Chapter 15 Keep My Girl Safe
Fifteen. Keep my girl safe
Tamara
“Grab a jacket,” he says, following me down the hallway to our bedrooms.
“I live in Chennai. I’ve never owned a jacket.”
I own blazers, but I’m not wearing that on a bike ride. They’re dry cleaned and hanging in their garment bags. Besides, it’s evening and I don’t think I’d mind the cooler air brushing against my skin. He returns with a hoodie and tosses it to me.
“It’ll match your new T-shirt.”
I snort at his silliness, but lay the hoodie on my bed and finish getting ready.
I untie my hair and smooth it down the best I can, then twist it back into a bun.
I straighten out the shirt I’m wearing—stolen from his pile of freshly washed clothes.
I’ve always been a fan of oversized tees and in this heat, it’s the perfect outfit.
I didn’t intend to grab his, but the minute I tugged it on, I refused to take it off.
Even after a wash, Patrick’s leather and cedar scent clings to the cotton.
I pull on my sneakers and then lift the hoodie to my face, inhaling the scent of the man driving me insane.
I turn it over and pause when I see white text on the back:
Property of Patrick. Return immediately.
I run my fingers over the words, jumping when a deep voice says, “Feel free to wear it every time you go out. So people know.”
Swallowing back a whimper at his proximity and warmth, I wait until he moves to look at him. He’s still grinning as he tugs a thin shirt over his black tee, every muscle in his body flexing. My mouth goes dry and my pussy throbs. Why is this so erotic?
“Mop up your drool, Lo, we don’t have time for you to climb me right now.”
“Fuck off,” I grumble and grab my things as he laughs. At the front door, I pull the hoodie and my bag on. We step outside and I pause when he hands me a helmet. “Where did this come from?”
“Picked it up today.”
“For me?”
He nods and locks the door, pocketing the house keys. “Gotta keep my girl safe.”
I’ve never been called someone’s anything before, my heart somersaults.
After my conversation with the girls, I’ve decided to be a little less prickly.
He’s here to help me and I’d be a fool not to make the most of it.
Whatever Patrick was to me in the past, I have to leave it there.
Sure, these feelings will keep popping up inconveniently, but I don’t have to hold it against him.
It is absolutely his fault I feel this level of rage towards him, but I can’t bring myself to talk about it.
Reliving those summers is hard enough, talking about it? I might break.
The only problem is I don’t know how to find the middle ground with Patrick.
His hand lands on my back as we walk to the lifts and my body hums. Downstairs, he gently tugs on my pinkie and electricity sparks up my arm as he leads me to where his bike is parked beside my car.
When he rolls the machine out, I squeeze my thighs together.
I’m very aware all my reactions to him are physical, but this was on purpose.
If I let my body lead the way, then my head and heart don’t get involved.
And I don’t get hurt in the process. Dr. Sunita would not approve of my methods, but it’s the best I can do.
Loving Patrick would be the easiest thing in the world, as would him breaking my heart again.
In the thirst traps the guys ride sports bikes with a higher back seat so the women have to cling to them.
They call their partners backpacks. Patrick’s ride is different.
Completely black, the engine has a simple, but stylish, Royal Enfield logo.
It’s sleek, beautiful, and dare I say sexy.
When you add this infuriatingly attractive man to the equation, it’s even better.
He’s rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and tied a yellow bandana around his face, but his light brown eyes find mine anyway.
Then he swings one leg over the machine effortlessly and I almost come on the spot.
Do. Not. Climb. Him.
“We can take your car, if you’re not ready yet,” he says, clearly sensing my turmoil. Little does he know it’s not nerves, it’s him.
I shake my head. “Soon I’ll be too big and uncomfortable to get on the bike, so might as well do it while I can.”
“If you’re sure.” I nod and Patrick grabs the front of my hoodie to tug me forward. He takes the helmet and carefully slides it on. It’s snug and I grunt when it presses against the sides of my head. “Yeah, it might be tight at first, think of it like a new pair of shoes.”
“Breaking in a helmet sounds kinda contradictory.”
