Page 3 of The Overdue Kiss

I blink in surprise. Half the time my co-workers forget this sleepy town is nestled in the mountains only fifteen minutes away.

“Work.” I jab my thumb behind me at the bookmobile. “But I’m also visiting a good friend.”

“Who? I might know them.”

“Oh, I don’t think you will.”

He laughs and leans against his bike, crossing his feet at the ankles. “Try me.”

I raise a brow at his confidence. Even if it is a small town, my college roommate only moved there at the end of last school year to be a substitute teacher for a lady who left on maternity leave. She loved the cozy mountain town so much that she jumped at the school’s full-time offer. Based on our last conversation, most of her apartment is still littered with moving boxes.

“Julia Peterson,” I say as if one would say “checkmate.”

His eyelashes flutter as he thinks. Just as I’m about to gloat, he springs off the motorcycle in surprise. “The new teacher, Julia?” His eyes flick to the bus and back to me. “Are you the librarian everyone’s been whispering about? The one coming to spruce up our library? We sure could use it.”

Guilt plows into me like a Mack truck. “I—uh—yes. How did you know?”

“Small town... word travels fast whether you like it or not.” He grins another smile that has me taking another step away from him. What else does this stranger know about me?

And why am I getting all flustered?

“Ready?” he asks, gesturing to the motorcycle.

I eye the bike with mistrust, especially the tiny spot that looks like the rear seat. “I’ve never been on one of those before. I’m not sure I’ll fit.”

I pat my hip in case he hasn’t noticed. I’m not some model-thin girl you see on the backs of these things in leather or booty shorts. My body curves in all the right places. Yes, it makes clothes shopping a pain, which is why I settle on skirts or dresses more often than not. But when I do find a nice pair of jeans or leggings that fit me, I’ve been known to turn a few heads.

“Oh, you’ll fit just fine.”

His silver eyes darken the longer he stares at me, and I shiver at the intensity. I never understood the phrase “eyes darken” in all the books I’ve read before, but seeing it in person, it suddenly makes sense. Andwow, I get it.

I take another step back, bumping into the bus. “Let me lock this up before we leave.” Not that I think someone would steal a bus with kid handprints painted on the side, but I need to shake some sense into myself.

Almost eight months of not dating has turned me into a giggling schoolgirl when someone shows me a sprinkle of interest. Climbing into the bus, I eye myself in the overhead mirror as I pass and point to my reflection, sending my book earrings swinging. “Don’t turn this into a romance novel, Maya. He’s just giving you a ride to town. Ignore the butterflies.” I nod, like I’m a sane person who doesn’t talk to herself, and grab my purse and useless phone and lock up the bus door.

As I approach, he picks up a second helmet that was strapped to his seat and hands it to me. “If you ride with me, you have to wear one of these.”

“You just happen to carry an extra one?”

“Not usually, but, uh...” He trails off, his cheeks reddening. “The why doesn’t matter. What’s important is that you wear it and probably my jacket too. You have way too much skin showing.”

My spine stiffens.Too much skin?I’ve worn this sundress to church a time or two. Since when is showing my arms and neck a crime?

Unaware of my inner turmoil, he unzips his leather jacket, shrugs it off, and holds it open for me.

I shake my head, my neck heating. “No, thanks. I’m fine with what I’m wearing.”

“It feels that way now, but it will be colder once we get moving. Plus, it’s for safety. If we get into an accident, there is zero protection between you and the road.”

Oh. For my protection.My argument dissolves on my tongue, leaving me with a sour residue of assumption. Of course he is talking about safety and not my body.

Quickly I agree before I wedge a foot in my mouth.

He slides the soft leather over my shoulders, the interior still warm and smelling like musky aftershave.

“Here. These too,” he adds and hands me a bulky set of gloves. They’re oversized on my small hands. I open and close my fists awkwardly.

“How do you ride with all this on? I’m overheating.”

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