Colorado experiences hot days, but, fortunately, there’s no humidity. But even without humidity, sweat blankets my skin as I pull out the old push mower and wheel it to my starting point. After a few pulls, the machine roars to life and I begin walking straight lines. Connor takes a lot more pride in this task, mowing at angles and making the lawn look like a golf course. Me, if I can get it cut without completely screwing it up, I’m happy. When I finish the front lawn, I move to the back and continue my boring straight lines. About halfway through, the mower starts sputtering and shuts off, having run out of gas.
“Son of a biscuit,” I groan. Hearing the sound of someone chuckle, I whip around and find Connor is leaned over the bottom railing of the stairs to his apartment, watching me. He has a lazy smile on his face, and I try not to stare, but he looks so damn delectable. The easy smile against the hard body and tattoos, there is something positively divine about it. Suddenly it feels a lot hotter out here.
“Didn’t hear you pull in,” I note as I walk toward him.
“I know. I would’ve cut it, ya know?”
“Yeah, but I kind of wanted something to keep me busy. A little exercise never hurt.”
“Well, let me put fuel in it at least.” He walks in the garage and comes back out with the gas can. After he fills the lawn mower, he stands and smiles at me. “There you go.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“So, I know we said dinner tonight. I was thinking, wanna head into town for a bite?”
I had planned on making meatloaf, but the day is hot and heading out for a cold beer sounds amazing. “Um, yes, but it’s my treat,” I remind him. “I owe you for the childcare this past weekend.”
“You don’t owe me, but fine,” he folds. “Any chance you’d ride on the bike with me?”
My brows rise. “I’ve never been on one.”
This time, his brows rise and another beautiful grin spreads across his face. “Really?”
“Really,” I confirm.
“Well, I understand if you don’t want to. We can drive.”
I look over at his bike in the driveway and feeling shame deep inside, I realize I want to ride the bike. But the only reason I want to, maybe, is because I want to feel what it’s like to sit that close to him and wrap my arms around his body. Damn, I’m a head case. “No, I’d like to ride the bike,” I finally say.
“Okay, then.” He nods. “Leave around 6:00?
“It’s a date,” I slip out, then shake my head. What did I just say? “I mean . . . not a date. It’s a . . . dinner or whatever.” Shut up, Demi. Stop the madness.
Connor chuckles and walks past me. “See you at 6:00.”
We meet in the driveway at 6:00 pm on the dot. I’m wearing a pair of jeans and a black tank top. Connor is wearing jeans and a black T-shirt.
“Well aren’t we adorable, matching and shit,” he jokes as he puts on his helmet.
I laugh. “Should I change clothes?”
“Hell no. You look hot.” Rounding the bike he approaches me with another helmet and I pray my arms, neck and cheeks haven’t taken on the shade of a beet after his compliment. He slips the helmet on my head and begins tightening it around my chin. “You’re adorable when you blush, you know?” he murmurs. There went that.
“It’s hot out here,” I reply lamely.
“It’s not that hot,” he replies with a grin.
“You know Colorado has no helmet laws,” I point out, hoping to change the subject.
“And anyone who rides without one is a fucking idiot,” he mumbles.
“True,” I agree.
After he finishes with the strap, he taps my nose with his index finger. He turns and climbs on his bike, hitting the kickstand. The muscles in his arms flex as he mans the bike and I decide I really like motorcycles. After a moment, the Harley roars to life, and he steadies it to one side, looking at me. “Use this little step and climb on.”
With a deep breath, I follow his instructions and climb on, scooting myself forward so that my body is flush with his. His hands reach around, grabbing mine and pulling them around his firm mid-section. “Hold on tightly to me, okay?”
“Okay,” I shout over the engine. He walks the bike back, turning it around and then slowly takes it down the driveway letting the weight create a momentum that makes us roll.
At the bottom, he turns his head and smiles. “I think you’re going to love this.” Then, he opens the throttle on the bike, and we take off. I didn’t realize my strength until this moment. I don’t think I’ve ever held anyone or anything so tightly in my life. I’m pretty sure I’m about to crack one of his ribs. The wind and the sound of the engine are loud, but they feel good. What I’m struggling with is the feeling of no control. I have no way to stop this bike myself. At any moment, we could veer off the road and go flying into the trees. When we come upon the first stop sign, Connor pats my hand, before resting his upon it and squeezing gently.
“I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.” His words hit me. I believe him. And just like that, my hold weakens a little, and I inhale deeply through my nose. Well, that was a mistake. He smells like hot, dirty, sex. Why, oh why does he have to be so . . . everything? I mean, couldn’t he have been like some thugged out misfit with missing teeth? No, of course not. He just had to be the incredibly hot, kind, good and bad combo with tattoos.
By the time we make it to the restaurant, I’ve calmed down a bit. When I climb off the bike, I can’t help first rubbing my cheeks, then my ass. They’re both numb.
Connor laughs as he pulls off his helmet. “You’re just not use to it yet. We’ll have to ride more often.”
He helps me undo the strap of my helmet, and I run my fingers through my tangled hair. Note to self: Tie hair back next time on the back of a bike. We walk into the Sandbox, a cool little place that serves the best wings and has some form of live music every night. They also have six pool tables in the back. I’ve only been here twice, with Lexi, but I love the atmosphere. I wonder if she’ll meander in tonight.
“You want to grab a table and eat or would you rather play some pool first and have a drink?”
I am a little hungry, but a game of pool sounds fun. “You rack ’em,” I tell him. “You’re about to get your ass kicked.”
He snorts out a laugh, his eyes wide with mirth. “Care to put your money where your mouth is?” We’ve just reached the pool table, and he’s already signaling for our server to bring us balls so we can set up.
I cross my arms. “A bet?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Just a friendly bet between neighbors.
“What’d you have in mind?”
He reaches around and scratches the back of his neck, his bicep bulging as he does. Has he been working out since he’s been home? But where? “You owe me five dinners if I win?”
I laugh. “Joke’s on you. I’m a terrible cook.”
“Not in my book,” he argues as our waitress approaches with the balls. He orders a whiskey neat, and I decide I better stick with beer.
“So what do I get if I win?” I ask after our server has scurried off to fill our order.
“What do you want?”
I twist my mouth as I think about this. I’m definitely going to win. I’m awesome at pool. I better make it something good. “You have to cook me five dinners.”
He gives me a ‘Really’ look.
“That’s right, Mr. Stevens. Five dinners. One really should be duck with plum sauce.”
Smiling he counters, “Does it count if I take you out for dinner?”
“Is alcohol included?”
“Yes,” he answers as he chalks his pool stick.
“I’ll accept those terms.”
“Alright, your cockiness. You have to win first,” he jests.
“It’s in the bag,” I reply confidentially, chalking my pool stick.