10. Nikolai
10
NIKOLAI
I t’s been said that I have commitment issues, and I guess it’s a fair assessment. I’m the only one of my friends who doesn’t have any tattoos, was the one who was most hesitant about signing our first contract locking us in for three albums, and after seeing my parents fight my entire life, marriage never appealed to me. It took me years to buy my first home in LA because I didn’t know where I wanted to set down roots.
But it’s also been said that I’m impulsive, and don’t tend to think through my actions before executing them. And that would also be a fair judgment. I’m the one who anyone can call and ask to go do something and I say yes without even knowing the plan. I’ve purchased plane tickets with no other plans in place and figured it out as I touch down in a new country.
The latter has been amplified since the shooting, and the former has grown less and less scary to me.
Life is really fucking short.
Getting a tattoo I’ll eventually regret? Oh well.
Signing a contract? There will always be a loophole somewhere if you have a good enough lawyer.
Buying a house in the wrong location? Put it back on the market.
Marriage? If it’s with the right person…
So when Jane called me a few days ago and asked if she could stay at my house for a bit while she works with Arun to see if she can make a go of things out here, my answer was immediate.
“Yes. Of course you can,” I say, trying to hold back all the nerves that are currently blasting off in my stomach at the idea of her staying under my roof.
“You can take a bit to think it over. I’m not planning to fly out until Saturday.”
“No need.”
“Are you sure?”
“Jane, you’ve always been the one to take three to five business days to make a decision; not me.”
She laughs softly over the line and it dances over my skin like butterfly wings. “You’re right.”
“Say that again? I think the connection cut out.”
“You heard it once. I’m not repeating it again.”
Smiling, I gaze at the sunset bathing the hills in shades of gold and orange. “Text me your flight information and I’ll pick you up.”
“You don’t have ? —”
“I know I don’t have to. But I want to.”
“Thank you,” she whispers. “I really appreciate it. I don’t want to intrude on Walker and Scar now that they’re living together, and paying for a short-term lease or a hotel just isn’t really an option ? —”
“You don’t have to explain yourself. I’m happy to have you stay with me.”
“You sure?”
“Stop asking me that. My answer isn’t going to change.”
“Okay then. I’ll see you soon.”
Four words have never sounded so sweet.
And now here I am, currently being glared at by eyes that are my favorite shade of green as I lean against my bike.
“Where exactly is my luggage supposed to go?” Jane asks, sweeping an arm to the pile of bags sitting on the curb of LAX. Four full-size suitcases, one carry-on, and a tote bag that’s bursting at the seams.
My words are muffled by my helmet as I say, “I brought a car, too. Hendrik will follow us home.”
Jane glances at the black SUV that’s parked behind me, before crossing her arms and eyeing me again. “I’m not getting on that thing.”
I run my hand gently over the beautiful, chrome finish on the back of my bike. “Shh, don’t hurt her feelings.”
“Her?”
“Yeah.”
“Of course,” Jane mutters. Hendrik loads the last of Jane’s bags into the trunk of the SUV before sliding behind the wheel. She takes a small step toward the car.
“Nope,” I tut, stopping her in her tracks.
“Why can’t I just ride with him? You know, in an actual vehicle?”
I jerk my head at Hendrik, who nods once before pulling away from the curb and taking off. Jane’s mouth hangs open as he drives away and I smirk beneath my helmet.
“You—”
I grab the extra helmet I bought specifically for her and hold it out to her. “You’ll need this.”
She grabs it but makes no move to put it on. “What if someone sees us?”
A weak excuse, but I see where she’s going with it.
“Walker would just be pissed to know that I got you on my bike, not thinking anything past that. And as far as paps go,” I say, glancing around. “There’s a reason I’ve kept my helmet on this whole time, LJ. It’s not because I didn’t want to flash you your favorite smile of mine.”
She rolls her eyes and toys with the straps of the helmet.
“No one’s paying us any mind here right now, but they will if you make a scene. Do you want to make a scene?”
A tug in my gut hopes she does.
But it’s for the best when she sighs, relenting, and steps up to me. She pulls the helmet over her head and lifts her chin, exposing the straps to me.
She doesn't even need to ask.
I quickly secure it, ensuring it’s snug in place, but also teasing the bare skin of her throat with my gloves. Her breath hitches, and I grin.
“Good to go.”
Long, black waves spill from beneath her helmet, falling over her soft pink shirt and matching sweatpants. The fabric clings to her chest and stomach, and I resist the urge to grab a handful and tug her closer to me.
“Here.” I unzip my jacket and shrug it off, then hold it open for her and zip it up all the way to her chin.
“You can’t give me this. You need one, too.”
