"A little. But I don't think it was the bike."
He laughed.
"Either way, I'm not complaining," I said.
"Are you sure? I could slow down." He paused. "The bike, at least. I'm not sure about the rest."
"I'm not even sure about the bike. You're pretty damned unstoppable either way."
"Mmm, maybe."
"Bring the bike."
--
I'll admit that I'd wondered if the excitement of that first bike ride had been more about the fact that I hadn't had sex in over a month. It wasn't. The rush was still there, in every way, and we made it about twenty miles before pulling off on another empty road for another lust-fueled pit stop. After that, I changed out of my skirt and into my jeans and Ricky made me wear a helmet--he'd brought an extra this time--and we headed onto the highway for the rest of the trip.
Ricky had warned that the cabin was rustic. It was also a bone-jarring five miles down a dirt road that tapered to a trail no car could breach. While our destination wasn't anything like the so-called cottages I'd visited growing up--million-dollar lakefront homes--it was surprisingly nice. A thousand or so square feet of log cabin with a massive deck. The deck did not overlook a lake, but there was a stream burbling past. And trees--lots and lots of trees--with no other dwellings in sight.
"Wow," I said, leaning on the railing, looking out into the endless green.
Ricky came up behind me. "It's okay?"
He wore the same expression he'd had after we first had sex, that uncertainty and doubt, his eyes anxious, hair still mussed from the helmet. It made him look deliciously vulnerable, and I pulled him over.
"Why wouldn't it be okay?" I asked.
"No lake," he said. "No swimming or boating. Definitely no jet-skiing."
"Not really my thing." I leaned back against the railing. "I like this. Completely quiet. Completely private."
A hint of a grin. "It is private. No need to worry about the neighbors."
"Not just that," I said. "It feels like . .
." I looked around and felt the calm of the forest slide over me. "Beyond peaceful. I'm pretty damned sure I can't get a cell or Internet signal. No need to check my phone. No need to feel like there's something else I should be doing. A complete break from everything and everybody."
"Except me."
"You don't count. You are the most low-maintenance guy I've ever dated, and this is the least demanding relationship."
"I do make demands."
"Sex would only be a demand if I didn't want the same, which is never a problem."
"I've noticed that." He slid his hands under my ass, shifting closer. "I'm glad you're okay with coming here." He looked out into the forest, and something glittered in his eyes, a hunger, a yearning. "I love this place. When I was a kid, my dad had to mark our weekends here on the calendar so I'd stop bugging him about when we were going. I still bugged, because it was never often enough. I'd spend hours out there, tramping through the woods. It was like Disney World for me."
"No place like it on earth?"
"Exactly. Even now, I come up here when I need a study break, and half the time I'm out there instead, walking around. It's like . . ." He struggled for the words. "Like recalibrating. After some time here, I'm ready to deal with all the shit in the regular world."
"I can understand that."
He nudged me back onto the railing, hands still cushioning my ass. "I've never brought anyone here before. Not a friend, not a girl. It's like . . . you have a place you love and then you bring someone, and they notice all the flaws and I feel like I'm being judged, too, for liking it. With you, I don't need to be anything. To do anything. I can just say 'this is me' and you seem happy with that."
"I'm very happy with that."
He looked me in the eyes, and that uncertainty flickered again, as if he wasn't sure I could be telling the truth. I pulled him into a kiss, but he resisted, leaning into my ear instead and whispering, "It's the same for me. I'm very, very happy."