Chapter 6 #2
Easy to say but much harder to actually accomplish when he squeezes my hand and steadies the bike for me like a true gentleman.
I swing my leg up and over the seat, settling in behind him while trying to keep some space between us.
He glances back at me. “Do you know how to ride on one of these?”
Offering an incredulous look, I laugh. “Do you really have to ask that?”
Another cocky grin spreads across his face, and he motions toward one of his saddle bags. “There’s another helmet in there.”
I reach in and snag it, releasing my braids from the bun so I can settle it on my head.
He pulls his back on and glances over his shoulder at me, his eyes swimming with so much promise that the stupid feeling I’m trying so hard to fight flutters in my chest. “You better hang on.”
Shit.
I didn’t think this through all the way.
It’s been years since I rode on the back of a bike instead of driving it myself, and having to press my entire body to his is a very bad idea.
But it’s too late to chicken out now.
If I did, Gage would know why, and I refuse to give him that satisfaction.
I shift forward until the cradle of my hips presses against his ass, my thighs alongside his, and wrap my arms around him.
Flattening my palms on his chest, I have to fight the urge to dig my nails into him.
Hard, taut muscle lives beneath the leather, and images of him sweat-slickened in the ring with Atlas flash through my head so vividly that I instantly regret my decision to accept this invitation.
The way he moved…
How those corded muscles bunched and flexed so fluidly…
Each swing and jab perfectly timed and accentuating his perfect physique…
Heat pools where my hips press against him, and when he fires up the engine, the low rumbling vibration beneath us does nothing to help convince me that getting on this man’s bike was anything but a very big mistake.
He tears out of the parking lot and onto the street, the roar of his acceleration filling the early evening air.
The powerful, deep, resonant growl of the motor somehow soothes some of the regret I’m feeling about my current position.
It’s far better than the alternative.
Silence always makes me nervous.
Like the whole world is holding a collective breath and waiting for something.
As we weave through the streets, making our way across town, the sound and vibration help relax away some of the tension I had when I arrived at the club.
But a new source of it sits directly in front of me.
Where is he taking us?
A thousand different possibilities float through my head the farther and farther we move from the club, but when we turn onto City Park Avenue, my breath catches.
City Park?
With the sun going down and darkness starting to descend, people are filing out, done utilizing one of the best public spaces in all of New Orleans.
Somewhere I haven’t been in ages.
Mom and Dad used to bring us out here to feed the ducks and walk the trails, but it’s been years since I’ve set foot in the park. Since I’ve taken any time to enjoy anything, really.
That regret tightens my chest as Gage pulls the bike into a parking spot and shuts off the engine, holding out a hand for me to grab to climb off.
The same shiver of awareness ripples through me at the skin contact, and his grip lingers a few extra seconds after my feet are on solid ground, making it impossible to look at him without heat spreading across my cheeks and between my legs.
What is it about this man that puts me so on edge?
That question rattles around my head as he removes his helmet and shakes out his hair, the blond locks flying around his face, then holds out his hand for mine. I unbuckle it and pass it over to him, and he opens his saddle bag on one side, puts mine back in, then sets his on the seat.
“What are we doing at the park?”
He fights a grin as he climbs easily from the bike and opens his other saddle bag. “You’ll see…”
God, I really hate surprises…
Anything unknown ties my stomach in knots, especially now. Yet, it isn’t just that fluttering there. There’s the anticipation of what else might happen. The hope that I’m wrong to suspect ulterior motives.
He pulls out a black bag that conceals whatever’s inside of it, and I narrow my eyes on him.
“Have I mentioned I really hate surprises?”
His grin spreads as he turns to face me and invades my personal space, backing me into the bike. “You have, but I think that’s something you’re going to have to get over.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I love them, and I like seeing you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Not in control.”
I gape at him.
“You’re a control freak, Bishop.” He offers me a smug look that I instantly want to wipe off his pretty face. “I don’t think anyone would fight me on that fact. And sometimes, you just have to let go.”
Just have to let go?
He says it as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. Maybe for him it is. With his smooth, affable disposition, quick smile, and calm demeanor, Gage doesn’t seem the least bit aware of the dangers I live my life trying to build up defenses for.