I glance at my white T-shirt and wave her off. “I’ll be careful.”
“Nik—”
I swing my leg over the bike and settle into the familiar seat. The leather is soft and broken-in from the years of use.
I was eighteen when I got my first bike, but I sold it only a few months later after I moved to LA. It didn’t feel right when I brought it there. Like a piece of what made it special was missing and I was too dumb at the time to realize what it was.
And as Jane slips behind me and wraps her arms around my waist, her front melting into my back with heat that has nothing to do with the warm, sunny day, it all feels right again.
Her fingers interlock against my abs, and I flex them slightly, not ashamed about wanting to show off a little bit.
“Don’t let go of me, remember?” I ask, craning my neck to look at her.
She squeezes her arms, and though her words are muffled by her helmet, I hear them loud and clear.
“I remember.”
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this!” Jane squeals in my ear, and I chuckle as I rev the engine. Her arms are in a viselike grip around my waist and her thick thighs squeeze my hips, bracketing me in with her warmth. I gently pat her knee and look over my shoulder at her.
“You’re not the only persuasive one.” I flick her visor down before she can respond, then do the same to mine, and take off down the street.
She yelps as we pick up speed, the bike purring beneath our thighs. The wind pushes against us like an invisible wall that we cut through easily as I weave us down the backroads that I frequent.
Fuck, I love the rush of this. The sense of danger as I round a bend and my bike tilts to the side, gravity trying to pull me down. But with Jane wrapped around me, I slow into the turns and take them gentler than I usually do.
Precious cargo and all.
The road ahead and surrounding fields are dark as the sun dips below the horizon. But that doesn’t stop the light sheen of sweat from coating my back beneath my jacket.
Jane’s hands burn through my jacket and her gloves, setting my skin on fire. I shift, everything feeling too tight, but it does nothing to alleviate the ache.
“You okay?” she yells.
I nod, not taking my eyes off the road. She’s a damn distraction, and if I turn to look at her, I won’t want to look away.
It feels right having her behind me. Having her weight lean into mine, her arms holding me tight, her scent mixing with the summer air.
Unable to resist, I let go of one of the handles on a straightaway and squeeze her thigh. She clenches them around me, and I smirk.
“You doing okay?” I return her question.
A brief pause, a shift of her body, and then a muffled, “Yep.”
It could be the wind, but I think she sounded a little breathless. A sweep of satisfaction whooshes through me that I can bring that out in her a second time now.
We continue riding for a few more minutes, before I sense her restlessness and get tired of stifling my own.
Slowing down, I pull us over in an empty parking lot and turn off the bike. The moment I get it in place, Jane jumps off and whips her helmet over her head. Large chunks of hair stick to her forehead, and she swipes them back before I have the chance to.
“That was amazing!” Her eyes sparkle with excitement in the orange light of the streetlight.
“Yeah?” I stand and stretch.
“I mean, terrifying, but I get why you like it. It’s like a scarier version of a roller coaster.”
I chuckle, and she playfully punches my shoulder.
Before she can pull away, I snatch her hand and pull her flush to me. She lets out a small gasp as her breath hitches. I brush my thumb over the bare skin between her jacket sleeve and glove, needing to get closer.
“Does that mean you want to go again?”
“Absolutely not. You can take me home but this was another one-and-done situation between us.”
Oh, she thinks so, huh? I haven’t been able to get her out of my head for the past two weeks.
Fucking hell.
I didn’t think I’d ever get another bike after I sold that first one. The craving for it never hit after I realized how lonely it was to ride by myself.
Rides with Jane ruined that sense of peace I had for myself before that first night I convinced her to go for a ride. And another night.
It turned into a weekly ritual for us.
She started to pack snacks for us and I’d drive us to parks outside the city. We’d get eaten alive by mosquitoes but neither complained because it was our little adventure together.
And when I lost her, riding was empty. It just served as a reminder of what I had fucked up and I hated it.
But after the shooting, that craving hit again. And sure, maybe I liked the painful reminder of Jane every time I straddled the seat and the wind hugged by back instead of her.
So I bought a new one and immediately posted a video of me weaving through LA traffic on social media.
I liked the attention, sure.
But there was one person's attention I was hoping I’d get.
And it did the job.
Jane had texted me only an hour after that video was posted, asking if I was trying to die and calling me an idiot. That text had been the first thing that had made me smile in the months of utter darkness I had been living in after witnessing something no one should ever have to.
Even though she was in a relationship at the time and I didn’t want to ruin that for her, I still wanted her attention. I wanted her to reach out. Wanted to know that she still cared.
That someone still cared.
And she did.
Just like I still do.