Bad Boy Blues

While he’s in the air, he heaves his body up and basically stands on the footrest thingy and the girls in the crowd go wild.

Fucking show-off.

I can’t stop myself from running to the edge of the big, wide hole that I think is going to kill him tonight.

Jesus Christ.

It’s deep and it’s black. I don’t even know how far down it goes. Maybe to the center of the earth where all the fire is, where the quakes come from and shake the ground.

Every single person is watching him streak through the air like he’s a shooting star. A black, dark star that’s sucking off all my oxygen and making my heart beat and maybe even bleed.

All I know is that if he dies doing this stupid thing, I’ll somehow resurrect him, kiss the fuck out of him – yes, I’m going to kiss him, bite him and eat him up, only to kill him myself.

I’m biting down on my fists when it’s time for my dark star to come down. And come down he does.

On his downward arc, Zach sits back down on his bike and leans forward. Even though he’s too far away for me to notice these things, I still feel the muscles in his shoulders and back, even his biceps bunching up.

There’s an answering tightness in my muscles.

I want to scrunch my eyes closed but I can’t. I have to see this. I have to see him land.

As soon as his wheels touch the ground, I bite my lip. Hard. Until I feel the blood oozing out.

The dust flies off every which way and as if in slow motion, I see the tires bouncing with the impact.

Any second now, he’s going to fall. This is it.

My eyes fill with water and my head starts shaking.

But Zach’s still on his bike, blasting through. I see him put his foot down and dig it along the dirt until he spins the bike around and comes to an abrupt halt.

The crowd erupts in cheers but I’m too dumbstruck to even move.

Too dumbstruck to even loosen my fist or my body. I’m still a tight mass of nervousness and dread.

Zach’s seated on his bike like he’s some sort of prince. A dark, dark prince with his black leather jacket and huge boots planted on the ground.

I come unglued when he parks his bike on the side. A few people surround him, thump him on the back, shake his hand. He takes his helmet off and rolls his neck, running his fingers through the strands, and I take off.

I run around the wide gap, my Mary Janes stumbling through the dirt.

“Zach!” I call out his name when I reach the other side and he’s across from me, still standing among the group of people.

This time, he hears my voice and his eyes snap up to me.

He appears surprised, but slowly it leaches off and all that remains is his big frown and a pulsing on his jaw.

Oh please.

I’m mad at him too and I’m not going anywhere.

We stand there, staring at each other across the width of the hole he just jumped. The spotlight is glaring and I can see his sweat-soaked t-shirt. His jacket is gone – he probably took it off in the minute or so it took me to run across – and sweat is dripping down the side of his neck.

When Zach begins to move toward me, my breathing stutters. He’s striding over, strong thighs bulging in his jeans and his long legs eating up the distance.

Behind him, I see another biker making the jump and people are cheering all around us. But it doesn’t matter.

Not to me and definitely not to him.

He doesn’t even bat an eyelash or give any indication that he knows we’re in the middle of a crowd.

Zach needs to get to me.

I know it like I know that I wouldn’t be anywhere else but here, in this moment. I’d drive that car all over again and bust my knees and scrape my palms.

I’d do it all over again just so I could be stared at with his black eyes, stalked by his equally black intentions.

When he reaches me, I crane my neck to look at his sharp and stunning face. He’s breathing through his mouth, his chest swelling under the dust-covered t-shirt.

And the first thing out of my mouth is, “You idiot.”

Zach clamps his jaw at my words.

I want to call him all the rude names in the history of the world for scaring me like that but he shuts me up before I can even open my mouth.

He bends down and heaves me up in his arms.

Somehow, I knew he’d do that. I knew it. Manhandling me is his favorite pastime. Not that I’m mad about it.

I guess I need to touch him just as much.