by Claire Adams
“Aaand it's done,” she said as she turned off the Bunsen burner.
“Okay, great,” I said. “That was an interesting experiment.”
“Yes, it was. I'll get this stuff cleaned up. You pack the chemicals away, and then we can be on our way.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I saluted and she rolled her eyes at me with a brief smile.
We cleaned up in silence. I could sense she was trying to shut me out again, trying to push me away. But I knew there was also a part of her calling out to me at the same time, a part that wanted to get closer, a part that mirrored what I was feeling for her. There were undeniable sparks between us, I could feel it in the way she looked at me sometimes—especially when she thought I wasn't looking. I could sense it the way she would sometimes open up in conversation but then, very consciously and forcefully, try to shut herself down and put those walls up again.
I didn't want to keep playing this game with her. I wanted to find out more. I wanted to chip away at those walls.
“Alright,” she said, drying off her hands on a towel, “everything is all cleaned up. Have you put all the chemicals back in their places?”
“Yep. All where they should be.”
“Great. I guess we can be on our way then. I’ll see ya later.”
“Hold up,” I said suddenly, not entirely sure what I was going to say to get her to talk to me.
“Yeah?”
Food. Everyone had to eat. “I'm gonna go eat at a killer Indian place on the other side of town. I know the owner's son, he went to high school with me. It's the best Indian joint in town. You wanna come with? My treat.”
I was totally expecting her to turn me down, to make up an excuse and leave as fast as possible as she always did. So, when she replied, I almost fell off my lab stool.
“Actually, that sounds great,” she said. “Let's go.”
Chapter Thirteen
Brooke
I stared at the motorcycle with a strange cocktail of fear, excitement, and anxiety. “I've never actually been on a motorcycle before,” I confessed somewhat sheepishly.
He smiled. “No need to worry. I promise I'll take it easy.”
“You'd better. Adrenaline rushes are not my friend.”
He laughed, but there was a little sympathy in his eyes. “Thrill seeking isn't for everyone,” he said. “And, there's nothing wrong with that. I know extreme sports and crazy activities are seen as the cool thing to do these days, but everyone should just do what they enjoy, rather than being into something for the sake of putting out some fake image that they think others will like. Just be yourself. If people don’t like you… their loss.”
I nodded in response. It was a surprisingly insightful opinion that I definitely hadn’t expected from Emerson. Truth was, I felt a little ashamed of myself for being surprised. It was possible I'd been a little too hasty to judge him based on superficial factors. “That's a refreshing perspective,” I added.
There was a hint of shyness in the way he smiled back at me. It felt as though I was seeing a side of him that he hardly ever revealed to anyone. Then again, I have been known to be wrong.
“You ready to get going?” he asked, looking as if he suddenly felt a little embarrassed and just wanted to change the subject.
I took a deep breath and gave the sleek bike a long glance. “As ready as I’m going to get.”
He handed me the spare helmet that had been strapped down to the back, which I immediately put on and secured tightly. Wearing it had a claustrophobic quality until I opened the visor and let some air in. Emerson climbed onto the motorcycle and started it up. Being right next to it, the sound was more intense than hearing it from the sidewalk at the apartments. And when he revved it, it roared. While this made me feel a bit more nervous, it also excited me. I wasn’t entirely sure if I found the rumble of the bike sexy or the man straddling it.
“Get on,” he prompted.
I climbed gingerly onto the back. The passenger seat was higher than the driver's seat. Emerson was hunched over the body of the motorcycle while I felt as if I was perched on the highest point, floating around in the wind.
“Uh, where should I hold on?” I asked, my voice muffled inside the helmet.
“Just lean forward, wrap your arms around my waist,” he said.
This was going to be interesting. “Alright.”
I slanted forward and slid my arms around him. Warmth flooded my cheeks and I was certain they glowed bright red as my hands fumbled awkwardly around Emerson's midsection. Thankfully, I was behind him and he wasn’t looking at my face.
