Chapter Nineteen #2
Vi winced. “I’m stuck on the south road out of town. I don’t know what’s wrong.”
There was the sound of someone muttering in the background.
“Yeah yeah, shut up, Heath. I won’t drop your damn scones,” Nick said in a hushed whisper. Then his voice came back, clear and strong as Vi fought down a valiant flock of butterflies in her stomach:
“I’ll be there in twenty.”
* * *
Seventeen minutes later, Nick showed up on his motorcycle. He parked around the side of the car and pulled off his helmet, shaking his hair out into its usual messy wreck.
Vi chewed her cheek to stop herself from smiling too hard. He had taken her volunteering shift at the food bank today. She would recognize Heath’s mutter anywhere.
“Busy day?” she asked innocently.
Nick shrugged. “Nope! Beer and motorcycle tinkering. You know how it is.”
He wasn’t even going to tell her, Vi realized. She wasn’t imagining things: He liked her. He had to. Nobody was that nice for no reason. Especially not Nick Wicker, who hadn’t lifted a finger to help anybody until Vi came into his life.
“Let’s see the damage,” Nick announced, flexing his arm muscles. He was wearing another tank top, the panther on his arm gleaming in the midday sun. His jeans were tattered, thick green thighs showing through the rips.
Vi dragged her gaze away from the exposed skin and led him around the front, where the hood was still propped up. “It just started making noises and then stopped.”
“What kind of noises?”
Vi considered. “A . . . splutter?”
He shook his head. “I’m gonna need you to replicate it.”
Vi glared at him. Nick’s mouth twitched, then flattened out into some semblance of seriousness.
“If you want me to get this thing working again . . .” he started.
Vi cut him off with a horrible spluttering sound, making sure it was extra guttural.
Nick grinned. “There we go. Okay, we know that sound. Let’s get in there.”
Let’s, Vi thought. Like she was going to be any help.
He braced his hands on the edge of the hood and peered in. “Anything been going wrong recently? Fuel issues? Trouble starting the car? Has the check-engine light come on?”
“I mean . . .” Vi said. “That light has been on, yes. But it’s been on since I got the car eight years ago. The guy who sold it to me said it was a quirk.”
“Hear that, baby?” Nick said, stroking a hand down the headlight. “You’re quirky. And it won’t start at all?”
“No,” Vi said. She tightened her hair ribbon, telling herself she wasn’t affected in the least by hearing him call the car baby, just like he called her that sometimes when he was about to come.
Nick leaned farther into the engine, peering close. “Probably for the best. I’m betting your spark plug is broken. Driving with that could make your car blow up.”
“What?”
“But you didn’t, so you’re fine!” Nick flashed her another grin, pushing himself up. “This baby’s not going anywhere without a tow. My guys are off today for Duncan’s kid’s birthday party, but I can get them to grab the truck after they cut the cake. Hope you didn’t need that car before tonight.”
“I need to be back by one,” Vi admitted. “I’m helping Suze with her kid’s birthday party.”
“Everybody’s kids are having birthday parties this weekend,” Nick said.
He flicked the hood strut down and pulled the hood down along with it.
“What brings you out here anyway? Collecting pine cones to hang in the bookshop? Feeding local wildlife? Wait—don’t tell me.
You ferreted out my secret baked goods place and you’re on your way to gorge yourself on brownies. ”
He leaned against the car, cocking his hip.
Vi made sure not to look at his tiny, bitable waist. But then she started looking at his arms, which were folded loosely across his wide chest. That was almost worse.
Especially knowing that he’d come from the food bank, which he still hadn’t brought up.
Was he really not going to say anything?
“I was just . . . driving around,” she said.
His thick brows lifted. She hadn’t realized how shifty that sounded until she said it.
“Just . . . driving around,” he repeated. He pointed down at her jeans. “What’s with the pants?”
“I own pants,” Vi defended. “I just don’t wear them much.”
Nick waited. The panther on his arm flexed.
“I already ruined one skirt today,” Vi explained. “I didn’t want to ruin another one when a grade schooler spills cake on it.”
He nodded, gaze lingering on her legs. At first, Vi thought he was checking her out.
Which he was, a little bit—she could see the heat in his eyes—but then he looked up at her face with this knowing smirk, and Vi froze in the middle of tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
He looked at her like he saw her. Like he knew exactly what she’d been doing on these back roads, music blasting, going as far over the speed limit as she dared.
