Page 6 of My Single Dad Biker

"No."

His fingers linger for just a second at my jaw before he pulls back. "Okay. Get on behind me. Hold on to my waist. Lean when I lean. Don't fight it."

I climb on, awkward and hyperaware of how close I have to sit to him. My thighs bracket his hips. When he tells me to hold on, I wrap my arms around his waist and I can feel the solid warmth of him through his shirt.

"Ready?" he asks over his shoulder.

"I think so."

"You'll be fine."

The engine starts and I feel it through my whole body. Then we're moving and I tighten my grip instinctively and he reaches down and adjusts my hands so they're locked together at his stomach.

Four blocks has never felt so short and so long at the same time.

He pulls up to my house and puts his feet down to stabilize the bike while I climb off. My legs feel unsteady. He takes the helmet when I hand it back and his fingers brush mine.

"You did good," he says.

"That was terrifying."

"But you did it."

I look at him sitting there on his bike in the near-dark of my street. "Thank you for bringing me home. For everything."

"Lock your doors tonight."

"I always do."

"I'll have your car here by seven tomorrow morning. Keys will be in the ignition."

"How will you—"

"I'll figure it out. Go inside."

I don't want to go inside yet. I want to understand what just happened in that parking lot and why this man I barely know just put me on his motorcycle and drove me home and why that feels more significant than it probably should.

"Are you part of the reason they're here?" I ask. "Marrow?"

He looks at me for a long moment before answering. "We're part of the reason they're leaving."

I nod. I don't fully understand but I understand enough. "Goodnight, Holt."

"Goodnight, Katherine."

He waits until I'm at my door before starting the engine again.

I unlock it and step inside, turn to wave but he's already pulling away from the curb. I close the door and turn the deadbolt and watch through the window as his taillight disappears down the street.

I lean back against the door and close my eyes.

My heart is beating hard everywhere. Throat. Wrists. Chest.

The fear from earlier is still there, sitting cold in my stomach, but under it is something else. Something warm that started when Holt looked at me in that parking lot and asked if I was okay.

I felt it when his fingers brushed mine adjusting the helmet. When I was pressed against his back on the motorcycle with my arms around his waist and could feel him breathing.

I should call Linda about her truck, should call the school and report what happened, should do several responsible things.