Page 42 of That One Night
Dammit, he could see that from the way her body was trembling. “Listen, I’m gonna climb on the back,” he told her. “I’ll be right behind you. You’ve got this.”
He feel her body relax as he climbed on to ride pillion behind her. He had to get close, his chest pressed tight against her back, so he could cover her hands with his.
“I’m gonna kick the stand away. Then we’re gonna turn the clutch and you’ll press your left foot on the pedal to go into first gear. Once we’ve done that, you’ll hear the engine change and we’re gonna turn the throttle. Okay?”
She nodded and he kicked the stand, keeping them steady with his feet on the ground. He softly covered her clutch hand with his, turning it as she pressed her left foot down.
The engine immediately engaged. “Turn the throttle softly,” he told her. “Once the bike moves, you put your feet on the rests.” He covered her right hand with his, slowly twisting it. Her back was stiff against him, her knuckles bleached white from holding the throttle so tight. The bike jolted forward, and she letout a soft yelp. He kept his hand steady on hers as it jumped forward again, slowly turning it more, until the bike was moving smoothly, his body caging hers as they went.
“Hendrix Hartson, don’t you let go,” she screamed at him. He could hear the fear in her voice.
It made him want to hold her tighter.
“I’m here, sweetheart. I’m not letting go.” He squeezed her hands. “But we’re gonna need to brake. You ready for it?”
“No!”
He started to laugh again. Damn, he liked this woman way too much. “Squeeze the brake,” he told her. “Softly.”
“I hate this,” she cried out, but she still did as she was told. A little too hard, actually. She started to yell as they lost speed too quickly, making them skid. He took control of the handlebars, riding into it, feeling the bike turn as their speed dissipated, her body cradled by his as the wheels kicked up dirt.
And when they finally came to a stop, he could hear the way her breath was rapid and out of control.
He kicked the stand down, Emery caged between his arms. He was still holding her hands as her body slumped back against his.
“I hate motorcycles,” she muttered, her helmet hard against his chest.
“That’s a shame, because we need to turn around and ride back now.”
“I’m not riding anywhere. I’ll walk.”
He threaded his fingers into hers, squeezing them. “You’ve got this,” he told her. “It’ll be easier this time. And then you can mark another thing off your list.”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.” He was still grinning. “Now, I’m going to turn us around, then we’ll try again.”
It was almost midnight and she couldn’t sleep. Adrenaline was still coursing through her, despite it being hours since her bike lesson. Her mom was home now. Emery could hear the soft hum of the television coming from her bedroom. Another thing they shared – an inability to sleep.
Not that she cared right now. She was too busy feeling like she could conquer the world, thanks to Hendrix. He’d spent almost an hour with her, teaching her to ride, before she’d heard the rumbling in his stomach and realized he hadn’t eaten dinner yet. So he’d gone back to his house and she’d strode happily back to her place, feeling like a new Emery. A badass motorcycle-riding first grade teacher with a tattoo on her ankle.
She couldn’t wait to tell Maisie that she’d ticked another item off the list. But she’d do that tomorrow. Her mom’s bedroom was too close for her to get away with that discussion right now.
Rolling onto her side, she pulled out the white t-shirt that was still under her pillow. There was no excuse for it to still be there. She’d changed the bedding more than once since the skinny dipping incident. Yet each time, she’d tucked it back where it had come from because she didn’t have the energy to wash it and give it back to him.
Or that’s what she told herself.
It was warm from where she’d been lying on it. And it still smelled of him. If she closed her eyes she could picture herself sitting in his car, the two of them listening to loud rock music as he drove her to the supply store.
Almost like she’d conjured it up just by thinking about it, the rumble of a car engine outside cut through the silence of her bedroom. It was getting closer, enough for her to hear the thrumof music coming out of the vehicle’s open windows. She rolled over and got to her feet, padding across the floor and pulling the corner of her curtain open.
Because, no, apparently she wasn’t above spying on her super hot neighbor.
But instead of seeing Hendrix’s car pulling into his earthy driveway, she could see a small convertible. Red.
With a woman driving it.
A glance at her watch told her it was right before midnight. Her mouth felt dry as the woman – a blonde wearing a tiny, strapless black dress and high heels – walked up the path to the farm cottage. She looked young, though it was hard to see from here.
