He arches a quizzical eyebrow at me. Is it possible he rides a bike because he loves it, and not because he knows how sexy it makes him? I take the helmet, all notions of wrecked hair vanishing, and cross the duffel over one shoulder. I stick it behind us, get on, and scoot as close as I can get. His six-pack middle is hard under my arms.
“Sure you got a good enough grip?” he asks and laughs, his stomach tightening underneath me.
“Oh.” I ease up. “Am I hurting you?”
“Just the opposite, babe.” He checks for traffic before pulling away from the curb. I squeeze him again, this time out of fear of being flung off the side. He whips down the center divider line, weaving between cars. I’ve never moved this quickly through the city, even in the absence of traffic. I get a thrill from the way the skyscrapers blur together, from the wind whipping around us, from the edge of danger he rides along.
“You good?” he calls over his shoulder.
“Great,” I say into his ear, slipping my hands under his shirt. His stomach is warm. It’s hard to tell with the bike vibrating underneath us, but I think he shudders.
We pass through Lincoln Tunnel and shoot back into the night. An ache forms in my ass, but it’s nothing compared to enduring twenty minutes of stimulation while curled around a sexy man. But once we’re out of the city, and then the outskirts, traffic falls away. Aside from the growl of the bike, we make our way down the freeway in silence. The ride is no less exciting, but somehow peaceful.
Andrew exits the freeway toward Elizabeth, and eventually we enter a quiet, tree-lined neighborhood. He stops at a colonial-style white house with a lawn so well kept, it’s richly green, even in the dark. There’s a mailbox and a blue front door—nothing out of the ordinary, but surprisingly traditional. And nothing like I’d imagined.
I climb off, stretching the stiffness from my legs. “This is your place?” I ask.
“This is it.” He nods me toward him, unclips the helmet strap from under my chin, and eases it off my head.
“Is it a mess?” I ask when he smooths his hand over my hair.
“Yes. Just how I love it.” He leans in and surprises me with a kiss. “Is that okay?” he asks.
I nod. “It’s good.”
“Just good?” he asks. “Is good great? Is it unsure? Can you be more specific?”
I’m not sure I can describe how it feels to kiss Andrew again when I didn’t think I’d get another chance. “You know when you’ve been searching for years for a pair of leather boots in a very specific color, like Merlot red or Chestnut brown, and finally, Louboutin comes out with a pair that exceeds your wildest dreams? And you go to the store and ask for your size, and they actually have them, and you slip one on . . .” I sigh.
Andrew rolls his lips together. “You lost me at that L-word.”
I scrunch my nose. “What, Louboutin?”
We stare at each other. “Okay,” I say, trying again. “Let’s say the boots are a pair of jeans and the brand is Levi’s.”
He slow-blinks at me. “You think I’ve ever gone into a store and asked for a specific pair of hard-to-find jeans and then been elated that they had them . . .?”
I roll my eyes. “Okay. Then how about the feeling when you buy a car part and it clicks perfectly.”
“Ah.” He nods. “Sure. I get it.”
He may be indulging me. “That feeling. It’s just . . . right, you know?”
“Right,” he repeats, slipping his hand under my hair, around my neck. “Well, that’s better than good by a mile.”
I grin. “Yes, it is.”
“How are you doing? Earlier—that was a lot to handle.”
“It was, but—”
“But nothing,” he interrupts. “It was a lot, Amelia. You must’ve been scared.”
I relax my shoulders a little as he begins to knead my neck. I have to stop my eyes from rolling back into my head, and as my muscles loosen, my resistance follows suit. “It was unnerving. I expected you, so when he walked in the door so nonchalantly—”
“You thought it was me? Holy shit. I didn’t even think of that.”
“At first. It’s supposed to be a safe space, a home, but it wasn’t in that moment.”
“And it won’t be ever again,” he points out. “Not after this. We’ll find a new place next week. You can stay with me until then. You won’t have to spend another night there if I have my way.”
My instinct is to protest, to say I’m fine. Fear is weakness, and I’ve always tried to beat it into submission. But it seems Andrew and I have both learned a lot about fear these past few weeks. I nod. “I would like that.”
“I’ve been in your position,” he says. “When Shana left, I was scared she’d come back. I was scared she wouldn’t. I thought that being afraid meant I was a pussy, but looking back, I’m just human. There’s bravery in facing fear when it’s easier to bury it.”
Andrew is one of the most intelligent, empathetic people I’ve known, and I never would’ve guessed just meeting him like I did. “I was terrified,” I admit. “He held me in place and wouldn’t let go. I panicked.”