He raps his knuckles against the front and shakes his head. “I love your sassy mouth. Now swing your leg over the bike and sit. You can decide which side works best for you. Hold my shoulders for support if you need it.”
I nod and my head feels like it might fall off with the new weight attached to it.
I try to remember how he climbed on, but all my brain can show me is the way his ass flexed and how his thick thighs look in those pants.
I stand on the left and raise my right leg, but she doesn’t cooperate.
So I shuffle around to the other side and lift my left leg, which does the same shaky dance of not knowing where to go.
“Come on, Lo. Time’s a wastin’.”
“Trick,” I whine and he chuckles. He doesn’t tease, just takes off his helmet and dismounts.
“May I touch you?” I nod and he brings me around to the left side, then steps behind me, his hands on my hips. “You’re not doing karate, Lo, raise it like a dog would to pee.”
“I don’t know what that means!”
He laughs and smooths a hand over my thigh as I lift my leg. All of a sudden, I’m sitting on the bike, no memory whatsoever of how it happened. I stare at him and he has the audacity to wink, the top of his cheeks not covered by the bandana lifting slightly. Damn him!
“You good?”
“I hate you.”
“So you’ve said.” He pulls his helmet back on and straddles the bike effortlessly. “Scoot forward and hold onto me.”
“Do I have to?”
“Don’t act like you don’t want your hands all over me.”
I sigh dramatically and slide forward, grabbing the sides of his shirt. But Patrick’s hands hook under my knees and tug me until my chest is plastered to his back.
“You could have just said you wanted me to rub up against you, Trick.”
“There’s nothing I want more, baby. I’ll take this for now.”
I should have rejected the flirting, because it’s getting out of hand. My body responds and if she had a voice, she’d be cursing me right now. I want to jump him at every smirk and teasing comment.
A loud rumble startles me, but it’s the vibration that really catches me off guard.
I press my lips together to hide my moan as the bike rolls forward.
My arms tighten around his waist and I close my eyes as he shoots forward.
The impact hollows my stomach and I suck in a large gulp of air as it settles slowly.
Then I ease into it and turn my head to watch as the city blurs past me.
His gloved hand slides over mine and I smile, feeling safe and good for the first time in a really long time.
When the calendar notification popped up on my phone this morning, I had a moment of panic.
Which is ridiculous because I’ve been waiting for this day since I told Patrick about the baby.
I made the mistake of looking up what happens at the first trimester scan to find out what to expect and the results scared the shit out of me.
I spiralled and barely managed to get through the day.
Which then led to fifteen minutes of crying at work.
When I got home, Patrick wasn’t there, so I settled for ice cream and more crying instead.
Now we’re on a bike ride to somewhere I haven’t figured out yet.
So Patrick wants to distract me. He’s been doing this a lot.
Distracting me, of course, but also taking care of me.
I’ve been nothing but mean to him and he responds with kindness.
Making sure I eat breakfast, preparing my tea the way I like, keeping the flat clean, organising our lives in neat little boxes on the new calendar.
He’s causing havoc on my repressed feelings.
My eyes fly open when the bike comes to a stop and the rumbling ceases.
He taps my knees and I slide back before climbing off the bike, using his shoulders for support.
When I take off the helmet, I smile at the warm ocean air.
The sun went down hours ago, but the humidity hangs in the air, weighing everything down.
Including me. And it weirdly comforts me.
“You okay?”
I nod and freeze when I turn. Patrick’s taken off the plaid shirt and his T-shirt hugs his torso and biceps so beautifully, like it was made for this one job.
The bandana is loose around his neck and when his eyes meet mine, I don’t look away and he smiles.
Down, girl. I hand him my helmet and then struggle out of the hoodie.
He helps me take it off and folds it into his bag.
Tossing it over his shoulder, he says, “Wanna go for a walk?”
I nod. “Then I’ll take you to my favourite place.”
He smiles and holds out a hand I reach for without a second thought.
Our fingers link, palms pressed together and the safety I felt on his motorcycle?
I feel it all over again. We cross the road and step onto the promenade.
