by Piper Rayne
“Believe me, you’d rather have helmet hair and be alive than have perfect hair and end up a pancake on the road.” He checks the strap of my helmet one more time then climbs on the bike, waiting for me to join him.
I put my feet where he instructed on the way here, climb on, and circle my arms around his stomach.
“Ready?” When he feels me nod on his back, he turns on the engine and we line up with everyone else.
I’d never admit it but having Liam in my arms makes me feel a lot like my old self. And I don’t hate it.
Liam was right—helmet hair sucks. Luckily, out of the three stops, our last is at a gas station, so I run in and buy some ponytail holders. I found out at the last stop, from some more of Liam’s secret friends, that a band is playing after the ride tonight and that’s when the party really starts.
The people on the ride are super friendly and outgoing. None of them look at me as if I’m some stuck-up bitch who’s trying to date a bad boy, which is what I worried in coming here. Liam hasn’t been too handsy except on the two run-ins we had with Slim and Nina’s kept her distance, so all in all, I’m having a great time.
Let’s be honest, having my arms around Liam’s waist for the majority of the day doesn’t suck.
“Ready?” Liam leans on his bike, his dark sunglasses shielding his eyes.
“Yeah.” I touch my hair. “You’re right about the hair thing.”
He stands up straight and puts his hand behind his ear. “What was that?”
“Ponytails.” I hold up the package I bought.
“No, I mean about me being right?” His smirk grows.
With that smirk, the dark sunglasses, and the bike behind him, I think my ovaries just made a ruling that only Liam’s sperm can meet my eggs, otherwise pregnancy is off the table. I can’t even argue with them. “You were right, but I’ve never—”
His finger comes to my lips. “Let’s just leave it at that.”
All the bikes line up again, so I drop the ponytail holders in the saddlebag of his bike and pull out the sanitizer. Liam, knowing the drill after the first two stops, puts out his hands.
“You’ll thank me later,” I say.
He rolls his eyes and massages the sanitizer into his palms. “Yeah, you said that already.”
“Maybe it will be you saying I was right next week when all your friends have a cold.”
“It’s summer.”
“There’s such a thing as summer colds. Germs don’t just live in the winter. And believe me, summer colds are the worst.” I rub sanitizer into my hands while Liam tries not to laugh at me.
“Let’s go, Kelly.”
We both turn to find Slim, Nina on the back of his bike. Liam’s body stiffens.
“You really need to tell me why we hate him,” I say low enough so only he can hear me.
Liam waves Slim off, who pulls ahead a bit, then narrows his eyes on me. “You don’t even know him. Why would you hate him?”
I let him put my helmet on again because somehow he thinks I can’t secure it myself. But like he’s dealing with my sanitizer, I’ll deal with his manly macho act. “If you hate him, I hate him. That’s how it works. You’re my friend, he’s not, and I trust you have valid reasons.”
He stares at me for longer than necessary as though I’m a Rubik’s Cube.
“Kelly! Let’s go!” Slim yells, and Liam purposely ignores him.
“Sorry about him.” Liam straddles his bike.
I hop on, feeling much more confident now. “Don’t apologize. Just ignore him.”
He starts the bike. I’m pretty sure my panties are going to soak through from watching his forearms flex each time he revs the engine. I pass him his jacket that was lying on the back of the bike, and he thanks me as he leans to the side to slip it on.
My head is on his back, my arms around his waist when he pulls back onto the highway. We’ve gotten used to one another today. I’m not so anxious, and I’ve learned how to shift my weight to go along with him on turns as if we’re one person. He was right again about being on a motorcycle, though I wouldn’t tell him—it’s peaceful and relaxing and I haven’t thought once about all the troubles at Bailey Timber.