I couldn't believe how solid his stomach was—pure steel, not an ounce of fat to be felt anywhere. Damn. The image of him answering his door clad in nothing but a towel flashed through my mind. I had tried to suppress that image. But at the moment, all I could think of was how much he had looked like a Greek god.
“You okay back there?”
I locked my hands together instead of pressing them against his hard abs. That would have just been a little more than I could take. “Um, yeah,” I replied, hoping he wouldn’t pick up on the discomfort in my voice.
“Okay,” he said as he clicked the bike into gear. “Like I promised, I'm gonna take it easy. But there will still be some surges in acceleration when I'm driving. This machine has a sensitive throttle. She can boost forward like a rocket with just the slightest input. So, hold on tight, alright?”
“Like you have to remind me.”
With that, he took off.
Even though I could tell he was riding slowly, a rush of fear coursed through my veins. Being on a motorcycle was so different from being in a car. Night and day different. But as we got up to speed and the wind started to rip past us, a boost of excitement replaced the fear firing through my veins. It made being in a car seem like a bland, everyday chore. I'd always thought of it as a cliché before, but I suddenly understood what bikers meant when they talked about freedom.
With my arms wrapped around Emerson's body, I felt an intense sense of attraction as he controlled the raging beast on which we were perched, whipping in and out of traffic. The magnetism was almost primal.
A traffic light turned red ahead of us and Emerson hit the brakes, causing me to slide forward on the seat. My body came to rest pressed firmly against his.
I wondered if he could feel my breasts pressing into his back and if it stirred anything in him. I certainly couldn't deny feeling more than a little aroused by it.
He turned his head to the side and flipped up his visor to speak to me. “You alright back there?” he asked.
I mirrored his action with my own visor to reply. “Great!”
“You're not scared? No rollercoaster flashbacks?”
“Nope! I'm actually enjoying this!”
“Awesome.”
A flicker of a smile played on his lips before he tapped his visor back into place. Two seconds later, the light turned green and we took off again. I could sense the machine had so much more to offer than Emerson was allowing. I almost yelled over the engine for him to open the throttle and gas it, but there were still a few butterflies fluttering around in my stomach, no matter how much I was enjoying the ride.
After fifteen minutes of the wind racing by, we arrived at what I assumed was our destination—a hole in the wall that had a warm and inviting feel. It might have been small, but it looked classy from the outside. Emerson maneuvered the bike into a parking spot and killed the engine, and I released my arms from around his waist, a little disappointed that I had to let go. He booted out the kickstand and dismounted the bike and then helped me off. It was a gentlemanly thing to do, and I couldn't help being a little impressed. I removed my helmet and beamed a broad smile at him. I could tell he appreciated it.
“That was so cool!” I exclaimed. “Wow! I totally get bikers now! Well, okay, maybe not totally… but I can really see the appeal.”
He chuckled. It was a really sweet laugh. “Yeah, it's great, right? I've been ri
ding motorcycles since I was a little kid. My dad was into dirt bikes and motocross. He got me my first dirt bike when I was six. I've been hooked on bikes since.”
“Have you ever had any bad accidents?”
“I've had plenty of spills in the dirt, yeah, but that's to be expected when you’re riding off-road. I had a pretty bad spill in a race when I was twelve. Broke my collarbone and my left wrist.”
“That didn't make you want to give up riding?”
“Hell no! I know guys who have broken both legs and been stuck in wheelchairs for six months. Guess what they did as soon as they were out of the wheelchair?”
“Get back on the bike so they could break their legs again?” I replied with a smirk.
“You got it.”
“So, guys are all nuts, huh?”
“When the biking bug bites, it's generally a lifetime infection.”
“But it's so dangerous, Emerson. Seriously.”
“What's life without a little danger, a little excitement? I mean, I could play it safe, never take any risks, and still get hit by a drunk driver while walking on the sidewalk one night.”
My eyes widened. “That’s a little extreme,” I said.
