Her face falls. “Shit, I’m sorry. Are you sure you want to get to know me? I can’t imagine what you know of me so far is all that amazing.”
“So far, the little bit I know about you is enough to make me curious. And I imagine, once you actually let me in, it’s only going to lead to me wanting to know even more.”
Her lashes flutter, and her caramel-colored eyes meet mine. “You sure you’re not a poetry major? Because you definitely know how to spit out some beautiful words.”
I snort out a laugh. “I’m not usually this romantic,” I admit. “Actually, I’m pretty rusty in that department. But you seem to bring it out in me.” I swing my leg over the side of my bike. “Now, how about you throw your purse into the saddlebag, put my helmet on, and we go for a ride, so I can romance you into agreeing to spend your life with me?”
This time, instead of freaking the hell out at my antics, she laughs. After doing as I said, she hops onto the bike behind me and snakes her arms around my waist, pressing her soft breasts into my back.
“All right, Romeo, I’m ready to be romanced.”
“Doesn’t he commit suicide at the end of that play?”
“Yep, they both did. Isn’t that how romance goes, though? You either live happily ever after or you crash and burn.”
I take off out of the parking lot, and Sierra’s grip on me tightens. This bike was my brother Keith’s. He had it custom made and left it to me in his will. At first, after he died, I didn’t want to touch it, but after I got my shit together, I figured what better way to remember him than to ride the one thing he loved. Until now, I’ve never had a woman on the back of the bike, and I can’t help but feel like maybe there was a reason for that. Because the way Sierra’s body fits against mine, it’s as if she was made for riding on the back.
I take us the long way through town, enjoying the cool breeze and her holding me tightly. A couple of times, I glance back and find her eyes bright, glancing around, her brown hair whipping around her face. In all the times I’ve gone into The Orange Sunrise, I’ve never seen her look as carefree as she does on the back of my bike.
When we pull up to a coffee shop my mom loves and frequents, Sierra yells over the engine that she loves this place. I turn off the bike, and she hops off. I watch as she pulls the helmet off and shakes her hair out, and I swear to God no woman has ever looked so goddamn beautiful. With her face flush from the cool air and her hair windblown, she’s a fucking wet dream.
“What?” she asks when she catches me staring. “Is my hair a mess?”
“It’s perfect.” I swing my leg over the side and stalk toward her. “You’re perfect.” I cup her cheek with my palm, needing to touch her yet wishing I could kiss her.
“You barely know me,” she mutters, not realizing that even though she’s tried to put a wall up, I’ve spent the past several days slowly chipping away at it, breaking away every bit I can get my hands on.
“I know you have a sister and a nephew who mean the world to you. You would do anything for them, including working too many hours at a restaurant you don’t love and that doesn’t appreciate you. You have dreams to one day own your own restaurant, but right now, your goal is to help your sister get through college because you feel you owe her that much. Your parents aren’t around, and you don’t like talking about them. You prefer vanilla cake over chocolate, which is crazy since chocolate blows vanilla away… You love Cherry Coke and french fries with cheese. You had a rough go of it in high school, and you’re trying to make up for it in your twenties. Your favorite color is pink and—”
“I never told you my favorite color!”
“No, but it’s obvious. You’ve come to work with your nails painted three different colors, and all of them were shades of pink. The necklace you wear every day has a pink heart on it, and your cell phone case is glittery and pink.”
“Holy shit!” She shakes her head, eyeing me speculatively. “I can’t believe you got all of that out of me. You really are a therapist in training.”
“No,” I say through a laugh. “I’m a man interested in a woman, which means I listen and pay attention.”
Her features soften slightly. “There you go again with all that poetry.”
“C’mon, beautiful.” I take her hand in mine, loving the way my hand engulfs hers. “Let me buy you a cup of coffee and convince you to let me take you out.”