As I’m thinking about telling him he should take his motorcycle out more often and that I might join him, we take the curve around the bend. There’s a large puddle of standing water on the other side of the road where the road seems to dip. It must’ve rained out here overnight. Without warning a huge wave of water hits us and the bike jerks. I can’t hear what Liam says, but his body straightens, and the bike slows and fishtails, straightens, fishtails, straightens, fishtails, and straightens. Once we’re through the worst of it, Liam runs his large hand up and down my leg as if he’s telling me it’s okay. He’s got me and I’m safe.
If I’d known the wave was coming, I would’ve probably had a panic attack, but it happened so fast that I didn’t have time to prepare myself. Adrenaline rushes through my system. Though I’m soaked and shaken, I’ve never felt more alive.
Twenty-Two
Liam
Fuck. Someone was watching over us through that wave a semi on the other side of the road threw onto us. I didn’t even see the water until we rounded the bend. I’m not sure what caused the puddle in the first place, since it’s not raining, but all I care about right now is that we’re on dry land again.
We reach Poppy’s bar, and I hurry to get off the bike after Savannah. My hands reach for Savannah, and I tear off her helmet and stare at her as if I’m a doctor. “Shit, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? It came out of nowhere.”
“Kelly? You okay?”
I wave to Riley as he parks a few spots down.
“Savannah?” I ask.
Her hands cover mine on her cheeks. “I’m good. I was just surprised, and now I’m wet.”
I look down at her white T-shirt that’s now soaked, revealing her lacy bra that does jack shit to hide her nipples. I shrug off my jacket and put it over her shoulders.
“So it wasn’t a grand master plan to get a peek at my boobs?”
She can’t be serious. We were this close to dying. I let her get on the back of my bike with no jacket. Not even a sweatshirt. God, I’m so fucking stupid.
“No.”
She laughs and takes my hands off her cheeks. “I know that. I’m joking.”
“Let’s just go home. Forget this. We’ll grab food and go shower.”
When she nudges me, I step back. “Okay.”
She pulls her hair back into a ponytail, and I spot some dirt on her neck. I slide my thumb down the curve and wipe my thumb on my drenched shirt. She looks skeptically at me.
“Dirt.” I hold up my now-clean thumb.
The band—which must be out on the back patio since we can hear them—announces that they’re starting and that they’re a Guns N’ Roses cover band. Savannah’s eyes light up. What am I missing?
“We can’t leave. Guns N’ Roses! Remember how much my mom loved them? How my dad would groan every time she’d dance around the kitchen to ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine’?”
“Vaguely, but—”
She glances behind her and back at me. “Do they sell T-shirts in there?”
“Yeah, but—”
She nods and starts walking. I think I may have created a monster.
“Whoa, Sav.”
She stops and looks at me like I should have no problem with her going into the bar and buying clothes. Which is true. But Poppy’s isn’t exactly known for their array of sweatshirts, but Savannah wouldn’t know that because she hasn’t been inside yet. Something I was hoping wouldn’t happen. It’s not really her scene. She’s doing so well, and I don’t want to send her scurrying back into her shell.
“I don’t think they’ll have what you’re looking for,” I say. “We can go, and I’ll find out when these guys are playing again and where and I promise we’ll go.”
She studies me for so long, I shift my stance. Then her hand lands on my hand t
hat’s currently gripping her arm. “Relax. There’s no harm in checking.”
And she’s gone, up the front steps of the bar.
Shit.
“Hey, Kelly!” someone behind me calls, but I put up my hand.
I weave through the people, catching her right before she opens the door of the bar. Where did the shy woman who was practically velcroed to me earlier go? Her face was pasty white, and she looked so uncomfortable, but now I think she’d knee Slim in the balls if he tried anything on her. Is this what a near-death experience has done for her?
She pulls from my grasp and steps inside the bar. “Excuse me,” she says to a waitress passing by. “Do you guys sell T-shirts with the Poppy’s logo on it?”
I bite my lip and shake my head. Does she not see the Hooters-type clothes the woman is wearing? There are three rips across her shirt’s tit area, and it stops mid stomach.