I shake my head. “That’s never going to happen. When I’m not in control…”
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I suck in a sharp breath, not finishing that statement.
The last thing I want to do is acknowledge that he’s right.
He already has an inflated ego, and conceding that I am a control freak and can’t stand not being the one commanding the ship would only make him more unbearably smug.
But as he narrows his eyes on me, there’s a tenderness to his voice that wasn’t there a moment ago. “When you’re not in control what?”
Along with the change in his tone, his gaze shifts from playful and soft to a darker, more intent assessment that makes me squirm.
This man sees far too much, and despite all the reasons I shouldn’t trust him, the sincerity with which he looks at me now, the genuine concern in his eyes is enough to make me want to answer.
“People get hurt, okay?”
Not just any people.
My people.
The sympathy in his gaze breaks me, cracking my chest wide open, and I have to look away, off toward the vast expanse of green grass and shimmering water of the lake in City Park beyond it so he doesn’t see the unshed tears I’m willing away.
* * *
GAGE
Hell…
I’ve never seen Bishop like this.
She may have been rattled when she found me at the gym, but now, she’s shaken.
Seeing her like this almost makes me regret teasing her about it.
Almost.
But the truth is, Bishop is a control freak. She needs to manage and direct everything around her because she believes that’s the only way to keep people safe.
And I know that feeling. I understand it…and how dangerous it can be.
I give her a moment to collect herself, allowing silence to linger between us until I can’t bear to see her suffer alone anymore. Tentatively, I reach down and slide my hand into hers, squeezing it gently before I tug. “Let’s go.”
She releases a long, relieved-sounding breath at being given a reprieve and lets me lead her into the park.
It’s different at night.
Calmer.
Even more serene.
Without people picnicking, riding bikes, throwing Frisbees, rowing boats across the water, the beauty of the place in the quickly fading light takes center stage.
Which is exactly why I chose here.
Bishop needs some serenity. Some calm. A break from all the tension that she always carries.
We make our way toward Langles Bridge in silence as the sun continues to dip lower into the horizon, extending the long shadows of the massive trees.
I finally pause at a grassy area tucked behind one of the large old oaks.
Bishop glances around us. “Here?”
Nodding, I hold up the bag I pulled from my bike. “I brought us a picnic.”
A bark of laughter bubbles up from her chest, completely natural and unexpected, as if she’s releasing panic she’s been holding onto since she climbed onto my bike. “A picnic?”
I reach into the bag and pull out a checkered blanket. She watches me carefully as I set down the bag on the grass and spread out our seating area. “Go in there and pull everything out.”
Bishop pulls her bottom lip under her teeth, worrying it for a moment before she snags the bag and reaches inside it. She pulls out the bottle of Pinot Noir and raises a dark brow. “Wine?”
I grin as she goes into it again and comes out with a French baguette and a container of cubed cheese.
She laughs lightly, the sound so unusual from her that I genuinely take a moment to enjoy the ease of it. “You’re serious?”
Settling on the blanket, I cross my booted ankles and lean back on my hands to stare up at her. “As a heart attack.”
Bishop glances around the darkening park, then down at me. “Why?”
I pat the blanket beside me. “Because it looked like you needed a break.”
That brief second of unguardedness I got from her slips away instantly, replaced by her typical defensive look of mistrust. “I don’t.”
I keep my gaze locked on hers, hoping she won’t turn and run when I speak this truth. “You really, really do.” Holding out a hand, I curl my fingers in invitation. “Join me.”
The moment of hesitation is enough for me to hold my breath, but she eventually steps forward and slides her palm into mine, allowing me to tug her down.
She settles next to me on the blanket, but she doesn’t relax.
I’m starting to wonder if it’s even possible for her to anymore—or if she ever really did at any point in her life.
Her spine stays rigid, her body tense, as if she’s ready to bolt at any moment.
And she might be.
The look she gave me in the Hawkeye Club parking lot when I rode in should have made me turn right around, and I almost did.
But then I got close enough to see the exhaustion on her face.
The dark circles under her eyes. How frayed she looked.
As if she hasn’t slept in days. And I knew I was right in my assessments of her.
Bishop will forgo taking care of herself and her needs in order to ensure everyone else has theirs met, in order to secure the safety of those she loves.