“That actually happened to a guy I know. Now he's a quadriplegic. He was one of those by the book types, crazy obsessed with his health. Never smoked, never drank, never partied, worked out six days a week. I mean, this guy was even vegan, didn't want any animal products in his body because he said they cause cancer. Then one night, he took a walk down the street to buy a newspaper, and as he was walking out of the Kwik Stop, a drunk driver lost control of his car, skidded across the intersection, and plowed him over. He was in a coma for three months and now he's in a wheelchair. And, this was a guy who took zero risks. Now he doesn’t have the option to take a risk.”
I nodded. I couldn't really argue that point. But I wasn’t so sure I completely agreed, either. “I understand what you’re saying, but still there are risks and then there are risks,” I said. “Sure, bad luck sometimes strikes no matter what you do, but riding a motorcycle increases the risk factor exponentially.”
Emerson shrugged. “If something happens, it happens. It's better to live life fully without regrets and have something bad happen than to creep through life in a state of constant worry and fear and still have something bad happen to you because it was fated to happen.”
“You believe in fate?”
“Yeah. I do, actually.”
“Like in those Final Destination movies?” I joked with a grin.
He laughed. “Man, I used to love those when I was a kid! Are they still making them? I mean, they must be up to like Final Destination 12 or 13 now if they are!”
I chuckled. “I think they stopped on number five or six.”
“Oh, you don't know how much Hollywood loves horror sequels. They'll milk it until it literally can’t be milked for another drop.”
“I think they may have reached that point in number five. It was awful,” I replied.
“Nope. It can always get lower. Always. I mean, didn't you see that South Park episode where James Cameron took a submarine into the deepest trench in the ocean to find out how far the bar has been lowered?”
A grin broke out over my face. “I did not. I don't watch South Park. It's so crude, come on. Do you really think that sort of stuff is funny?”
Emerson shot me a mischievous grin. “It's hilarious, Brooke! C'mon, you shouldn't just write it off like that without giving it a chance. It's actually pretty awesome social commentary.”
I couldn’t believe he’d just said, “social commentary.” I wasn't expecting that from a guy like Emerson. A guy who admitted to doing awful in school the previous semester. A guy who rode a motorcycle, partied, and spent more time in the gym than one guy probably should. I didn’t expect it, but I had to say it was stimulating to hear it. The more he showed me this side of him, the more attracted to him I found myself.
“Social commentary, huh? Alright, alright, maybe I shouldn't be so quick to judge. Maybe I should give it a chance.”
“I've got every season on my hard drive. I'll lend 'em to you.”
“You're that big of a fan, are you?” I gasped with mock surprise.
“Yes, I am! How did we get onto this topic again, anyway?”
“Uh, fate. We were talking about fate. Then Final Destination, and then…”
“Oh, right. Yeah, got it. Well, like I was saying, I do believe in fate. Destiny. If something is meant to happen, it happens.”
I wanted to ask, “So you believe if two people are supposed to meet, they will?” But I didn't. I didn't want to be too suggestive of anything at the moment, and I suddenly realized I had been letting my defenses down with Emerson, something I had explicitly set out to not do. Things were starting to get a little dangerous and I began to question my decision to come out to eat with him. I rarely made impulsive decisions, so what had prompted me to agree to dinner?
I needed to back off a little, to cool things down because they definitely seemed to be heating up. Of course, I could not back out of dinner. We were already at the restaurant, and it would have been a bitchy thing to make up an excuse and ask that he take me home. So, for the rest of the evening, I'd just have to keep my guard up and make a conscious effort to keep some distance between us. I couldn’t keep letting myself get drawn too deeply into conversation with him. I couldn’t let myself fall for his charm—charm that he certainly had. I couldn’t allow that suggestive glimmer in his eyes or the curve of his heart-stopping smile get to me. Whatever attraction I was feeling to him, it seemed pretty certain he was feeling for me.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so at ease chatting with a guy. It felt like forever, to be honest. Granted, I’d had some good chats with Garrett from class, but nothing that felt quite as comfortable and easy as how Emerson and I had suddenly been chatting. It was just natural, and that’s what had me concerned. I had to wonder what exactly was happening.