“Are you looking for a job?” the girl asks, looking over Savannah’s shoulder at me. “Hello,” she says, her gaze roaming my body.
I’m not naive enough to think she’s shooting me a pair of bedroom eyes for any reason other than she wants what’s in my wallet. But Savannah looks from her to me, giving me the scowl I haven’t seen once this week.
“No, I just need to change,” Savannah says.
“Well, sweetheart, head over there.” The waitress points toward the corner where I already knew she could find their merchandise.
“Savannah,” I say.
She raises her hand when we have to stop to let a line of people through. “It’s fine. I knew you were kind of a man-whore, so I shouldn’t be so surprised by all this.” She waves at the sea of people in black leather and chains.
“What does that mean?”
A woman stops in her tracks, her eyes zooming right between my legs. I roll my eyes and keep walking, but when I catch the maddening Bailey woman, she’s standing in front of the clothing booth with wide eyes as though we’re at a BDSM store.
“Wow,” she says, her gaze wandering over every item.
“Hey, sweetie, can I help you?” the woman behind the counter asks. She’s wearing a replica of what the waitress was wearing. It might be the most conservative thing they have.
“Let’s go home,” I whisper in her ear, putting my hand on her hip.
Savannah glances up and there’s some fear in those baby blues, but she shakes her head. “No. I think I can pull one of these off.” She taps her wallet on the counter.
“Oh, sweetie, you can definitely pull these off,” the woman behind the counter says.
“Get her the Poppy T-shirt. Men’s extra-large.” I pull out my credit card, and the woman stares at me but never moves. “Hello?”
She eyes Savannah. “I think I’ll let the lady decide.”
Savannah giggles but continues to peruse the T-shirts. They’re all ripped across the breast area, all short and all tight. The only bottoms they have are skin-tight booty shorts and mini-skirts. If she puts those on, I won’t be able to control myself. Neither will any other male in her vicinity.
“The men’s long sleeve shirt looks nice and comfy. You must be cold.”
Savannah thumbs in my direction. “He’s trying to cover me up.”
The woman leans across the counter. “Men. Always trying to keep us down.”
She couldn’t have said anything more to Savannah’s liking. And after that, Savannah’s fingers are a fury of activity, pointing to different items and choosing sizes. Before I can do anything, she’s running Savannah’s card through the machine.
“Can you tell me where the restroom is?” Savannah asks her.
“Right down the hall.”
“Thank you.”
“Stop on by, I gotta see how hot you look in those.” The clerk nods at the array of black fabric in Savannah’s hands.
“Sure thing.” She waves and heads down the hall, not caring whether I’m behind her or not. She stops right before going through the door labeled with a picture of a cat. “Oh. Here’s a shirt for you.” She tosses it to me then grazes her fingers over the cat on the door. “How cute, they used a cat to label the restroom.”
After she goes into the bathroom, I shake my head and glare at the rooster on the men’s room. I should probably change in there, but I’m not taking any chances of losing her in this crowd, so I pull off my shirt, tuck it into my back pocket, and pull on the fresh shirt with a woman’s open legs printed on it and the words, “Poppy’s – Home of the Horny Biker.”
Crossing my arms, I wait outside the women’s restroom for Savannah. And I keep waiting, shaking hands with a few people who pass me. Just when I think she might’ve snuck out a window—because I’m acting like a protective father and she’s the belligerent teenager in this scenario—the door opens, and Savannah emerges.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been standing there gawking when she tugs on the T-shirt, stretching the three slits over her cleavage and drawing me from my reverie.
“Say something,” she begs, her voice a lot less confident than when she went in.
“Um…”
“Ugh. I have to put these on your bike.” She holds up her wet jeans and T-shirt.
Please tell me she’s still wearing her panties. Especially with the red-and-black plaid skirt that barely covers her ass. I already know she’s wearing her bra because I can see it clearly through the gaps in her T-shirt.
