5. Chapter Five - Breathless Hesitation #2
“Fine,” I muttered, rolling my eyes, though I couldn’t quite hide the hint of playfulness in it. “I suppose I don’t have much of a choice if you’re begging that much.”
“And I shall continue begging if need be,” he said with a grin, and the warmth of it nearly made me forget why I’d been hesitant in the first place.
Jesus, even his persistence sounded expensive.
“If it weren’t for your strange behavior, I wouldn’t be so wary about saying yes,” I shot back, studying his face as if I might find something honest written there if I looked long enough.
He chuckled softly, his gaze dipping for a moment before returning to mine. “I find it necessary to choose my words with care around you. I would rather not risk earning your displeasure so early.” His voice softened, unexpectedly sincere. “Does honesty earn me points?”
Why did every conversation with him feel as though I was accidentally being seduced in a library?
I dragged my tongue slowly across my bottom lip, considering him, the heaviness of his tone clashing with the almost ridiculous precision of how he spoke. I didn’t fully believe it, but I couldn’t deny that I liked hearing it.
“People mess up,” I said, folding my arms. “But I don’t hate easily. Unless you do something extremely stupid.”
He said nothing, simply watching me.
“But you have been suspiciously kind. Like,” I added, “too kind. So, Culver Scarbrough… are you someone I should trust?”
Asking that question while standing beside a motorcycle in the rain somehow felt like the beginning of a very bad decision.
He didn’t respond right away.
When he did, his voice was low. “I would not be the one to presume your judgment, but I will never be the source of your harm. That I know with certainty.”
Something about the certainty in his tone drew me in despite myself.
“You’re lucky you’re entertaining,” I said. “I guess, though… I don’t wanna feel like I’m using you, so please let me know if there is anything I can do.”
His smile spread slowly. “There is something you can do.”
I raised a brow, bracing myself.
“Where do you live?”
That was it?
“Third house on the right,” I said flatly, gesturing down the street.
He nodded and handed me the helmet. The scent found me again, warm and spiced, and before I could stop myself, I lifted it slightly closer. Whatever cologne he wore ought to have been illegal.
As the engine roared to life, he called over the sound, “It will not take us long.”
“Duh,” I muttered, assuming he couldn’t hear me.
“Feisty little lamb,” he replied anyway.
I stiffened, looking away. I was starting to think he genuinely enjoyed irritating me.
When the motorcycle moved, instinct took over before I could think it through.
My arms wrapped around his waist, pulling me flush against him.
Heat rushed to my face as I pressed my cheek against the helmet, letting his scent surround me again.
The wind tore through my hair while the world blurred into streaks of gray and green.
For a moment, everything narrowed to the steady vibration beneath me and the unmistakable awareness of his body just in front of mine.
His body was cool beneath my hands, the contrast sending a shiver through me and stirring something far more unsettling than I wanted to acknowledge. I tightened my grip, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, silently hoping he couldn’t feel how much his proximity affected me.
Too soon, we pulled into my driveway.
I dismounted quickly, tugging the helmet off and drawing in a breath, but it wasn’t the air that left me dizzy.
It was him.
“You appear to be mildly flushed,” he said, brushing his fingers along my cheek.
I froze.
He stepped closer, and my body leaned toward him before my mind could protest. When I opened my eyes, his green gaze was already there, close enough to make my pulse stumble.
“Oh, uh, yeah. I’m fine,” I lied, gently lowering his hand from my face.
The moment his skin left mine, an ache settled low in my chest. I instantly told myself not to let him touch me like that again unless I wanted to feel completely empty from the inside.
“I haven’t ridden on something like this in a couple of years,” I added, forcing a smile.
“You owned a motorcycle?” he asked.
“No, a dirt bike,” I said. “My Pa used to take me fishing. We’d race down the trails. I always lost, but I lost on purpose just so he could win.”
“That sounds… refreshing,” he said, and the softness in his voice made me wonder if he truly listened or if he was simply that skilled at sounding as though he did.
“Anyway, thanks for bringing me home,” I said, just as the front door creaked open behind us.
“Honey, who’s this?”
My mother’s voice cut through the moment, edged in a way that made me straighten instinctively. She leaned into the doorway with easy authority, her eyes sharp and curious as they moved between us with a quiet intuition that made me wish I could disappear.
“Oh, Ma,” I stammered, awkwardness creeping up my throat. “Didn’t think you’d be home yet. This is… well, this is Culver.”
Her gaze swept over him slowly, calm and unreadable, and for a moment, I felt as though I was standing trial, waiting on a verdict I hadn’t prepared for.
“Hi, Culver,” she said at last, stepping out onto the driveway with her arms loosely crossed.
“Hello, Mrs. Loshe,” he replied with effortless composure, offering his hand as though he’d been made for moments like this.
She took it, then tilted her head slightly, a slow smile forming. “Actually, Ira took her father’s surname. You can call me Taylor.”
“Ah, of course,” he corrected himself smoothly. “Taylor. I was just leaving. It would have been improper to let Ira walk home alone on her first day. I couldn’t allow that.”
“What a gentleman,” she murmured.
The words lingered, carrying something I couldn’t quite place. Her eyes remained fixed on his, and discomfort settled in my chest. It felt… too intimate.
Then he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles with old-fashioned grace, his gaze rising to meet hers slowly. “The pleasure is all mine,” he said, his voice smooth and warm.
My mother giggled.
I just stared, caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief.
Betrayal.
Instant betrayal from my own Ma.
“Anyway,” she said, her tone light as she stepped back toward the house, “you two finish up. I’ll be inside.”
“Alright, Ma,” I muttered as the door closed behind her, my pulse still unsettled.
Culver turned back to me, more serious now, his voice lowering. “You should dress for the weather tomorrow. You are shivering, and that flimsy jacket does little to keep you warm.”
“It’s all I’ve got right now,” I said, wrapping my arms around myself. “I’ll be fine.”
He didn’t believe me. I could see it in the way his gaze lingered, sharp and assessing, as though he were reading past what I said.
“It may be true that you own nothing warmer,” he said. “But that does not mean you are fine. I already have a solution, though.”
My brow furrowed as tension flickered through me. “What d’ya mean by that?”
“It is nothing you need to concern yourself with,” he replied, the evasive tone slipping neatly back into place.
“Why do you do that?” I snapped. “Why’re you so mysterious?”
Instead of answering, he laughed quietly and breathily, his expression softening into something fond. “You are rather eccentric. I fear I enjoy it a little too much.”
That sounded suspiciously like a polite way of calling me insane.
“A-Aren’t you supposed to be leaving?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, the word drawing out slightly. “It is best not to keep you out here in the cold. I shall see you tomorrow, little lamb. Until then… have a wonderful night.”
The engine roared to life, echoing through the space he left behind. I didn’t move right away, standing there long after his taillight disappeared into the evening. When the rain finally began to fall, soft and cold against my skin, it nudged me into motion.
I hurried toward the door, arms wrapped tightly around myself, but even once I was inside, warm and dry, his presence lingered stubbornly in my senses, refusing to leave.