Biker's Virgin

That didn’t mean we couldn’t at least talk, though. I checked the time and picked up my phone. I'd need to get ready for class. I dialed his number anyway. But it went straight to voicemail. I didn't bother leaving him a message. Instead, I shot him a text message and then put my phone in my bag as I headed to the bathroom to get ready for the day. I figured he was probably on the road and he'd see the message and reply when he stopped.

Still, when I came out of the bathroom, I checked my phone to check if he'd replied. I shook my head at my behavior and looked myself in the mirror. “Stop it, Brooke. Just because the sex was amazing doesn’t mean you should stalk the guy. You know better.”

I nodded at myself as if I understood and walked away. After last night, I needed food.

***

It was almost six o'clock in the evening when I finally got home. I was tired, cranky, more than a little hungry, and there still had been no word from Emerson. At first, I'd chalked it up to him being on the road. It’s hard enough to drive a car and text, it was impossible to do that on a motorcycle and I didn’t expect or want him to. But he surely had to have reached his destination by that time and would have seen the message waiting for him on his phone. I had tried calling a couple more times, but it always went straight to voicemail.

In my head, I started going through all the possible reasons he wasn’t answering or texting back. Perhaps he was feeling too emotional to talk to anyone, especially considering how worried he had been about the surgery scheduled for the following day. Maybe he’d been in an accident. Maybe his battery had died and he just hadn’t gotten around to charging it.

Then, there was the possibility he could be ignoring me deliberately.

That thought sent flushes of uncomfortable heat prickling along my skin. What if my initial suspicions about him had been right all along? What if he'd been acting like a caring, decent guy just so he could get me into bed?

Of course, the way he had made love to me had been entirely unlike the way a self-centered, egotistical player would have done it. Or, at least, I didn’t think that would be the case. Not that I had a lot of experience with the sort. It was, however, getting harder and harder to keep the doubts from slipping in. Then, naturally, the memories of what Andrew had done to me started clawing their way back into my mind.

I plopped down on the couch, heat bubbling through me like acid. What was going on? Could my worst fears about this situation really be the reality of it?

I picked up the phone and tried to dial one more time.

Straight to voicemail, yet again.

I was just about to lose it when Leslie walked in the front door. She knew I'd been getting closer to Emerson and that he'd made me dinner the previous night. What she didn't know was that he had stayed the night. I debated briefly whether I should tell her about it or not. I decided not to. Not yet. Not until I had a better idea of what was going on.

“Hey, Bee,” she said as she walked into the living room. “How was your day?”

“Uh, it was a day,” I replied.

She stared at me with her head tilted for a few moments. “Something’s not right with you. What's the matter?” she asked.

“Um, I've just got a headache,” I lied. “I've been going all day and don't think I had enough water to drink.”

“Oh, well I think there's Gatorade in the fridge. You should have some. Electrolytes will help you rehydrate.”

“Yeah, good idea,” I replied. “What about you? How was your day?” I added quickly, trying to shift her attention away from me.

“Oh, probably like yours,” she said with a sigh. “A million things to get done and not nearly enough time to do 'em all. And, this week is gonna be hell, too. I've got so many tests, I think my head's gonna explode. Seriously, I'm about to go crazy. I'm gonna have to spend every damn night this week studying late. And if that jerk next door makes a single peep, I swear I'm gonna rip his steroid-filled head off.”

I chuckled nervously. “Let's hope he doesn't,” I said.

“Maybe you should tell Emerson to pass the message on to his not-so-considerate buddy. Ya know, so I don't have to go over there and tear things up when that fool makes a racket.”

“I can't,” I announced. Immediately, I felt as if I'd said too much.

“Huh? Why not?”

“He's away until tomorrow night. He had to go see his dad. He’s having some pretty major surgery tomorrow.”

“Oh, wow, alright. Well, I hope his dad ends up being okay.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

“Well, like I said, lots of studying to get done. Drink some Gatorade to rehydrate; you look a little pale. Then, hopefully, your headache will go away. And eat something.”

“Yes, Mom,” I teased.

Leslie smiled. “I'll be in my room with my head buried in these books for the rest of the night if you need me.”