Beautiful dark hair sways back and forth. Gone is Quinn’s beanie, and I hate that I’m seeing him without it for the first time under the cloak of darkness and overhead street lights.
“Quinn, you scared me.” I hesitantly step forward.
“Sorry about that. I expected you to come out back.”
“You were waiting for me?” My voice rises at the end of my statement or is it a question. I’m not exactly sure. The only thing I know is that I’m surprised and relieved.
He nods, puts the kickstand down, gets off his bike, and walks a few steps closing the gap between us. My tongue feels heavy in my mouth as I look up at him. He has to be over six feet tall to my barely five-foot five height. His eyes, the ones that have captivated me from the first time I had a good chance to look into them, bear down on me. I could get lost in the sea of blue he carries with him. However, it’s his hair that I can’t take my eyes off. I’ve only seen it covered by the knit cap he wears, and I find myself wanting to run my fingers through it, to feel the silky strands touch my skin. It’d be so easy, to just fall at his feet, but that’s not me.
I stand tall and square my shoulders while keeping one hand on my bag. This makes him smile and I’m right back to where I was, willing to fall to the ground and beg him for attention.
“Would you like a ride home?”
Leaning to the side, I glance at the bike again. I’ve never been on a motorcycle, and honestly, it’s not on my priority list. But this is Quinn, and something tells me if I say no, he’ll take it to heart and the offer to get a ride home from him will never come my way again.
“I have an extra helmet, and I’ll go slow.”
Slow? What if I want it hard and fast? The fantasy I had about Quinn and me, plays in my mind. All I can see is me pushed up against the wall with him between my—
“Nola!” Quinn yells my name.
My hand immediately covers my face in embarrassment. I can’t believe I was thinking about him and me when he’s standing right in front of me.
“If you’re unsure about the bike, I can call us an Uber or Lyft, whichever you prefer.”
I shake my head. “The bike is fine. I’m sorry, I was just thinking.”
He leans down and whispers, “Good thoughts, I hope.”
Oh boy, you have no idea. Thankfully, those thoughts stay inside my mind and don’t come flowing out of my mouth. Quinn reaches for my hand and pulls me behind him. I really want to press pause on everything that’s happening right now because this guy is holding my hand, although, in hindsight, it probably means nothing.
Except, it means everything to me.
Quinn hands me the helmet, and when I struggle to put it on, he’s there to help. Every time his hand brushes against my skin, goose bumps rise and send a cold chill over my body. The last time I felt like this was… well never, if I’m being honest. I’ve never had the all-consuming anxiety I feel right now. I want to scream, dance, jump for joy, sit in the corner and ask myself why this is happening to me, and then launch myself into his arms so I can kiss him.
Stop, I tell myself. This is nothing more than a ride home.
Then why does it feel like more?
“I’m going to get on first, then you can use my shoulder to steady yourself and swing your leg over, okay?”
“Okay,” I reply. He moves, as if he’s in slow motion, swinging his leg over his bike. He looks at me and nods, my cue that it’s my turn to do the same. Setting my hand on his leather jacket, I heave my leg over the side and hop until I’m seated dead center.
“Comfy?”
“Sure,” I tell him. I don’t know what to do with my hands. As much as I’d love to wrap them around his waist, no. I’m not that bold.
Quinn puts his helmet on and starts the bike. I had it in my mind that he’d have to do that awkward jumpy thing with one leg, but no. This guy, who performs in a coffee shop, can afford one of those fancy push start bikes.
He revs the engine and I’m done for. The vibration between my legs… I don’t know if I’m going to be able to make it home before… oh, thank God he can’t hear me moaning. I’ve never been happier to wear a helmet than I am right now.
He walks the bike to the stop sign, he turns and yells, “You might want to hang on.”
Right, okay. But to what?
The bike lurches forward, and I grab the sides of his jacket. Where’s the “oh shit grip” when I need one? It takes me a few minutes to grow accustomed to riding, but once I do, the exhilaration I feel is indescribable. I want to take my helmet off, to feel the wind in my hair and against my cheeks, but I don’t dare.
He drives us down the Sunset Strip, which is alive and happening. People line up for miles, waiting to get into their favorite club, and parties spill out onto the streets. This is why I wanted to be here, to experience this different way of life.