But my body doesn't get the memo. My body just melts into him, softening against his back, letting him carry my weight. Trusting his control, his competence, his steadiness.
The ride is too short and not nearly short enough.
He pulls up in front of my building and the engine dies to a rumble, then silence. The sudden absence of noise is almost disorienting. My ears are ringing. My whole body is still vibrating in phantom echo of the bike.
Neither of us moves for a moment.
I should let go. I should climb off and thank him and go inside like a normal person. But my arms are still wrapped around his waist, and I'm still pressed against his back, and I'm not sure I remember how to exist as a separate entity.
"Toby."
"Yeah." I swallow. "Yes. I'm—"
I unwrap my arms reluctantly, immediately missing the warmth. Climbing off the bike is graceless, my legs shaking and unsteady. I probably look like a baby giraffe learning to walk. My thighs ache from gripping the seat—or from gripping him, more accurately.
He's off the bike too now, standing in front of me, reaching for the helmet. His fingers find the straps under my chin, working the clasp. He's so close I can see the individual stubble on his jaw, can count his eyelashes if I wanted to.
The helmet comes off. Cool air hits my sweaty hair, my flushed face. His fingers brush my throat as he pulls the strap free, and I shiver.
In the yellow streetlight, his eyes look gold. Not flashing, not shifting—just gold, like the color has seeped in and stayed. Or maybe they are gold. Maybe this is what he looks like when he's not trying to hide.
"Get some sleep," he says. His voice is rougher than before.
"Three hours." I'm mumbling, swaying on my feet. "Have to be up in three hours."
"Call in sick."
"Can't. Drag queen story hour prep." A yawn cracks my jaw wide open. "Margaret will cancel it if I'm not there. She's been looking for an excuse for months."
He stares at me for a long moment. There's something in his expression I can't read—frustration, maybe, or something softer.
"Drag queen story hour," he repeats.
"Mmhm. Miss Glitterbomb is doingGoodnight Moonthis week." I'm not sure why I'm still talking. My mouth is operating independently of my brain. "With snacks. Robin makes rainbow cupcakes."
Something shifts in his expression. Sharpens. "Robin. Your roommate."
"Best roommate." I smile at the thought of Robin, probably asleep by now, who definitely stress-baked half the kitchen after my texts. "He stress-baked tonight. There's cake. Chocolate peanut butter."
"He takes care of you."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "We take care of each other. Eleven years." Another yawn. "He's going to be so mad I stayed out this late. He worries."
Knox's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. I'm too tired to figure out why.
"Go inside, Toby."
"Going." But I don't move yet. My feet seem to be rooted to the sidewalk. "Thanks. For the ride. And the blanket. And the fries and the tea and—" I gesture vaguely. "And not eating me when you found out I knew."
"We don't eat humans."
"Good to know. Very reassuring." I'm definitely swaying now. The world has gone soft and blurry at the edges. "Your eyes are pretty when they're gold."
The words are out before my brain catches up to my mouth. I blink, realize what I just said, and feel heat flood my face.
"I'm going inside now," I announce, and turn away before I can see his reaction.
I'm halfway to the building entrance before I hear the bike's engine rev once behind me. By the time I turn around, he's pulling away, taillights disappearing down the wet street.
