. I simply wrapped my arms around his waist. Climbing onto a stranger’s motorcycle should’ve been enough to stop me, but beneath all the uncertainty was a quiet, unexpected sense of safety.
I couldn’t ignore how solid he felt beneath my hands.
Not bulky or heavy, just lean and strong, as though completely at ease in his own body.
As my fingers settled against his sides, I realized I was taking in the feel of him without meaning to.
My touch lingered a second longer than necessary while the awareness between us slowly built.
Before I could blink, the bike surged forward, the sudden motion snapping me out of it.
I let out a startled sound and grabbed onto his shirt as my heart jumped into my throat. My grip tightened instinctively, my body reacting before my thoughts could catch up.
Perhaps that had been intentional, a way to remind me to stay still or keep my hands where they belonged.
Instead, it only pressed me closer to him.
My arms tightened around his waist as the bike cut through the slick streets.
The engine vibrated beneath us in a steady pulse while the wind rushed past, cold and biting.
It slipped beneath my jacket and trailed along my spine, sending a shiver through me that tangled with everything else I was feeling.
Every movement registered through the contact between us.
Each lean into a turn pulled me with him, each adjustment reminding me how effortlessly he handled the bike and how easily it responded to him.
The electric sensation from earlier still lingered.
If anything, it had deepened, threading through the cold air and speed until it settled somewhere warm and unsettling in my chest.
The ride was short, but it stretched strangely, making every second feel longer. By the time the bike rolled to a stop, I felt slightly breathless.
The building rose from the damp stone as though it had always been there, untouched by time.
The architecture stretched across the campus in layered sections, the main structure towering at the center while smaller buildings branched around it.
Some looked worn with age; others newly restored.
Darkened walls met clean stone seamlessly, blending into something quietly impressive.
Tall flèches pierced the sky at every corner, their silhouettes cutting through the lingering fog.
Stained glass windows caught the faint morning light, each one reflecting muted bursts of color against the gray.
The entire place carried a quiet weight steeped in history and legacy, the sort that pressed expectations onto you whether you wanted them or not.
I slid off the bike with unsteady legs, my hands still tingling from the ride. Lifting my gaze toward the towering entrance, I let out a slow, uneven breath.
How the hell did I end up here?
A few months ago, I was back home dealing with the usual grind of Wiggle and trying to figure out what came next.
Now I was standing in front of something that looked as though it belonged in a movie about secrets and old money.
And somehow, my entire life had flipped upside down because of strings pulled by people I didn’t even know, all tied back to Ma’s new job.
From what she told me, the family she worked for had arranged my place here at one of the most prestigious universities in the country, and I hadn’t even applied. They had simply made it happen, the way people with real power handled things.
Still, it said something about Ma, didn’t it?
That she was worth that level of influence.
Worth enough for them to go out of their way for me.
It made me pause and really see her for a second, all the strength she had built through years of late nights and hard choices.
I didn’t always think about those things until moments like this forced them back into focus.
Even so, standing there with the damp air settling around me, the whole situation felt a little off. The uneasy knot in my stomach twisted tighter as I thought about who these people were and why they were so willing to help in a way that felt almost too perfect to trust.
Too late to question it now with the gates right in front of me and everything already in motion, but that didn’t stop the what-ifs from slipping into my thoughts in creeping waves.
I exhaled and pushed it aside. There was no point spiraling over things that hadn’t happened yet, not when so much was still unfolding.
Ma was fine back at the house, settling into her new role.
I was fine standing here on my own, even if it didn’t entirely feel that way yet.
And the university hadn’t turned out to be some cult compound straight out of a nightmare, so that counted for something.
My focus shifted as Culver cut the engine; the sudden quiet was almost jarring after the steady vibration that had lingered through my body during the ride.