“Yeah, I know. Hotter than you.”
When I get off the bike, it’s not a hop as he requested. More of a slippery slide that I recover from before I hit the concrete. Perhaps I was trying a bit too hard to avoid the metal pipe. I probably didn’t need to set my leg down three feet from the bike.
Maybe next time I’ll be smoother.
Wait. Next time? Nope. There won’t be one of those.
He dismounts the bike, the motion looking like he’s done it a thousand times. Perhaps he has. Because it’s his happy place.
When he removes his helmet, he shakes his head subtly.Whoa mama. He looks like a model fromBikers Weekly, assuming that’s a thing. Especially since he’s dressed casually tonight instead of the business suits he usually wears. Perfectly fitted jeans. A dark blue Henley shirt pulled tight across his pectorals. The sleeves pressed up toward his elbows, revealing corded forearms. Some ink is visible on one arm.
I stand there dumbstruck, watching him like a creeper. My thirsty thoughts continue spinning through a blend of hopeless despair over my lackluster life and the way everything Reed does is unfairly sexy.
Swaggering over to me, he reaches for my chin and unclasps the strap. My hands move of their own volition to the sides of the helmet. His do the same about a second later than mine. My hands end up pinned beneath his, the warmth of his touch oddly comforting.
We trade glances, and his dang dirty dimples pop. I want to lick them.
He helps me pull the helmet off. The static electricity crackles around my head. His expression brightens as he looks at my hair, which is no doubt levitating above my head. While he dashes to the bike to stow the helmet, I pat down the wayward strands. Little zaps surround my fingers, confirming my suspicion.
Sure. That’s fair.
Reed gets off the bike looking like Tom Cruise in theTop Gunera, before he went couch-jumpingly crazy. And I look like I’ve stuck my finger in an electric outlet. And that’s after a clumsy attempt at removing my frumpy body from the bike. Totally tracks with my entire state of being these days.
Mr. GQ retrieves the takeout from the compartment on the back of the bike. Upon his approach, his face falls when he looks at me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I fib, affixing a plastic smile I don’t feel.
He looks crestfallen, his lips in a subtle pout and his forehead creasing. “You hated it that much?”
“No. Surprisingly, it wasn’t that bad.”
There’s a wobble in one cheek right below his prominent dimple, making me wonder if he wants to smile at myconfession. If so, I bet I know why. He’s likely relieved I don’t despise the thing that brings him joy.
If I had my ownthing, I wouldn’t want anyone else to hate it either.
“Then why the sad face?”
Attempting to shake off the gloom and doom, I take a deep breath. “I was just doing some thinking. That’s all. I’m fine.”
“Want to talk about it? I’m still a pretty good listener.”
My smile becomes less plastic at the memory of long talks with Reed when we were younger.
Considering that being at my house was akin to being in a room where everyone hates you, I spent a ton of time at Kenzie’s when we were growing up. When he came home from college, things changed between us. Instead of ignoring me or disappearing whenever I showed up, he no longer seemed annoyed by my presence.
I read a lot, usually while I was waiting for Kenzie to get ready so we could go out and do whatever dumb stuff we used to do. If Reed was home, he didn’t let me sit alone.
He’d come into the room, usually without a shirt on, and plop down beside me on the couch. We’d talk about everything and nothing. Usually, he’d be spinning a basketball on his finger in that dumb way that guys do when they can’t seem to sit still.
But yeah... Reed is right about one thing. He was always an exceptional listener.
When I had his ear, I felt like I could almost be myself. The real me. And I had an inkling that if I were the real me, he might still like me all the same.
Then life happened, he broke my heart, and all my childish fantasies about him ended up flushed down the toilet.
“Nope. Nothing to discuss.” I tip my head toward my apartment. “I’d better get inside to check on Kenzie.”
He chokes back a laugh and lets his eyes go for an exuberant roll around his head. “Okay.Sure.” With the hand holding the doggie bag, he gestures toward the sidewalk. “Let’s go. I’ll walk you to the door.”
