I turn quickly and start double-timing it, in the opposite direction of Blake, toward the gas station. I would love to just take off running, but unfortunately Nike has yet to make a great pair of heels. Or any heels for that matter…
Directly behind me, I hear him get on his motorcycle and start the engine, revving it a couple of times for added dramatic effect. Bonafide asshole, definitely. I mean, what kind of man leaves a woman stranded on the side of the road? I feel a knot in my throat and my eyes begin to form tears, but I refuse to let Blake Morgan see me cry.
I’m not sure if it’s the stress of the morning, or the fact that seeing Blake brings back all sorts of memories that I can’t emotionally deal with right now, but I’m starting to feel that empty feeling in my chest that’s never a good sign. I’m usually equipped with enough strength to keep all my emotions effectively buried throughout the day, and I mean every day, but I think the craziness of this morning has weakened my defenses. So I start walking faster in an effort to get out of the current situation as soon as possible.
I hear Blake’s motorcycle growling as it pulls up next to me. I keep my eyes forward and walk faster.
“Get on!” I hear Blake yell over the sound of his engine.
I shake my head. “Um, no. Thanks.” The Dory song from Finding Nemo keeps running though my mind…“Just keep walking, just keep walking, just keep walking, walking, walking…”
He continues coasting alongside me. “Get on the bike, Alex!!”
“Seriously, Blake, get on with your good deeds for the day! I. Am. Fine!” I yell back at him to make sure he hears me over his ridiculously loud motorcycle. I seriously think he’s over compensating for some part of the male anatomy.
I start walking again and the sound of the engine ceases. I hear the familiar clanking rapidly approaching me from behind. Suddenly, I feel a hand grab my arm and I’m forcefully whipped around to find myself about two inches from Blake’s irritatingly handsome face. We’re so close that I can smell the mint on his breath as he speaks. It reminds me of how much I hate toothpaste.
“Alex, get your ass on this bike. I’ll take you to your office. We can deal with your truck later. I can still get you there within the now,” he pauses to look at his watch, “fifteen minute time frame to make sure you don’t getting strangled by your business partner. Think about it. Is your pride more important than your business?”
I wiggle free from the vice grip holding my arm.
“Get on your bike? In this?” I move my hand, performing a perfectly executed Vanna White demonstration of the black and white striped pencil skirt I’m wearing. Does he not understand the simple design of the pencil skirt? There’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to straddle that bike seat. And I’m pretty sure I can’t side saddle it either, not with those pesky safety laws. Nope...there’s absolutely no way I’m getting on that stupid ass bike. “Not gonna happen, buddy.”
“Alex, if I have to pick you up, put you over my shoulder, and physically place you on my bike, I will. So yes, it’s gonna happen. You can either do so with dignity, or we can do it my way. Your choice.”
I stare at him with the best mommy death stare I can conjure up, and he holds it with no fear. Shit…this stuff always works with the girls. I’m now in a very unfamiliar territory. And unfortunately, it starts to seep into my brain that I have no more time to argue with him about this stupid situation if I want to keep both my business and my best friend.
“Fine!”
Blake breathes a sigh of relief and I notice his face slowly turning back to its normal color. He turns to walk back to his bike and I hesitantly follow him. He takes a helmet from the back compartment and hands it to me, then looks directly at the top of my head.
“Um…I think you have something in your hair.” He makes a move to touch my toothpaste bubble and I knock his hand away, rather vehemently.
“It’s a present from my daughter,” I state with annoyance, slamming the helmet down onto my head. Not really knowing what to do with the strap, I attempt to buckle it under my chin. He in turn slaps my hand away from the strap, the nerve of this guy, and buckles it, tightening it until it fits perfectly. His fingers stall for a minute, grazing across my chin and as they do, I find myself looking him dead straight in the eyes. I do this for two reasons. One, to let him know that touching me is not okay. He must get this one pretty quick because he promptly removes his fingers from my chin. And two, as much as I hate to do it… “Thank you, Blake.”
Blake looks at me for a brief second and I watch the left corner of his mouth slightly curve upward. He turns quickly and begins to fish his keys out of his pocket. When he turns back around, his face is completely void of any effect the last two seconds had on him. “Let’s just get this over with.”
For some reason, this sends a pang of hurt to my heart. What the hell is wrong with me? First the “almost” tears and now this…I need to get the hell out of here.
“I agree,” I quickly bite back.
Approaching the bike, I mentally work through several different strategies for conquering the seating issue at hand. Landing on the most plausible, I know what I have to do. But, I need to make sure he’s on his bike and facing forward for this to happen.
“Go ahead and get on,” I tell Blake, gesturing with my hand towards his bike. Surprisingly, he does so with no gratuitous commenting. Once he’s on the bike, I make sure his eyes are forward. I start to fold my skirt up until it hits middle of my thigh. I start to climb on, but there still isn’t room for me to straddle the seat. Shit. I proceed with the next fold, and start to lift my leg over the bike. As I lower my body to take my seat…
“Woo-hoo!”
“Nice legs!”
“Ride me, baby!”
I hear horns, catcalls, and whistling as people pass us on the interstate. Punks…
I shudder with embarrassment, glad to have the helmet over my face. I’m sure it’s turning crimson and the last thing I want Blake Morgan to see is my face beaming the exact shade of red it did when I received “the talk” from my parents. So embarrassing.
“Get to work assholes!” I yell back at them. I feel Blake’s shoulders begin to shake from his laughter. “Shut up, Blake. Let’s go!”
I tightly wrap my arms around his midsection; I’m actually glad that I’m so pissed off right now. Pissed off is my guarantee that my mind won’t wander to places I don’t want to deal with.
“Do you know where you’re going?” I ask him, suddenly realizing we have yet to discuss the exact location of my office.
“Yeah, you bought Ms. Parnell’s old office, right?”
“Er – yes. How did you know that?”
“My parents still live here, Alex. I know a lot of things.”
With nothing left to say, he starts up his bike and we drive the whole way to my office in silence. Not that we really have a choice. You can’t hear a damn thing riding a motorcycle, going what feels like one hundred miles per hour, with a helmet on.
Shortly after, we pull into the Prestige Staffing parking lot. After Blake gets off, I make him turn around so I can lift my leg over the seat. Once successfully completed, I make my move to get off this freakin’ death trap on wheels. Setting my foot down on the gravel, my ankle rolls slightly.
Damn shoes again! I really need to get started on that letter to Nike.
I grab Blake’s shirt to steady myself, immediately realizing my mistake. Once again, two inches from his face, I find myself momentarily lost.
Immediately letting go, I start to take off the helmet and wince when it pulls some of the hairs out of the top of my head. Once the helmet is removed, I look down to see that some of the toothpaste has oozed off my head and found a new happy home in the top of Blake’s helmet. I decide to keep this bit of information to myself.