Page 43 of Rebound
“I live in Chennai. I’ve never owned a jacket.”
I own blazers, but I’m not wearing that on a bike ride. They’re dry cleaned and hanging in their garment bags. Besides, it’s evening and I don’t think I’d mind the cooler air brushing against my skin. He returns with a hoodie and tosses it to me.
“It’ll match your new T-shirt.”
I snort at his silliness, but lay the hoodie on my bed and finish getting ready. I untie my hair and smooth it down the best I can, then twist it back into a bun. I straighten out the shirt I’m wearing—stolen from his pile of freshly washed clothes. I’ve always been a fan of oversized tees and in this heat, it’s the perfect outfit. I didn’t intend to grab his, but the minute I tugged it on, I refused to take it off. Even after a wash, Patrick’s leather and cedar scent clings to the cotton. I pull on my sneakers and then lift the hoodie to my face, inhaling the scent of the man driving me insane. I turn it over and pause when I see white text on the back:
Property of Patrick. Return immediately.
I run my fingers over the words, jumping when a deep voice says, “Feel free to wear it every time you go out. So people know.”
Swallowing back a whimper at his proximity and warmth, I wait until he moves to look at him. He’s still grinning as he tugs a thin shirt over his black tee, every muscle in his body flexing. My mouth goes dry and my pussy throbs. Why is this so erotic?
“Mop up your drool, Lo, we don’t have time for you to climb me right now.”
“Fuck off,” I grumble and grab my things as he laughs. At the front door, I pull the hoodie and my bag on. We step outside and I pause when he hands me a helmet. “Where did this come from?”
“Picked it up today.”
“For me?”
He nods and locks the door, pocketing the house keys. “Gotta keep my girl safe.”
I’ve never been called someone’s anything before, my heart somersaults. After my conversation with the girls, I’ve decided to be a little less prickly. He’s here to help me and I’d be a fool not to make the most of it. Whatever Patrick was to me in the past, I have to leave it there. Sure, these feelings will keep popping up inconveniently, but I don’t have to hold it against him. It is absolutely his fault I feel this level of rage towards him, but I can’t bring myself to talk about it.
Reliving those summers is hard enough, talking about it? I might break.
The only problem is I don’t know how to find the middle ground with Patrick. His hand lands on my back as we walk to the lifts and my body hums. Downstairs, he gently tugs on my pinkie and electricity sparks up my arm as he leads me to where his bike is parked beside my car. When he rolls the machine out, I squeeze my thighs together.
I’m very aware all my reactions to him are physical, but this was on purpose. If I let my body lead the way, then my head and heart don’t get involved. And I don’t get hurt in the process. Dr. Sunita would not approve of my methods, but it’s the best I can do. Loving Patrick would be the easiest thing in the world, as would him breaking my heart again.
In the thirst traps the guys ride sports bikes with a higher back seat so the women have to cling to them. They call their partners backpacks. Patrick’s ride is different. Completely black, the engine has a simple, but stylish, Royal Enfield logo. It’s sleek, beautiful, and dare I say sexy. When you add this infuriatingly attractive man to the equation, it’s even better. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and tied a yellow bandana around his face, but his light brown eyes find mine anyway. Then he swings one leg over the machine effortlessly and I almost come on the spot.
Do. Not. Climb. Him.
“We can take your car, if you’re not ready yet,” he says, clearly sensing my turmoil. Little does he know it’s not nerves, it’s him.
I shake my head. “Soon I’ll be too big and uncomfortable to get on the bike, so might as well do it while I can.”
“If you’re sure.” I nod and Patrick grabs the front of my hoodie to tug me forward. He takes the helmet and carefully slides it on. It’s snug and I grunt when it presses against the sides of my head. “Yeah, it might be tight at first, think of it like a new pair of shoes.”
“Breaking in a helmet sounds kinda contradictory.”
He raps his knuckles against the front and shakes his head. “I love your sassy mouth. Now swing your leg over the bike and sit. You can decide which side works best for you. Hold my shoulders for support if you need it.”
I nod and my head feels like it might fall off with the new weight attached to it. I try to remember how he climbed on, but all my brain can show me is the way his ass flexed and how his thick thighs look in those pants. I stand on the left and raise my right leg, but she doesn’t cooperate. So I shuffle around to the other side and lift my left leg, which does the same shaky dance of not knowing where to go.
“Come on, Lo. Time’s a wastin’.”
“Trick,” I whine and he chuckles. He doesn’t tease, just takes off his helmet and dismounts.
“May I touch you?” I nod and he brings me around to the left side, then steps behind me, his hands on my hips. “You’re not doing karate, Lo, raise it like a dog would to pee.”
“I don’t know what that means!”
He laughs and smooths a hand over my thigh as I lift my leg. All of a sudden, I’m sitting on the bike, no memory whatsoever of how it happened. I stare at him and he has the audacity to wink, the top of his cheeks not covered by the bandana lifting slightly. Damn him!
“You good?”
