Page 17 of Love is Blind

I glance down at the paper, then lift my eyes back to her.

“Got it.”

“Birdie’s going through something.” She pauses and shakes her head. “I don’t know what it is, but I haven’t heard from her in months and now, suddenly, she’s here.”

I shove the piece of paper inside my pocket.

Whatever cross Birdie’s carrying ain’t my business. I’m just a guy she met in a bar. The man who is about to rock her fucking world for one night.

“She’ll be fine,” I tell her.

~*~

Instead of sufferingthrough Emmy’s interrogation, I should’ve been worrying about how I was gonna get Birdie on the back of my bike.

“You ever ride before?” I ask, reaching for the lone helmet that dangles from the handlebars.

“You’re gonna have to be a little bit more specific.”

I glance over my shoulder at her, taking in the smirk that toys on her lips. Girl is flirty as fuck and quick with the wit. I’m just not sure if it comes naturally to her or if it’s something she’s taught herself. A defense mechanism she uses to mask her own pain. Strong or not, we all got one.

“A motorcycle,” I clip.

“Nope.” She leans forward, that grin widening. “You’re popping my cherry tonight.”

I bite the inside of my cheek.

“So long as it’s the only cherry of yours I’m poppin’ tonight, I’m good with that.” I turn around fully and close the distance between us. Smoothing her hair away from her face, I place the helmet on top of her head.

“Oh, so if I told you I was a virgin, this would be over before it started?”

My eyes lower to hers.

“Nothing is gonna derail what I have planned for you, but if you were a virgin, I’d have to be gentle.”

“And you are not a gentle lover, are you?”

I secure the chinstrap on the helmet and knock my knuckles against the top of it.

“Not even a little.”

She licks her lips and grins.

“I like it rough.”

“Darlin’ your definition of rough and mine are two different things. Now, quit yapping so we can get the fuck out of here and get on with it.”

Tagging her hand, I pull her toward my bike. I release her hand only long enough so that I can straddle the Harley, then I place it back on my shoulder.

“Keep your hand here and lean into me as you throw your leg over,” I instruct.

Curling her fingers into my shoulder, she throws her leg over and lowers herself down onto the seat behind me.

“Good, there are two pegs, one on each side.” I bend over the side of the bike and twist my torso. My hand closes around her rainboot, lifting it and guiding it to where the peg is. “There, keep both feet on the pegs. You move, you’ll burn yourself on the exhaust.”

Or at the very least melt her fucking rainboots.

“Feet on the pegs, got it.”

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