CHAPTER EIGHT

Byron

I almost miss a turn because all I can think about is the way her body feels pressed up against mine. Each bump we hit she adjusts her weight and any space between us disappears, causing inches and inches of torturous contact that ignites my skin in the primal way I haven't felt in months.

Why is it different with her?

Her heart is pounding and I want to reassure her she's safe with me. I imagine when we finally stop she'll be able to enjoy that rush I used to get when I'd step off this motorcycle after having sped through traffic, dipping in and out, tricking my brain into thinking I was going to hit something and then quickly avoiding it. It's such a fucking thrill. Few things in life come close to that high. And only one is really comparable.

Sex.

Heart pounding, breath catching, skin sweating, toes curling sex. It's the only other thing that comes close to the thrill of speeding along a highway, tempting fate. I love ghosting that line between the two. Having a girl on the back of my bike, speeding towards a place where we're going to fuck. I lived for the anticipation and the build-up. The tension is addictive. I'd almost forgot what it felt like.

Almost.

I dip to the right around a car driving too slowly and her hands grip my sweatshirt, her nails scratching through to my chest. I have to fight not to close my eyes with the sensation of it. It must be the rush of her needing my help. I'm always up for a challenge and knowing she has a limited amount of time must be what has my heart pumping and my body already so close to the edge.

I rev the engine when the lane is clear in front of us and feel her legs slide away from mine. Reaching behind her with one arm, I guide her back against me. My hand is firmly on the small of her back just above her ass. She thrusts her hips forward twice to get nearer and my thoughts instantly imagine her rocking her hips above me.

What the fuck?

Why does it have to be her? Why can't it be someone who wouldn't be complicated? Someone who I could fuck and forget about? Someone I wouldn't have to run into? After months of limited interest my body is suddenly extremely fucking interested and it's making it hard to think straight. I'm grateful I'm in front and she has no idea my body is having a reaction to her touch, especially when her hands slip lower around my waist and brush against my lap. She moves them up quickly, renewing her tight hold across my chest as I turn where she'd instructed me to go.

"That one!" she shouts over the roar of the engine.

I nod my head and pull into the parking lot of a nice apartment building. Across the street is a large hospital. I watch as men and women in scrubs walk across the crosswalk and into the apartment building and surrounding shops.

"Did you pick this place because you're a nurse?" I ask when I get my helmet off.

"No," she says through hers.

I reach for her shaking helmet and start working on the strap. She's still on the motorcycle. Her hands move up and she lifts the visor. Her cheeks are rosy pink and they make her eyes radiate the most beautiful blue color. I can't look away from her full lips as I pull her strap free. I don't ask her anymore about it as I watch her worry her bottom one between her teeth.

When I put my hands on the sides of her helmet and pull up, she holds on to my arms to steady herself. I take my time, wanting her hands on me as long as possible. She shakes her head to get her hair in control again and once more I'm hit with a huge punch of lust.

"Do you want to come in?" she asks in a breathy voice. "It will just take a minute."

Oh, a minute isn't long enough for what I have in mind.

"I'll wait down here."

She nods her head completely unaware of the inappropriate thoughts racing through my mind. When she heads inside I turn around and take a deep breath, trying to get a grip.

Inside my thoughts are warring. I want her, and the guilt I feel about that is hard to swallow. This is just a moment of weakness.

I hear her approach and turn back around. When I put her helmet back on she watches me again. Her gaze is hot. Her hands hold my biceps and I try to focus on anything but her touch. She does her best to hide her glances as I put my helmet back on, but I can feel her eyes on me. It keys me up and has my pulse pumping quickly by the time we hit the road.

This time she's more comfortable as we weave in and out of traffic. Her hands on my chest fit as if they were used to being there. She's closer to me, her breasts pressed to my back and her palm flat on my stomach. When we stop at a light, her hand innocently moves to my thigh after she points to a car broken down in the right lane. For a second I can't think, then she moves it back to my chest and I maneuver around the car and pull us into the lot just in time for the contractor to pull up beside us.

"Thank you," she tells me after I get her helmet off again. "I owe you."

"No problem."

I watch as she lets the contractor into the shop. Then I head back into the brewery to put my extra helmet in the closet where I keep it in case anyone ever needs a ride home. Malcom is working already and gives me a curious look when he sees me leaving my office.

"What are you doing here?" he asks. He and I used to work crazy hours together, but now we split the hours so we can have more time off. I came in earlier this morning and did the work that needed to be done. It's his shift now. I'll come in right before we open and work the first hours while it's slow. He's more of a night owl and since I haven't been able to sleep and tend to be a zombie by the time ten rolls around, he will stay late and close the place down.

"I came here this morning and on my way out I ran into Stella. She forgot her keys so I ran her home to get them really quick," I say. I lean against the door jam, my helmet in my hand.

"She's cool," he says, adjusting a few things in our latest batch. "Is there something going on with you two?"

"No. It was just a ride home," I say with a touch of annoyance.

"Look," he says as he shakes his head slowly, "you don't have to mourn her forever. She wouldn't want that for you. And hooking up with a girl doesn't mean you have to get into a relationship with her."

"It's not like that," I tell him, but I can't even look him in the eye.

"Fine," he says with a shrug. "Just be friends. You could use one of those too."

I sigh louder than I mean to.

"You don't have to control everything, Byron," he says wiping his hands on a towel. "You can't anyway."

"If this brewery thing doesn't work out for you, you really should look into those sermons," I say as I push off the door jam.

Malcom chuckles and flips me off.

"Maybe a philosophy professor?" I add as I walk towards the front door.

"Fuck off!" he yells.

"Talk show host?" I shout before opening the door and letting myself out. I'm smiling as I climb onto my motorcycle. I put my helmet on, glancing through the glass backdoor of Stella's shop as I fasten the strap beneath my chin. I watch her tip her head back as she laughs at something the contractor has said and the sight makes my chest expand and my smile grow larger.

When I start the engine, she looks over at me and I remember a time when I loved a girl in a dress covered in cherries who used to smile at me through that very same door.

It will never stop hurting.

I pull my eyes away, flipping my visor down and driving out of the parking lot as fast as these two tires can take me.