Andrew’s nostrils flare with an inhale. “Fuck, Amelia. He restrained you? Thank God I showed up when I did.”
“But I remembered when you and I worked through that fear,” I tell him, “and the thing is . . . I was able to calm down. I think that confused him. He thought I’d be more afraid.”
A spark flashes in his eyes, as if he’s trying not to react. He studies me until his breathing evens out. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. If anything, you saved me before you even showed up.”
He pulls me to him by my neck and kisses my cheek. He smells like a blend of light sweat and soap, as if he were mid-shower when he’d suddenly decided to hurry to my apartment. “Let’s go inside,” he says. “I could stay here and kiss you until the sun comes up, but . . .” He glances toward the house. “If Bell heard the bike, she might come to the window thinking I’m home. And I don’t want her to see us like this. Not until I have a chance to talk to her about it.”
I step back quickly. “Of course. I should’ve thought of that.”
“It’s fine,” he says, holding out his hand for mine. “I’m going to talk to her. I want her to understand.”
I let him lead me up the sidewalk. “I’d just like to point out that we have her permission,” I tease. “She sang us the k-i-s-s-i-n-g song, after all.”
He smirks. “She doesn’t have a clue what she means. She kept talking about kissing, and it was pissing me off.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because she’s too young for that.”
I twist my lips. I’m not so old that I can’t remember being a young girl, curious about sex. I don’t remember thinking about it at her age, but Bell has been through a lot for her seven years. Not having a mother around might be confusing for her, especially if she’s picked up on the other moms or teachers trying to get to Andrew through her. “Maybe she’s just confused, Andrew. I don’t think punishing her would help.”
“It doesn’t. And you’re right, she’s confused as hell. It’s been a weird week of trying to work through it.” He glances back. “Look at you with your maternal instincts.”
To my surprise, I blush a little. I don’t admit to being insecure about much, but motherhood is intimidating to say the least. The fact that I’m open to even wanting it speaks volumes.
“I had to have a talk with her the other night,” he says, releasing my hand to unlock the door. “We got into stuff I’d been avoiding. It was beginning to feel—well, unavoidable.”
“Like what?” I ask as he leads me inside.
“Her mom.”
Instinctively, my heart clenches. I know how hard it is for Andrew to talk about Shana with adults—but Bell? At the same time, I can?
?t fathom what Bell must be thinking. “How did it go?” I ask hesitantly, unsure if he’s open to discussing it.
“It wasn’t easy. But nothing ever is where Shana’s concerned.”
“How’d Bell react?”
He pauses in the entryway and glances down at me, as if he’s debating how to respond. Or if he should. I realize with a painful pang that he doesn’t want to tell me, even after all this. I’ve tried to pry him open before, but I only get so deep before he closes back up. Either he doesn’t trust me, or he’s still trying to preserve some part of himself.
Before either of us can speak, an elderly woman comes out of the kitchen. “Andrew, honey,” she says, “I was worried when I got Pico’s call to bring Bell here. Is everything all right?” Her gaze stops on me.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I had a hell of a night, and I had to run into the city to get Amelia.”
“Ohh,” she says, nodding. She offers her hand with a knowing smile. “The city. Then I guess that would make you the city girl.”
“The city girl . . .?” I take her hand as a slow, uncertain smile spreads across my face. I hope she hasn’t just embarrassed him by mentioning some girl from his past. I am a city girl, but Andrew hasn’t even opened up to Sadie about us. “Um, I’m not—I don’t think he’s talking about—”
“She is,” Andrew says, seemingly amused by my mumbling. “This is her. Amelia, meet Flora. How’d Bell do tonight?”
“Fine, fine.” Flora doesn’t spare Andrew a glance as she puts her other hand over mine. “It is so, so lovely to meet you. We all adore Andrew and want to see him happy.”
Andrew glares at her. “Flora. Maybe you’re jumping the gun a bit?”
She releases me and picks up a sweater off the back of the couch. She places it over her shoulders. “I hope not, dear. I really hope not.”
“I’m staying in the guest room,” I blurt. They both look at me, and my cheeks burn. “It’s just—” I start. “I don’t want you to think . . . with Bell, I’m not trying to—”
Flora chuckles. “Stay wherever you like,” she says. “Personally, I think it’s a waste to dirty two sets of sheets.” She leans in toward me. “If you only knew what I’d give up to spend a night next to a man like this.”