Page 36 of Without Bound
I do as he says and wrap my arms around him, pressing my head against his back. I close my eyes and inhale, imagining what he smells like. His skin is dotted with sweat from the hot night and from all that has happened. I can feel the perspiration through his shirt and I vow not to wash my skin or my clothes.
The bike roars and we take off with a jerk. I hold tighter and splay my fingers over his taut abs. He tenses but slowly relaxes after a few minutes. I glue my body to his and sigh, reveling in the fact that he’s come to the same conclusion as I have.
We were meant to be.
13
Bishop
I slow my bike as we enter the parking lot, and turn it off when we reach the curb, engaging the kickstand. My helmet is yanked from my head and I turn to help Anais out of hers.
“Wha…I thought we were going back to your house.” She looks around and notices we are at her dorms, not my house.
“I said we were leaving. I never said we were going to my house. Go to bed, Anais.” I grip her small waist and lift her up and off my bike much like I did when I sat her on it back at the club.
“But my friends are at the bar,” she continues to pout.
“You’re right. They are. So lock your door and just go to sleep.” I look down into her eyes and they’re glazed and glossy from alcohol.
She presses her hands flat against my chest and pushes me with all her might. “You know, I was having a wonderful time until you came and ruined my night. That guy was going to take me to his place, and you just stomped in like a cranky bear and ruined it.”
Her feet stumble and she quickly recovers before her butt plants to the ground.
“Oh yeah? You were having fun? Is that why you texted me?”
Her jaw clenches and her eyes burn with fire. It’s that type of animosity I want to see living in her. I need it to remind me that she is a forbidden fruit. One that I ate from tonight, and it was better than I imagined it to be.
“Goodnight, Anais. Sleep off the alcohol and I’ll check on you tomorrow,” I tell her and stow away the helmet she was wearing.
“Fuck you, Bishop. I don’t need you to check up on me like I’m a child.”
“Youarea fucking child! How did you get into that bar tonight, huh? Was it with your legal, over twenty-one ID?”
She throws me the bird then searches through her purse for her keycard. “A fucking child you kissed. What does that make you?”
“A goddamn idiot. And it will never happen again. Get inside.” I pull up the kickstand and pop the clutch on my bike to start it up, silencing any other argument she has.
We stare at one another in a standoff before she spins on her heels and stomps her way to her building and through the doors. I wait to see that the door closes and locks behind her, then I tear through the streets to my house where I spend the rest of my sleepless night reliving that kiss and reminding myself of what a fool I have been.
The sound of my doorbell wakes me from the hazy sleep I was finally able to fall into after many hours of staring at the ceiling fan as it whirled around and around. I turn my head and squint my eyes to make out the time on the clock that sits on my nightstand. The bright white numbers read ten fifty-two, and I groan. I missed church and no doubt it’s mama coming to yell at me for skipping out.
I push up on my elbows and rub the sleep from my eyes, then reach over for my glasses. They’re just reading glasses, but my head is already pounding and straining my eyes in any way will only make it worse.
The bell rings again and I throw the sheets off of myself and slam my feet down on the hardwood. I grab a t-shirt off the edge of the bed as I make my way out and trudge down the two sets of stairs to the front door.
I swing it open, already apologizing for missing this morning's service.
“I’m sorry, mama. I didn’t slee–” my words die when I realize it is not my mom at the door, but rather Anais.
She stands there looking timid and almost embarrassed, her eyes cast downward. She has her hair in two braids like she did at Dagen’s pool party, and she wears a slouchy sweatshirt and a very small pair of athletic shorts. You know, the kind that costs a hundred dollars and barely has enough material to qualify as an article of clothing.
“Anais?”
She lifts her eyes to meet mine and bites down on her lip. “Hey. Um…can I come in? I brought coffee.” She holds up two cups, one in each hand, and looks shyly at me.
“How’d you get here?” I stick my head out of the door and take a quick look up and down my street.
Only a few people mill about, walking their dogs or taking a morning stroll.