Before I have a chance to ask, she’s off again, stomping out of the hallway and through the crowd to the door. We reach the fresh air. There will be next to no darkness tonight. The most we’ll get is twilight for six or so hours.
“I really think we should go home.”
She ignores me and throws her clothes in the saddlebag on my bike then tugs at her skirt.
“You don’t have to prove something to me. Is this your way of saying you’re not the OCD Savannah or something? Because I’m not comfortable with you in there”—I point toward the run-down building behind us—“in that.” I motion to her outfit, barely able to look at her without getting hard.
Who am I kidding? I’m already halfway there.
“I’m trying to go with the flow. This is your event. We shouldn’t leave just because my clothes got wet. Not when they have some available. Is it ideal? Hell no. But I’ll survive.” She turns, but I lightly touch her elbow and she circles back around. “What?”
“I’m not sure I’ll survive.” I let my meaning sink in as she blinks a few times. “I haven’t been shy about my attraction to you, and right now you’re dressed like some… I don’t even know what. A wet dream? There’s just so much skin.”
She giggles, steps forward, and puts her hand on my chest but retracts it right away. “Try not to stare.”
She’s kidding, right? She has to be. How can I not stare?
But I might as well admit defeat. How can I say “live your life” then try to shelter her in the next breath? If she’s willing to go along with it, I shouldn’t try to change her mind. A month ago, she would’ve thrown a hissy fit and reamed me out for what happened, so this is progress.
Three guys walk by and whistle, each of them envisioning her naked. I know because I’ve already done it four times.
“Fine.” I come up alongside her. “But to everyone in there, you’re my girlfriend, got it?”
She smiles at me. “I kind of like this protective side of you, Liam Kelly.” She touches the shirt I’m wearing. “Sorry. It’s all they had in extra-large.”
I look down at the woman with her legs open and shrug. “Going with the flow, right?”
“Right.” She smiles.
This is the first time in so long that I’ve glimpsed the old Savannah who loved life more than spreadsheets. The Savannah who lived in every moment while it was happening. Not the one afraid to step out of her comfort zone. It might be brief, but later that night, as I stand at her side and watch her twirling around to “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door” with not a care in the world, I wish we could s
tay in this moment forever.
Twenty-Three
Savannah
Two weeks into Liam’s experiment and I’ve meditated every morning. Liam’s been joining me because Denver is usually asleep. I’ve also written in my journal every day since I received it, and I give Liam props—I enjoy these quiet moments to myself late at night with only my thoughts. Somehow, writing down my worries about the things I can’t control frees my mind.
I’m interrupted by a knock on my door, and I roll over on my bed. “Come in.”
The door creaks open and Liam fills the space, holding a jar filled with multi-colored papers. He must be getting ready to go to bed, because he’s in the track shorts and T-shirt I’ve seen him wear the mornings he doesn’t go for a run.
“Hey,” I say.
“Week three, are you ready?” He waggles his eyebrows.
I sit up on the bed, crossing my legs, as eager as a child staring at all the presents Christmas morning but being told they have to take pictures first.
“May I?” He nods toward the bed.
I slide up toward the pillows and pat the space. “Of course. Technically, it’s yours.”
“Which reminds me, I’m going over to your house tomorrow. I’m gonna talk to the contractor.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
I grimace a bit. “I’m sorry, I’m overstaying my welcome, aren’t I?”
He’s shaking his head before I can finish my sentence. “You’re welcome to be here as long as you need, but I want you to be here because you want to be here, not because you have to be here.”
I sit back, the giddiness of getting another present from Liam fading. “We should talk.”
He holds up his hand. “I didn’t come here for a talk. I understand the reasons why you think we wouldn’t work out, but if I’m honest, I’m finding it hard to keep them forefront in my mind.”
I nod because a large part of me feels the same way. Especially after the charity motorcycle ride. But then I’ll remember Nina and the way other women look at him as though they’ve had him. As though they know how he makes love—or as is more likely in his case, how he fucks.
