Page 39 of All Your Firsts

“Then why do I have one on?”

“Because if you’re dead, you can’t be punished. Now, hold on,” he yells back to me as the rumble of the engine comes to life.

Did he just say punished?

“My patience is wearing thin,” he says.

“Where?” I blurt.

He grabs my hands and wraps them around his waist, but I remove them quickly.

“If you don’t, you’ll fall off.”

When I don’t comply, he revs the engine, the roar of power filling the air before he speeds off, leaving me gripping his waist. I’m so terrified that I keep my eyes closed the entire ride.

Rush would totally give me shit for not enjoying the moment. The thought of him leaves me feeling confused. I don’t even know if I should write him back. Shit, he barely wrote me. Do I just forgive him for dropping me?

As soon as we get home, I attempt to jump off the bike to get away from Vic, but my boot catches on the seat, and I fall to my hands and knees hard.

Despite being known as a graceful, poised dancer, I’ve been clumsy as hell lately.

I wince and suck in a breath as I survey my stinging bloody palms that took the brunt of the fall. Vic drops to his knees in front of me, and his noticeably bigger, warmer hands grasp mine.

“Shit. You okay?”

“Fine,” I say even though I want the ground to open up and swallow me whole. The pain is nothing compared to the embarrassment. I try to pull my hands away, but he holds them tighter and shakes his head.

“Let’s get you inside, and I’ll patch you up.”

Before I can object, he picks me up and cradles me against his hard chest as he walks inside.

“I said I’m fine.”

“And I said I’ll patch you up.” He carries me through the house and into his room before depositing me on his bathroom counter.He rummages through the vanity and comes back up with a first-aid kit and a smirk on his face.

“What?”

“Your helmet.”

“Oh.” I raise my hands, but he swats them away, his hands wasting no time in removing the strap. “I didn’t know you had a bike.”

“I got my first bike ten years ago. I wasn’t even old enough to ride yet, but one of the older members, Razor, gave it to me as a present. It was a fucking rust bucket,” he says with a spark of nostalgia in his eyes. He looks completely different, and I pause to admire the change. “But once I finally got it running, the feeling of the wind and freedom was incredible.”

“That was nice of him. You guys must be close.”

“Were. He died a few years back,” he says as he clears his throat. “Let me see.”

I grimace as I hold both hands, palm side up, for him to inspect. Small pieces of gravel and debris are stuck to the dried rust-brown blood. Vic takes a piece of gauze and wets it under the faucet.

“This might hurt a little.” He grabs my hand and rubs the wound gently with the gauze before moving on to the other palm. I’m surprised by his tender touch. It’s unexpected.

“Ouch,” I hiss as he pulls out a small piece of gravel.

He dips his head and blows on the wound while rubbing the side of my wrist with his thumb. The tender touch makes my heart travel to my throat and close like a vise. Why is he being so sweet all of a sudden?

“Sorry.I’m almost done.”

I keep quiet, unsure of what to say. Not wanting to lose this side of him.

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