He pushed off the hood and headed for his motorcycle. “Well! Driving back into town takes, what, ten minutes? Then another ten to Suze’s place. She lives over by the pool, right?”
“Right,” Vi said, following him over. “Thank you for this. I really—”
He plucked the motorcycle helmet off the handlebars and pushed it into her hands.
“That gives us ten minutes to teach you how to ride a motorcycle,” he told her.
Vi stared at the helmet in her hands, then at him. He was still smiling, but it wasn’t that shit-eating grin he’d been throwing at her for years. This was the smaller, more guarded smile she’d only glimpsed in the past few weeks.
“What?” he asked. “Too much? Want to stick to your poky bike?”
“My bike isn’t poky,” Vi said. “It’s classic.”
“It’s cute,” Nick allowed, twisting the motorcycle key in the ignition. “But it doesn’t have horsepower.”
He revved the engine. The sound echoed around the trees, loud and sharp, making Vi jump. Not from fear, she was surprised to notice. The idea of speeding around with the wind in her face was shockingly appealing. Stupid and dangerous, sure. But what a rush.
Nick twisted his rings around his fingers. The motorcycle idled between them.
“Or I can drop you off early,” Nick said. “Just thought you might need some . . . stress relief.”
His mouth twisted wryly. Vi wanted to bite it.
She reached up and untied the ribbon from her hair, shaking it out around her shoulders. Vi felt oddly proud as Nick’s blink rate increased, his smile going slack around his fangs as she took a step toward him.
“Stress relief,” she repeated. “Nick Wicker, that almost sounded like a come-on.”
“Uhhh . . .” Nick glanced around them at the empty road. “It could be. Do you want it to be?”
Vi leaned over the motorcycle. His breath caught.
Vi grinned, slinging one leg over the bike.
“Oookay,” he said, blinking hard as she slid the helmet on. “Right. So . . .”
He picked up her hand and folded it around the handlebars.
“Throttle,” he said. “Brake. Clutch is over here.”
His calloused fingers curled over hers, pressing against the levers. He didn’t look at her as he explained how to use the throttle. Vi took the opportunity to enjoy the strong slope of his jaw, his light stubble. His hands were huge and warm. She could feel his pulse in his wrist, beating hard.
Vi felt herself smile. He’d been inside her two days ago, and now he was getting nervous over touching her hands. What world had she landed in?
Then, all of a sudden, his warmth was gone. Nick stepped away.
“You got it?”
Vi nodded. “Throttle, brake, clutch. Pull clutch in, then go.”
“Slowly.”
Vi gave him a look. “Nick Wicker telling a girl to go slow?”
“If you roll up to that birthday party with skin hanging off your legs, you’re gonna give a lot of kids nightmares.” He made a face, like he hadn’t meant to bring up mangled leg skin, and stepped back. “Anyway, go wild. Slowly.”
“Got it.” Vi rested her hands over the handlebars, feeling the clutch. She waited for her fingers to shake. They were still rock steady as she twisted the throttle toward her, the motorcycle jerking forward.
Vi shrieked. Nick choked on a laugh.
“Good,” he said when she looked up. “Really good. Now—”
Vi twisted the throttle. The motorcycle rolled farther, off the dirt and onto the road.
“Oookay,” Nick said behind her. “So, you’re gonna want to—”
Vi twisted harder. The cool wind picked up, blowing the hair that was trailing underneath the helmet.
She didn’t go far. Just until she could barely hear Nick’s yells for her to come back. Then she turned around—a slow, clumsy U-turn that made her shriek again—and headed back toward her useless car.
Nick stood in the middle of the road, hands on his hips.
“Well, shit,” he said as she rolled to a shaky stop in front of him. “Want to drive us back? Pull some sick wheelies?”
She laughed. “Sure!”
He motioned at the seat. “Alright, daredevil, move over.”
She shifted back. He slung a leg over the seat, careful not to kick her by accident. Then he slid into place in front of her. She stared at the line of his spine under his shirt, the bare skin of his neck as he twisted to look at her.
“Ready?”
She put her arms around his waist and nodded.
He nodded back, a beat too late. She imagined his heartbeat, fast and growing faster.
“Cool,” he said, voice feeble. Then he cleared his throat, and it went back to normal. “Let’s rock this shit.”