“You’re with me,” Gemma says.
I look at her, and my stalker feels like a distant memory.
“Oh, are we not in the same car?” I ask, and she smiles wider.
“You needed these, right?” Kade says as he closes the trunk and passes off two motorcycle helmets to Gemma.
“Yeah, thanks. I’ll get yours back to you next week. You and Liam have that ride up to the redwoods scheduled, right?”
“Yep,” Kade replies.
Zeb whistles, grinning at me. “I’m jealous,” he says as Gemma holds out one of the helmets for me to take.
My eyes are wide when I hesitantly take it from her, and she chuckles.
“Have you ever ridden?” she asks.
“Ah… no, I haven’t,” I reply.
Gemma grins. “Come on. Let’s get you home so you can pack.”
I’m staring at the helmet the entire time we walk into the garage to her bike. She strides over to the large two-person, solid black Suzuki motorcycle that nearly blends into the shadows behind it.
Watching Gemma slip her sleek helmet on, straddle the bike, and pat the seat behind her for me to join does something to me internally that leaves me unable to speak.
She pushes her visor up. “You okay?”
“No. No—You. On a bike. Wearing… No, I’m not okay, but I’m going to get on this bike before I ask you to run over my face with it while wearing a catsuit.”
Her eyes squint as if she’s smiling. I quickly climb on behind her, and when I’m settled, she turns the engine over, and I wrap my arms around her waist.
“Do you mind if we make a pit stop?” she asks, and I jump at the sound of her voice in my ear through the helmet.
“Oh shit. I didn’t know these did that,” I reply, taken aback.
She snickers. “Yeah.”
“Where are we stopping off at?” I ask.
“Somewhere quiet.”
Thought evacuates my mind as the world whizzes by us. I’m accustomed to dangerous driving with Zeb, though being ona motorcycle takes that fear and anxiety to a new level. And yet, wrapped around her, I’m calm. I’m breathing steadily and hugging her tight, counting the seconds at each stoplight when she takes her hand off the steering to squeeze mine.
I lose track of time as we ride through the hillsides, and eventually, Gemma pulls up to an overlook that showcases the valley and city below. I’m staring at the purple and orange streaked sky, the lights flickering on in the buildings and homes dotted along the landscape.
Gemma cuts the engine, pulls her helmet off, and reaches for my hand.
I don’t speak as I follow.
“Wow,” I say when we cross to the lookout. “How have I never been to this one?”
Gemma doesn’t speak. I can see her staring at the city as I am from the corner of my eye, yet there’s something about the way her jaw is tense. She’s holding her shoulders stiffly, and I find myself peering at her every couple of minutes trying to figure out why.
I’m overwhelmed when I look at her.
As I stare, my chest begins to ache.
She doesn’t deserve to be led on like I’ve done. She deserves so much better than the fucked-up mess I am. Still, I want… I want to be enough for her. I want to deserve whatever this is between us. It feels like it could be worth it, and I’m so tired of being stuck in my head, so fearful of relapse that I’m desperate to push everything good for me away.
