Page 15 of The Italian Reckoning
Sarah follows like an obedient puppy, and I lead her back to where I recklessly parked my bike. The Sarah I know would threaten me with a ticket or some bullshit regulation, but drunk Sarah happily leans against my bike and smiles at me as I uncap my water bottle and gently pour it over her gravel-embedded palms.
“Ouch.” She hisses softly through her teeth.
“I’m sorry.” I’m as gentle as I can be with the water and my fingers, brushing out the gravel with slow, careful strokes of my thumb. “This shit can get infected really quickly, so when you get home, make sure you treat them, okay?”
“What are you, a doctor?”
“You see what I ride.” I smirk behind the helmet. “I’ve had my fair share of grazes.”
“Makes sense. So do you make a habit of saving random women at night?”
“You hardly needed saving.” I snort. “If you didn’t have a drink in you, I bet he would have been on his knees the second he tried to take your bag.”
“How do you know I’ve been drinking?” Sarah’s eyes widen and her lips part as if she’s genuinely shocked at the suggestion. Then she sways slightly and breaks out into the sweetest fucking giggle I’ve ever heard in my life. “Maybe one or two. It’s my birthday. Fuck.” She sobers up suddenly. “I got mugged on my birthday. How shit is that?”
“At least you didn’t lose anything.” I motion to her bag resting on my bike. “That’s a positive.”
“Mmhmm.” Her eyes close briefly.
It’s late. I can’t leave her here.
“Let me take you home.”
Sarah’s eyes snap open. Under the streetlight, her iris takes on a more caramel hue and I can’t take my eyes off her. They’re beautiful.
She’s beautiful, especially when she laughs.
“Give my address to a stranger?”
“Asavior,” I correct with a soft laugh. “Or let me call you an Uber.”
She glances down at my bike, running one of her now clean and gravel-free hands over the seat. “I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before.”
“Itisyour birthday,” I prompt gently.
Her eyes light up and when she looks back at me, she’s smiling widely, swollen lip and all. “Okay. Take me home, motorcycle guy.”
Sarah reels off her address although I already know it. I’ve known it ever since she saved my life. Then she sits on the back of my bike with her arms wrapped tightly around my body, and it takes all my concentration to keep my attention on the road and not how good it feels to have her pressed against me. It’s late and I don’t have time to teach her proper bike etiquette, so I drive slower to ensure she doesn’t fall.
My concentration nearly falters, though, when she rests her cheek between my shoulder blades and squeezes me with her arms.
We remain like that until I pull up outside her apartment and she slides off with a satisfied sigh. She walks in front of me, and her hair is wild from the drive, her eyes sparkle like gemstones, and her smile is wider.
“Wow,” she breathes. “That was exhilarating.”
“Big word for a drunk person.”
“Fuck you!” She laughs and leans forward, pressing her lips to the edge of my helmet in a sudden, surprising kiss. “Thanks for the ride, motorcycle guy. And for getting my purse back.” As she holds it aloft, she leans back and then her brows dip. “Oh,” she says softly, cupping my helmet. “I left a mark. Sorry.”
With that, she turns and wobbles up the steps to her apartment building.
I stare after her, rooted to my bike in shock. In the wing mirror, a red lipstick stain graces the edge of my helmet where she kissed me.
“Happy birthday,” I murmur under my breath.
If she knew who I was, I know for a fact that never would have happened.
Should I have told her?
