Page 44 of Rebound
“I hate you.”
“So you’ve said.” He pulls his helmet back on and straddles the bike effortlessly. “Scoot forward and hold onto me.”
“Do I have to?”
“Don’t act like you don’t want your hands all over me.”
I sigh dramatically and slide forward, grabbing the sides of his shirt. But Patrick’s hands hook under my knees and tug me until my chest is plastered to his back.
“You could have just said you wanted me to rub up against you, Trick.”
“There’s nothing I want more, baby. I’ll take this for now.”
I should have rejected the flirting, because it’s getting out of hand. My body responds and if she had a voice, she’d be cursing me right now. I want to jump him at every smirk and teasing comment.
A loud rumble startles me, but it’s the vibration that really catches me off guard. I press my lips together to hide my moan as the bike rolls forward. My arms tighten around his waist and I close my eyes as he shoots forward. The impact hollows my stomach and I suck in a large gulp of air as it settles slowly. Then I ease into it and turn my head to watch as the city blurs past me. His gloved hand slides over mine and I smile, feeling safe and good for the first time in a really long time.
When the calendar notification popped up on my phone this morning, I had a moment of panic. Which is ridiculous because I’ve been waiting for this day since I told Patrick about the baby. I made the mistake of looking up what happens at the first trimester scan to find out what to expect and the results scared the shit out of me. I spiralled and barely managed to get through the day. Which then led to fifteen minutes of crying at work. When I got home, Patrick wasn’t there, so I settled for ice cream and more crying instead.
Now we’re on a bike ride to somewhere I haven’t figured out yet.
So Patrick wants to distract me. He’s been doing this a lot. Distracting me, of course, but also taking care of me. I’ve been nothing but mean to him and he responds with kindness. Making sure I eat breakfast, preparing my tea the way I like, keeping the flat clean, organising our lives in neat little boxes on the new calendar.
He’s causing havoc on my repressed feelings.
My eyes fly open when the bike comes to a stop and the rumbling ceases. He taps my knees and I slide back before climbing off the bike, using his shoulders for support. When I take off the helmet, I smile at the warm ocean air. The sun went down hours ago, but the humidity hangs in the air, weighing everything down. Including me. And it weirdly comforts me.
“You okay?”
I nod and freeze when I turn. Patrick’s taken off the plaid shirt and his T-shirt hugs his torso and biceps so beautifully, like it was made for this one job. The bandana is loose around his neck and when his eyes meet mine, I don’t look away and he smiles. Down, girl. I hand him my helmet and then struggle out of the hoodie. He helps me take it off and folds it into his bag.
Tossing it over his shoulder, he says, “Wanna go for a walk?”
I nod. “Then I’ll take you to my favourite place.”
He smiles and holds out a hand I reach for without a second thought. Our fingers link, palms pressed together and the safety I felt on his motorcycle? I feel it all over again. We cross the road and step onto the promenade. Families and young people sit on either side, soaking up the light ocean breeze.
I’ve always liked Elliot’s Beach?1, even though it’s too far from home for me to make regular trips. When I was growing up, it wasn’t this clean and people talked about the beach in hushed tones. Over the years the government and eco-friendly groups cleaned up the garbage and turned it into a destination for anyone visiting the city. Memories of being here with my girls a year ago make me smile and I turn to tell Patrick, but the words get stuck in my throat. The asshole has his cap flipped around and his beautiful face is on display.
“Would you rather fight an elephant sized mosquito or a million mosquito sized elephants?”
I’m caught off guard by the question and I snort. “Why mosquitoes?”
“They’re the fucking worst.”
“I don’t think there’s a right answer. Both sound terrifying.”
He laughs and tugs me close as kids run towards us. “Would you rather live in a hot city with the beach close by or a cooler place with mountains for a view?”
“Oh. Good one. I do prefer the beach, so can I get a cooler place with a beach?”
“You’re not good at this game.”
I chuckle. “Hot city with the beach. I mean, I already live here and I love it, so let’s stick with what I know. What about you?”
“Beach, any day. Would you rather your fingers were made of sausages or bread rolls?”
“What are these questions? Bread rolls,” I reply and then groan. “Can they be both?”