Everything that I had hoped wouldn't happen, that’s what.
I made a conscious attempt to reel things back in. “Well, enough talk about what we don’t have any control over. I’m hungry, and we do have control over that,” I offered with a forced smile. “Besides, I've actually got a lot of work to do, so let's quit standing around and go inside and get some food.”
“Alright,” he agreed. “I've got a lot to get done, too, so, let's go.”
Chapter Fourteen
Emerson
It was almost like I’d flipped channels with a remote control. One minute, the conversation was easy and fun and we seemed to be hitting it off. The next, I saw something wash over her beautiful face, and just like that, the mask returned, the armor was back on, and the walls were erect.
But for a few moments, I got to see something more. The real Brooke. The girl hiding inside that suit of armor. And I have to say, I liked her. I liked her a lot. Which might have been the problem.
I think she sensed that. And not only did she sense it, but she felt it, too. That’s why she put the walls back up so abruptly. There was no doubt about it, Brooke was afraid of letting someone in. I don’t know who the asshole was, but someone had done a number on her in the past. She’d apparently been hurt pretty bad and her number one concern had become protecting herself. I had to give her credit, she was doing a bang-up job of that.
I wasn't sure what to do next or even what to say. The reality of it all was this: I was attracted to Brooke. Really attracted to her. In a way, I hadn't felt before. She was incredibly different from every other girl I knew, especially Melissa. Somehow, I think she knew how I was feeling and wasn’t ready for it. Maybe all she saw when she looked at me was this guy she could really connect with, who also wanted to truly connect with her. And that only made her want to reinforce those walls around her heart with even more steel and concrete.
So, as I walked into Patak's behind her, I tried to decide how the next hour might play out.
I wondered if I should keep things light or address the elephant in the room and try to actually have a serious discussion with her about how I felt. How she felt. Because no matter how she tried to deny it, she felt it, too. I could see it on her face, hear it in the tremble of her voice, feel it in the magnetism between us.
I was walking a razor's edge. If I told her how I felt about her, she might shut me out completely—and permanently. Was that a risk I was willing to take?
I didn't know. And not knowing was my answer. So, I decided to keep it light. Do exactly the opposite of what I had told Brooke only moments earlier. I decided to play it safe.
Mr. Patak, the owner of the restaurant, and my friend's dad was walking out of the kitchen as we entered. He immediately greeted us. “Emerson!” he called to me, his voice colored with a heavy Indian accent. “So good to see you, my boy!”
“Good evening, Mr. Patak,” I replied.
He walked over to us with a large grin pasted across his face and extended a hand to me. I took it, and he shook my hand vigorously, grinning all the while. “How are you? And, who is this lovely young lady? Is this your girlfriend?”
He extended a hand to Brooke and shook her hand gently.
“No, no,” I insisted, maybe a bit too hastily. “She's my neighbor. Brooke, this is Mr. Patak, owner of this fine establishment.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, a real pleasure!” he said. “Such a beauty! Why are you and Emerson not girlfriend and boyfriend? You two are both so good looking. You could have such lovely-looking children.”
We both laughed, albeit somewhat uncomfortably, and I could see Brooke blushing.
“Oh, I'm just too busy for a boyfriend,” she said, her cheeks still glowing red.
He shook his head and held up his forefinger as if he was about to make a profound point. “No, no, no. Nobody should be too busy for love! Love, young lady, that is what life is all about. Without it, well, life is like eating only bowls of plain white rice. Yes, it will keep you alive, but life will be so bland and boring and flavorless that you will wonder if you're really doing anything beyond merely existing and surviving. Love, young lady, that is the spice, the herbs, the exotic dishes and flavors and aromas that make life worth living! Don't make yourself too busy with merely surviving. One has to live, as well.”
