It’s so hard to guess what age this man is.Especially at night.His hair is a wild, tangled mess, and he’s got beard scruff covering half his face.He looks rugged and rough; not at all like the kind of person my aunt would hang out with.
Were Dante and Tempest a couple long ago?And there I go just blurting it out.
He says the word before I can.“Dead.”
It’s not a question.I feel bad for him.I think they were friends.Maybe even lovers.
His stillness transmits the feeling of loss to me.
“I’m her niece.”Damn it.How would he find that information comforting?I keep messing up each time I try holding a normal conversation with this man.
Stifling the gasp that rises to my throat, I let him run his hands down my right leg to position my boot on the foot stand.He must know how numb my foot feels.
“Do the same with your left foot.And then scooch your butt around until you’re more comfortable.Everyone’s got their own comfort zone when it comes to positioning on a bike.”
I try to do what he says, but my ankle is too sore for me to concentrate.The pins and needles are agony as the blood begins to flow again.
Dante straddles the bike in a business-like fashion; my head jolts forward and then my whole torso lurches backward as he kicks the stand away.I make a little yelping sound, which the man politely ignores.
Muohta has run ahead, leaving me to stare at the man’s leather-clad back.The smell of leather and musty cotton intensifies—I haven’t been this close to a man since Giulio split.
He doesn’t even offer me the helmet hanging from the back of the bike as he settles his—dare I say it—tight, muscular butt into the rider’s seat.I got a glimpse of his lower physique after he set me down, and it’s mighty impressive.
His leather gloved fingers grip the handles with an easy grace.It’s not how I imagined riding a bike at all.There is no hunching over.Straight-backed with bent knees elevated slightly above waist height.Kinda comfortable even, if I say so myself.
“You can hold on by grabbing me at the hips if you want.Or hang tight to the sides of the seat.Grab the back of my belt if you get dizzy.”
“Sides of the seat is fine, thanks.”Fumbling, I find the metal handles.
Talking to me over his shoulder, Dante brings me up to speed with bike passenger etiquette.“If you want to move forward and grab hold of me, it’s best if you edge your ass to the back of the seat and turn your head sideways—then you won’t accidentally headbutt me.”
I have to shout over the noise of the engine as he presses the ignition and does something with the handles and pedals.
“Headbutt?”
The word is drowned out by the revving engine.Dante has one last piece of advice.
“Lean a little bit into the corners with your body and tilt your head.”
We accelerate forward with such force my neck feels like a wet noodle as it sways backwards.Immediately everything he just told me goes out of my mind.
That’s because when Dante slows down to take the corner around Ben Magoo’s land, my noodle neck snaps my head forward.And I headbutt him.
It’s not a full-on headbutt.He’s too tall for that.I bang him just below the spot between his shoulder blades.
“Ouch!”It feels like a slap as my forehead smacks the thick leather.
So many things are happening all at once.I have to brace my body against his torso because the wind is icy.But I also have to lean at a weird angle whenever there’s a corner.Actually, my logic begs me not to lean as we go around a corner.It feels ungodly to go with the flow like that instead of fighting against the gravitational pull.
I’m not aware of it, but my hands grab hold of his belt as I hang on for dear life.He should really zip up his jacket.The man’s skin is ice cold as my thumbs hook over the waistband of his jeans.
I am officially sitting and spooning with a man I only just met.
And just when I think I’m getting the hang of this motorbiking thing, Dante suddenly swings the machine to the verge of the road before swerving into Tempest’s driveway with sleek skillfulness.
I yowl like a cat as the revs roar and the exhaust sputters.“Oh my God!For the love of all that’s holy—!”My heart’s in my mouth as the momentum propels us up the incline.
The steep entrance is hard enough for me to drive in my hatchback, and this man is doing it on a motorbike.If I hadn’t been holding onto him so hard, I swear I would have fallen backwards and tumbled off.