Families and young people sit on either side, soaking up the light ocean breeze.
I’ve always liked Elliot’s Beach1, even though it’s too far from home for me to make regular trips.
When I was growing up, it wasn’t this clean and people talked about the beach in hushed tones.
Over the years the government and eco-friendly groups cleaned up the garbage and turned it into a destination for anyone visiting the city.
Memories of being here with my girls a year ago make me smile and I turn to tell Patrick, but the words get stuck in my throat.
The asshole has his cap flipped around and his beautiful face is on display.
“Would you rather fight an elephant sized mosquito or a million mosquito sized elephants?”
I’m caught off guard by the question and I snort. “Why mosquitoes?”
“They’re the fucking worst.”
“I don’t think there’s a right answer. Both sound terrifying.”
He laughs and tugs me close as kids run towards us. “Would you rather live in a hot city with the beach close by or a cooler place with mountains for a view?”
“Oh. Good one. I do prefer the beach, so can I get a cooler place with a beach?”
“You’re not good at this game.”
I chuckle. “Hot city with the beach. I mean, I already live here and I love it, so let’s stick with what I know. What about you?”
“Beach, any day. Would you rather your fingers were made of sausages or bread rolls?”
“What are these questions? Bread rolls,” I reply and then groan. “Can they be both?”
“Nope. I’ll pick sausages, so we can share.”
This is what I mean; he takes care of me. Yes, he’s flirting, but he’s always thinking of me. I wonder if he weighs everything he says or if it’s spur of the moment. Either way, he’s making it impossible to ignore my feelings. Even though I’m trying very hard.
“Are you still deathly afraid of octopuses?”
He looks at me with wide eyes. “Yes! They have multiple arms and they squirt ink that can blind you. It’s a double whammy of danger.”
I laugh at his dramatics. At camp, when we weren’t staring at clouds, we were discussing things that we loved or scared us. There’s a pinch in my chest because I miss those kids. I miss who we once were.
“You still think jellyfish are pretty, don’t you?”
“Obviously,” I reply and hitch up the side of my T-shirt to show him the watercolour jellyfish tattoo. His eyes widen even further and his fingers brush against the ink before he’s tugging the cotton down to cover me up.
“That’s what it is.” The words are said softly as he holds my shirt down. “Don’t get me in trouble, Lo.”
I blush. I didn’t do it with the intention of almost flashing everyone. “Favourite fruit?”
“Hasn’t changed,” he answers and it takes me a few minutes to remember he was obsessed with my watermelon chapstick during the summers.
Every morning on our way to breakfast, he’d press his lips to mine for a taste.
His mouth would have a slight sheen to it through the day and when he ran out, he’d hunt me down for another smooch.
“Is green still your favourite colour?” he asks, snapping me out of my trip down memory lane.
“Don’t have a favourite anymore. If it looks good on me, I like it.”
“Everything looks good on you, Lo.”
“True, but some colours are better,” I counter and nudge him gently. “Did you finally pick a favourite movie?”
“Fuck no,” he says with a laugh, pulling me close again. This time to avoid a couple totally oblivious to how much space they’re taking up on the pavement. I’m tempted to step on their extended feet, but Patrick tugs me forward too fast.
“What about the movies I recommended?”
“Some were good. I dunno if any of them could be considered a favourite.”
“For shame, Trick.”
He drapes an arm over my shoulder. “You can introduce me to new ones now.”
My arm slides around his waist and despite every brain cell telling me it’s a bad idea, I lean into him as we walk.
“Why don’t you have social media?”
“I had Facebook for a bit, but didn’t see the need for people to be in my business all the time.”
“Now the world is on Instagram.”
He shrugs. “Not my world. And besides, I don’t understand half the things people say online anymore.”
“You’re such an old man.”
“Whatever. Nihal keeps me updated on the goings-on.”
I gasp. “The captain of the Indian team? He’s hot.”
“Don’t you even…”
I laugh and squeeze his side. “Don’t worry, Trick. One hockey player at a time is all I can handle.”
“You’re going to destroy me before this kid is even born.”