She smiled slowly in appreciation, her mouth curling up at the sides and her eyes squinting into the sun. Her head bobbed slowly up and down on her neck. A silent yes. “I’d probably pick this over any car on this street.” She stood back and admired it. “Solid black,” she said. I nodded, intrigued. “Nice,” she simply added.
“You think so? I plan on fixing her up when I get the time and, of course, the money. She’s been good to me, though,” I said, patting the handlebars. “She’s pretty much all I have in this world.” Harper looked at me as if in pity or maybe it was understanding. I really hoped it was understanding because if a girl that beautiful pitied me, I didn’t think I could stand it. “Hop on,” I said. She straddled the back of the leather seat and slid her duffel across her chest to sit behind her. “Uh, you might want to, uh,” I said awkwardly, struggling with how to ask her to push her hair back so I could fit my helmet on her.
Instead, I set the helmet on the seat between her legs and brazenly ran my fingers through her hair. It flowed off her shoulders and settled onto her back. The scent of her shampoo bombarded me one more time and I swayed slightly at the assault but regained my stance. I grabbed the helmet off her lap and fit it onto her head. She giggled at the awkward familiarity of it.
“Sorry,” I said. “But I wouldn’t dream of putting you on the back of my bike without this.”
“It’s alright,” she said, but paused. “Why? Are you an unsafe driver?”
"No, uh, my parents died in a car accident when I was four,” I said matter-of-factly.
"Oh, I'm so sorry.” She had the decency to look sincere. That was pretty refreshing, actually.
"It's alright," I sighed, shrugging my shoulders. "I barely remember them."
"I don't know anything about mine," she said, studying her feet, then realized what she was doing. "Harper Bailey," she said cheerfully, holding out her hand, revealing a dimpled grin.
I buckled the clasp around her delicate chin, resting my hands on the top of the helmet playfully. "My name is Callum Tate and I’m going to take care of you, Harper Bailey."
Her extended hand dropped into her lap. Her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open. "Wh...what did you say?"
Shit. Was that was too forward? "I'm sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “I'm Callum Tate. It's a pleasure to meet you, Harper Bailey." I grabbed her thin hand and a shot of warmth crept up my veins and shocked my heart into a frenzy.
The smile that had so quickly faded before came back with a vengeance. She squeezed my hand in greeting and whispered, "It's very nice to meet you, Callum."
I climbed on to the front part of the seat and started the engine. Harper settled her hands on the side of my ribs and I couldn't think of anything I wanted more than her arms wound tight against my chest. Suddenly, I couldn't get on the road fast enough.
Harper
I think Callum Tate can read minds. It's either that or there was something seriously strange going on between the two of us.
He started the motor and pulled the bike up on its wheels, lifting it off its stand and balanced our combined weight effortlessly.
He turned slightly to face me, exposing a flirtatious off-kilter grin, “You might want to hang on.”
My stomach flipped in circles as I tightened my hands around his chest and I could feel his heart beat furiously against my palm which only served to make mine race faster.
“You okay?” He asked over the purr of the motor.
More than okay. “Yeah,” I try to say as coolly as possible.
He revs the motor before placing his left hand over mine. “Hold on tight,” he said as if I’d ever let go. As if I could ever let go.
Heat coursed through my arm and when he removes his hand, I felt a lacking I’d never known I could possess.
The wind whipped my hair behind me as I breathed in the warm summer air, letting it fill my lungs. With each breath he took, his chest expanded tightly against my stomach and hands and I can do nothing to stifle the tingling electricity that came with each one, sending my heart into violent trembles.
The Hope House is nothing like I thought it would be because it was worse, which is incredible as I expected awful. The building, though old and beautiful in architecture, was dark and extremely dirty, lines of sickly, equally filthy people huddled against the frame of the structure waiting and desperate to hear they have a place to rest their own heads in a cot for the night rather than the alternative and that was more than likely a cardboard box or a bench. I heard three gunshots go off as well as a woman’s screams but the hundreds queued paid no heed, obviously accustomed to the harrowing sounds.
“Hold on,” he said loudly before popping the curb and settling the bike near a lamp post.
He swung his leg over the seat and unbuckled the strap to my helmet before lifting it from my head. He grinned mischievously.
“My hair is stuck to my head at weird angles, isn’t it?” I asked, a blush already descending upon my cheeks.
He studied me carefully before bursting out laughing. “Maybe,” he teased. “Here,” he said, smoothing out the unruly mess. The contact he makes with my skin gives me an involuntary shudder. “Are you cold?” He asked, raising one eyebrow.
“Uh, no, just...just got a glimpse at where we were and gotta’ admit, I’m a bit un-enthused but beggars can’t be choosers, right?”