Page 33 of Monk
“Ready?” he asks as he climbs on in front of me.
“Yes. Let’s get this over with.”
His laughter is drowned out by the throaty rumble of his bike as he fires it up. The vibration is powerful and runs through me, feeling like it’s rattling every bone in my body and shamefully making me tingle in my more intimate areas.
“Hold on,” he calls over the engine.
I’m not a fan of motorcycles. They’re dangerous as far as I’m concerned. But I have to admit—if only to myself—that this is far preferable to a five-mile walk home. I lean forward and wrap my arms around him, the leather of his vest surprisingly soft as I lay my cheek upon his back.
Jacob has always been a strong, muscular guy. He used to work out relentlessly when he was playing sports back in school. But as I slide my hands around him, he feels different. His muscles—his entire body—are harder. Even more toned than he was before. It’s difficult to explain, but he was “softer” back then. Now, he’s all hard angles and planes. He’s fully grown into his body, that’s for sure.
Giving my head a shake, I push all those thoughts away as he takes off out of the parking lot. I focus on staying balanced and not falling off. It makes me cling to him even harder. Closing my eyes, I try to stop thinking about how his body feels beneath my hands. But then, my mind turns to the power of the engine rumbling through every inch of my body. Frustrated that I can’t seem to control myself, I grit my teeth and try to stop thinking about all of the different emotions and sensations coursing through me.
And when I climb off, my body still vibrating, I embarrassingly realize I’m warm and wet—and not all of it is because of the bike.
“Call me,” he says.
Before I can reply—perhaps even thankful that I can’t—he revs his engine and roars off, leaving me standing there, the insides of my thighs slick and the yearning in my heart—along with other places south of my belt line—beginning to wake.
“Yeah, I’m a real stone,” I grumble.
Chapter Fourteen
Monk
The place is half full as I sit at the table in the corner near the back of the coffee house, surveying the room. There are some people with their faces practically glued to their laptop screens—probably students. Others sitting there just talking to each other, and a couple of others who look as out of place as I do.
The sun is beginning to set beyond the plate glass windows on the front part of the shop. The scattered clouds in the sky overhead are cast in vibrant hues of red and orange. It’s cool outside, but pleasantly so. It’s a beautiful sunset, and I very much prefer to be on the road, riding along the coast, watching it, rather than be cooped up in a coffeehouse. But this is where she said she wanted to meet, and so here I am.
She’s fifteen minutes late at the moment, and I’m trying to keep my temper in check. Some people will have already thought of being stood up, but I know Kasey’s doing this to make a point. This is her power play, and I suppose I can’t be too mad about it. After all, fifteen minutes is nothing compared to ten-plus years.
A few minutes later, I see her walk through the doors. She’s in blue jeans and a white button-down shirt, her long red hair pulled back into a ponytail. She’s still as striking today as she was when we were together. Maybe even more so. The years between then and now have been very kind to her, and she’s grown into a genuinely beautiful woman.
She spots me as I give her a wave and heads toward the table. Kasey’s walking a little stiffly but is doing her best to cover it. That’s always been her way. She’s never been one to show weakness and will always put on a brave face. It’s something I’ve always admired about her.
“Caramel macchiato, soy milk, extra caramel drizzle,” I say as she takes a seat across from me.
Kasey looks down into the mug in front of her, her mouth half open.
“Is there anything you don’t remember?” she quips.
“No, I pretty much remember everything.”
“Well, that’s sweet and all, but you assume my tastes haven’t changed over the years,” she fires back.
“Have they?”
“That’s not the point. The point is you’re making assumptions about me when you haven’t deigned to speak to me—to not even let me know you’re alive—in more than a decade.”
I shrug. “I was just trying to be nice.”
“Turning over a new leaf, are you?”
I grin at her. “If your drink’s not to your liking, I can get you something else.”
She sighs and picks up the mug. “No, I guess this will be fine.”
I get the feeling her tastes haven’t changed and she just wants to bust my balls a bit. That’s fine, I’ll play the game for now. She deserves to blow off a little steam. Her eyes meet mine and she quickly looks away, the smooth, alabaster colored skin of her cheeks flushes for reasons I can only guess at as she looks away. Kasey covers her discomfort by taking another drink. She sets the mug back down on the table gently, careful to line the base of the mug up with the liquid ring.
