‘We can wait for the truck,’ he says, and starts walking back up the breakdown lane. ‘Give the guy your key.’
I retrieve my bag from the back of my car, then hand the fob over to the truck driver. AJ and I stand side by side, watching my car as it’s attached to the ancient-looking truck. When the driver is ready to leave, he gives us a thumbs up. I pick up my bag again and follow AJ over to his motorcycle.
In the darkness, he pats the rear saddle. I look down.
‘I’m supposed to fit on there?’ I question.
‘If Reyes can fit his pert little tush on there, so can you. You’ll be fine.’ He hands me his helmet. ‘It’s not for long. Put your bag on your back and put this on.’
I sling my bag straps over my shoulders then tentatively reach for his helmet. When I pull it over my head, the scent of him invades my nose. It’s like rubbing my face in his freshly-worn T-shirt and for a moment, I lose myself in it.
He lifts the visor for me. ‘Okay, basics,’ he says. ‘Feet on the footpegs. Arms around my waist to hold on. I lean, you lean, but don’t overdo it.’
My heart is beating fast. ‘That’s it?’
‘Relax. We’re only riding a couple miles. I’ll go slow.’
I don’t think he can see me swallow my nerves. He swings his leg over the bike first, leans down to turn a key then flicks on his lights. He switches something down on the handlebars before lifting the kickstand and pressing a second button to start the engine. He signals that I should get on behind him. I place my right foot on the foot peg, then swing my left leg over, shimmying into position. Beneath me, the bike rumbles.
The moment we come into contact, and despite our clothes, every nerve ending in my body bristles. His behind is nestled firmly between my thighs, pushing up against me. He leans back a little, guiding my arms around his waist, over his jacket, to the point where I’m wrapped around him. And to AJ, this simple motion might mean nothing, but all my emotions are now tangled up in knots.
Nobody keeps their high school crush, I remind myself and exhale inside the helmet.
‘You all right?’ he asks and I give a nod. Behind this visor, I am tongue-tied.
He moves off slowly, just as he promised he would, pushing his sunglasses up his nose and walking the bike to the roadside. He waits until the coast is clear then in one clean, smooth action, we are on the highway, and I’m clinging on for dear life to the man I keep telling myself I should not be having feelings for.
Riding on the back of his bike toward the city of Roswell, pressed up against him, is not helping my case.
Under the – obvious – surface-level things, it’s his casual, rough-around-the-edges confidence I’m attracted to. Admire, even. Even before I arrived in America, my teachers all said I should work on my self-confidence. That if I didn’t, it would likely hinder my career choices, and maybe they were right. It wasn’t just my career either. It was my whole approach to life. Because even at university in England, if a guy tried to talk to me, I’d crease up and run the other way, then go back to my halls and end up having to listen to my contemporaries having drunken, noisy one-night stands in the neighboring rooms. Instead, I’d be staring at the walls and wondering what was wrong with me that I was so terrified of getting physical with someone. My one and only kiss in a darkened closet with my high school crush was the only positive experience I could cling to. I lost my virginity to a Portuguese exchange student after a party where we’d both had too much to drink. It wasn’t until I met my one and only serious boyfriend, Owen, who I got talking to in the university library, that I could finally loosen up a little, enough to work out what I was supposed to be doing.
The motel is called Smokey Mountain Lodge. It’s a beige and brown low rise, a shabby L-shaped monstrosity that’s as far away from an actual lodge as they come. Under the streetlamps, AJ parks the bike in a packed parking lot and instructs me to dismount. I do, then yank off the helmet.
‘How was your first ride on a motorcycle?’ he asks me with a quirky smile.
I pinch my lips together, because if I don’t, I will break out into a zany grin, which would not be cool. ‘Good,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’
He nods toward the reception. ‘I’ll go ask about getting us a couple rooms.’
I wait with the bike for some minutes. I can hear a chorus of cicadas, just like back in Texas. On the other side of the road, I watch my car being offloaded from the tow truck, two burly men shouting at one another. Through the reception windows, I can see AJ talking to the receptionist. Behind her head, hanging on the wall is a faded Roswell poster showing a flying saucer and an alien abduction, which is the only thing I’ve ever associated Roswell with before. I certainly didn’t expect to end up here.
Not long after, AJ re-emerges.
‘Uh,’ he says, running one hand around the back of his neck. ‘So, they only have one room available.’
I blink at him. ‘Oh,’ I say casually, except the very idea makes my stomach flip over.
‘That all right with you?’ he asks.
‘Guess we don’t have a choice.’
His lips twist.
‘Of course, that’s fine.’ I add for good measure, in case he thought I was horrified by the prospect, and inwardly, I kick myself.
I follow him to one of the ground floor rooms, hanging back as he places the key card in the slot. Once he’s pushed open the door, I watch as he doesn’t cross the threshold, instead just stands there, motionless. Curious as to the reason behind his silence, I step forward and peer inside.
It’s a double room.
