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“Unless you know how to turn pumpkins into horse-drawn carriages.” I lever myself up as she locks the brakes on the wheelchair. A spike of pain in my back leaves me gasping. “Worst-case scenario, I’ll just end up back here.”
The nurse shakes her head as she grips the handles of the wheelchairs and turns it around. “Good luck.”
Unfortunately, luck has been in pretty short supply these days.
Drake doesn’t remove his helmet as he idles the bike. If he’s trying to hide his identity, then he shouldn’t bother. I doubt anyone else in this town drives a Ducati Superleggera, but I can appreciate the effort.
If I pretend that I’m a character in a spy movie, it makes all of this seem the tiniest bit less terrifying.
Drake reaches out to help me onto the back of my back. His arm levers around my waist, mindful of the shoulder that I dislocated in the crash. I’m not wearing a sling because the doctor didn’t think I needed it, so I’m surprised he remembers the injury.
It shouldn’t feel good, even though it does.
He slaps the spare helmet on my head and turns away. I can’t make out his expression through the dark visor. I really wish that I had some idea what’s going on inside of his head.
We’ve gone from enemies to lovers, then back to enemies and now somehow unlikely allies. I have no idea where this relationship, if you can call it that, is going to take us next.
A small part of me is curious to find out.
My arms stay loosely wrapped around Drake’s waist as he drives slowly out of the hospital parking lot. The warmth of his body seeps into my skin through the thin fabric of my still blood-stained shirt.
When I shiver, it isn’t from the cold.
I grab him tighter out of reflex as the motorcycle turns onto the main road and he speeds up. The heat of his body washes over me, triggering a visceral reaction. It’s impossible not to think about what happened after the last time I took a ride with him on this bike. An unwelcome wave of desire washes over me.
God, I hate myself.
At this point, it might be better if I fall off the back of this thing then keep myself hugged up to him. My body aches and I feel a bone-deep weariness that is deeper than just something physical. But I’m still very aware of the fact that my legs are wrapped around his hips, his body pressed into the vee of my thighs.
Remember Olivia. The words push through my head like a mantra. I’m not here for myself. What I want has nothing to do with what I’m trying to accomplish. Once this is done, I can hop on the first guy I encounter and work out all of this rising sexual frustration.
Because that is the only that has ever been between us: good sex.
Everything else was just a trick.
When Drake pulls into a parking lot with cracked pavement next to a building that looks like it’s a month from being torn down, I finally have something else to focus on.
“Where the hell are we?”
He comes to a stop behind a large wooden sign that says Bayview Motel, obviously choosing the spot so that his motorcycle won’t be visible from the road.
Drake kicks the stand down with his heel. “The sign doesn’t make it obvious?”
“There isn’t a bay or a view in sight, but okay.” I throw my leg over the side of the bike before he can help me, wincing in pain as my foot hits the ground a little too hard. “I thought we were going back to St. Bart’s.”
“I need you to keep a low profile until I work some things out.” He takes off his helmet and uses it to gesture toward the saddle bag. “I’ve got some cash. Use it to check in while I wait here. They shouldn’t ask for ID.”
The side pocket of his bag is bursting with a wad of bills the size of my fist. I don’t need to count it to know that there is more than enough for a room in this shitty place. “You’re not coming with me?”
“It’s better if the clerk doesn’t see us together.” His gaze moves quickly over the parking lot, body tense. “Hurry up, I don’t like just standing out in the open like this.”
He makes it sound like we should be worried about snipers on the roof, or something. My back hunches against the cold as I hurry toward the front office of the motel. I wasn’t really scared while I was in the hospital. What happened out on the road felt like someone else’s a nightmare, a thing that I heard about instead of experiencing myself.
But walking through the nearly empty parking lot reminds me of just how easy it is to take somebody out with a car. I keep my head on a swivel as I pass the few cars in the lot, alert for the sound of an engine starting.
It isn’t paranoia if someone really is out to get you.
The lobby smells like old cigarettes and mold, making me gag a little as the door closes behind me. I lived a life pretty far removed from luxury for years, but my time at St. Bart’s has made me forget what it’s like to be surrounded by decaying things.
