Chapter 28
Deacon
“Seriously?” I eyed the molded plastic Willow held out to me the next day in the park. “A helmet?”
“When you ride a bike, you wear protection.” She thrust it at me again. “Those are the rules.”
“For children,” I said, grudgingly accepting it. I pointed at the lightning bolt on the side. “Wait.” I pulled it onto my head, feeling the snug fit. “Is this actually made for a child?”
She laughed, the sound reaching into my chest somehow just before she gave me a light shove. “No! It’s adult size, it’s just…” She giggled when I pointed to the lightning bolt again. “Peppy.”
I pointed to her knee pads, which were lime green and reminded me of the ones Margot Robbie and Ryan Gosling wore in the Barbie movie. “I’m not wearing those. Or the elbow pads. A man has to have a little pride.”
“A man is going to need Band-Aids,” she said, ignoring my jibes and squeezing the brakes on the ten-speed bike in front of her.
“Now, knee pads could have other, more fun uses…” I raised my eyebrows and earned another shove in the chest. “Fine,” I said, reluctantly fastening the helmet and picking my bike—well, Marcus’s bike I’d borrowed—off the ground. “How do we do this?”
She shrugged and straddled the bike seat, which we’d had to lower significantly from where Cruz had it. I tried not to watch her legs and how her thighs parted with the movement. “How did you learn when you were a kid?”
“I don’t remember,” I said. “I probably figured it out on my own—my parents worked a lot.” I set Marcus’s bike down and strode to her.
“C’mon. I’ll hold the seat to get you started,” I said, making a grab for the molded plastic and not so subtly stroking her butt, though I jumped back in time to avoid the next swat she sent my way.
“I do actually want to learn to ride. Don’t distract me.
” She gave me a cutting look that felt more like she was trying not to laugh.
The hot pink bike helmet pushed down on her forehead did little to enhance her intimidation tactics, and I lifted it up and back slightly for her, the tip of my pinky moving along the soft skin over her eyebrows.
When I slid a wayward curl out of her face, her expression softened. “I need you to be my drill sergeant.”
“Consider me your MTI,” I said, placing my hands firmly on her shoulders and catching her confused expression as if she was running through all the possibilities for the acronym.
“Military Training Instructor. Drill sergeants are for the Army, and you don’t want one of those guys when you have me.
” I squeezed her shoulders. “Eyes forward and grip the handles.” I watched her fingers tighten around the rubber, which I definitely didn’t find strangely erotic.
That bikes might be a new kink crossed my mind.
“Remember that you’re in control. If you lean, the bike leans.
If you move forward, the bike does as well. ”
“Got it,” she said resolutely, bouncing a bit on the seat. “But…you’ll still hold on, right?”
“Count on me,” I said, gripping the seat, but this time stopping myself from touching her, though I can’t say I didn’t let my gaze linger a little.
The seat was awkward to hold on to, and I realized a little too late I had no idea what I was doing, but that had never stopped me before.
“Place one foot on the pedal and then, when you’re ready, the other.
” Her body tensed as she balanced on the bike before slamming her feet back down.
“That is so weird,” she said, smiling over her shoulder. The park was mostly empty with a few walkers and a couple parents with strollers, so we mostly had the area of the path to ourselves. “It feels like I’m going to fall.”
“You’re right…” I tapped her neon-colored elbow pads. “Think you need more safety gear? Some Bubble Wrap?”
“You’re such a dick,” she said with a laugh, once again gripping the handlebars. “Let me try again.”
“This time, pedal forward.” I leaned closer to her ear.
“You’ve got this. It’ll probably feel natural to go slow, but if you go too slow, you’ll tip over, so keep going.
” She was focused on the path ahead of her but gave a sharp inhale when my breath grazed her ear.
I never claimed to be a saintly instructor. “Ready?”
She nodded and I patted her back, taking hold of the back of the bike, and she pushed on the pedals in earnest. “Faster,” I said, striding along beside her. “Ride like you want to make it hard for me.”
“You’re a pig,” she said over her shoulder as she sped up, the bike wobbling but staying upright.
“Oink, oink, baby.” She sped up, though, the bike wobbling less, and I moved into a jog behind her. “Low, you’re doing it.”
“I’m doing it!” she cheered for herself.
“I’m going to let go.”
“No!”
“Yes!”
“No!” She kept pedaling, maybe even faster. “I’m not ready yet. Don’t let go.” She wobbled forward along the path and then glanced back to see me waving both hands. “You let go!”
“A while ago.” I let her ride ahead of me, admiring the lines and curves of her body as she rode, and the way her cheeks looked from this angle as she smiled. “You’re a natural!” I called out down the path, earning a smile over her shoulder, before she veered into a bush.
“Shit!” I ran to Willow and helped her climb out of the bush, but she laughed and brushed a hand down her body.
“Good thing I was protected,” she said, tapping the elbow pads. “Never mock my safety precautions.”
She took my hand and stepped over a root sticking out of the ground.
“Can you help me get started again?” She beamed—from her smile to her bright eyes, her whole face lit up.
My heart lurched at the overwhelming sensation of being proud of her, excited for her, and I nodded, holding on to the back of the bike again.
“Let’s go.” I ran behind her for just a few moments this time before I let go.
She wobbled again at first, but then moved down the path at a steady speed.
“Stay out of the bush!” I called after her and thought about following it up with “That’s advice I never take myself,” but since a group of women who looked to be young mothers and their toddlers approached from the other direction, I kept my commentary to myself.
Willow slowly circled the small section of the park and pulled back around toward me.
“Now use the brakes,” I instructed, but jumped out of the way when she veered toward me without slowing down, only to pull into the grass.
She almost tipped over but caught herself in time.
“Stopping needs a little work,” she said with a huff when I approached. “That was kind of a fail.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but she held up a palm.
“Let me guess. Are you about to say, ‘Don’t stop, baby,’ or something equally sexual?”
I hadn’t even thought about it, actually.
“I was going to say you’re doing great.” I tried to picture the Willow from our first meeting—covering her face in embarrassment and trying to hide behind anything she could.
I’d liked her from the jump despite that, but this Willow…
I couldn’t take my eyes off her, and not because of her face or her body.
It was her posture—her shoulders were back and her smile was wide and she wasn’t hiding anything.
She moved like she was in charge of the ground beneath her feet, and I felt like I was witness to her blossoming.
“You’re amazing.” I held out my palm for a high five, and her hand connected with mine. “Again?”
“Yes.” Her palm lingered against mine for a moment, and she grinned, that kind of determined grin I noticed she got when she was tackling things on her list. “Let’s go again.”