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Miri
Not going to lie, riding on the back of Davis’s bike is not at all what I expect. I’ve been on the back of a few bikes before and it wasn’t really my thing. I wanted to wrestle control away from the other person and drive myself. It’s possible I have a tiny issue with control. Davis called it immediately and his perception could have annoyed me, but I’m actually more impressed by the accurate observation.
Riding with Davis is different, though. He has absolute control of the bike, like it’s an extension of his body, perfectly attuned to his subtle shifts and turns. It’s like the bike wouldn’t dare do anything but bend to his command, which I know is craziness, because a bike is an inanimate object. Still, it makes me think about what it would be like to be bent under his iron will. In my day-to-day life I don’t like being told what to do, but I have a feeling I might enjoy having Davis boss me around elsewhere.
The ride is over too soon, a thought I never imagined I’d have. We roll up in front of a modern eyesore of a house that screams out of place, and I gape at it as Davis turns off the bike. My eyes are fixed on the house that sticks out like a sore thumb when compared to the rest of the island’s architecture as I take off my helmet and shake out my hair. I’m already dreading going inside. Between Davis’s apprehension and Lena telling me that Anthony basically ruined all their parents’ lives, well, let’s just say I have very low expectations for tonight.
Davis removes his own helmet and gazes at me over his shoulder, his golden-brown eyes piercing as they look at me. His hair is almost to his chin and wavy. It’s messy from the helmet and a second later he pulls out a stocking cap and yanks it down low over his forehead. He’s so handsome it makes me feel all wobbly.
“It’s a damn atrocity, isn’t it?” Davis nods toward the house.
“What the hell? Did he build it?”
“Yeah, about ten years back. It took forever to get built too, because they had to bring everything over by boat. He tore down an incredible house to make room.”
“Bastard,” I mutter as I get off the bike, still experiencing a little phantom vibration between my legs. Or maybe that’s just from having them wrapped around Davis. He looks edible tonight, although I doubt he gave much thought to what he’s wearing. He’s got jeans and a t-shirt on, with a leather jacket thrown over the top. The peek I got of his shaggy brown hair showed blonde streaks littered through the locks as if the sun left golden touches behind. It’s long enough that he can tuck it behind his ears and slightly curly. I want to run my hands through it, make it all messy and tumbled. He still needs a shave, and as he turns his head toward Anthony’s awful house, I glimpse the scar that runs from just beneath his ear down his neck.
Before I can stop myself, I trace my finger along the line. Davis’s head snaps around to look at me, and I freeze, uncertain what emotion I’m seeing on his face. It’s a carousel of feelings, lust, pain, embarrassment, desire, anger. I want to dig up his secrets, make him spill them just for me. Lena mentioned a few times that Davis isn’t an open book and that secretly makes me happy. I want to be the only one who gets to see past the tough exterior and down to the deep, dark recesses that make him who he is.
The double doors of the house swing open with a dramatic flair interrupting the moment. Anthony stands in the middle, arms outstretched on either side, kind of reminding me of Michael Jackson. Davis turns toward Anthony and my hand falls away, floating down to my side as I take in the unhappy expression that flits over our host’s face.
“Miriam,” he says in a terse greeting, taking a step toward us. He smiles at Davis, condescension thick in the air. “Thank you for bringing her over, Davis.” He turns back to me. “I could have sent someone over to pick you up.”
“Wasn’t necessary since Davis is my plus one. Thank you for inviting us.” I’m fully aware he didn’t tell me to bring someone with me, but I don’t care how rude it is to invite another person to dinner. He didn’t give me a choice about coming here so fuck him.
My smile is as brittle as his. We stare at each other in a weird show of dominance, but I will not give in. Neither is Anthony, it seems, as his eyes narrow and his mouth turns into a scowl.
“Anthony, dear, is our guest here?” A woman’s voice calls out from the house and my eyes flicker away from Anthony’s. Dammit. I would have won.
“Come, come. Let’s go inside. No sense standing around in the drive.” Anthony pivots sharply and strides back to the house.
“This is going to be pleasant,” I mutter just loud enough for Davis to hear, and he huffs in resigned amusement.
“Let’s get this the hell over with.”
I almost trip when Davis’s hand lands on the small of my back to gently guide me forward. I can’t tell if he’s being a gentleman and doesn’t realize he’s doing it, or if he’s as conscious of the touch as I am.
My steps are slow as we pass through the door and into Anthony’s house. The inside is a perfect complement to the outside, which is to say it is sparse and sharp in its modernity. It’s an open floor plan, so we can see the kitchen, dining, and living room all from the front door. There’s practically no color anywhere, the floor a gleaming white tile, the kitchen counter and cabinets clinically white. The furniture is more of the same and even the scant pieces of art on the wall are bleached out canvases I don’t understand. No one has ever accused me of being too cultured, but still I don’t get how the white shapes slapped on top of other shapes are even remotely artistic. There’s no accounting for taste.
We follow Anthony into the living room, where he gestures to a seating area with a long, angular couch and some chairs with spindly legs that I’m afraid to sit on. I choose a spot on the couch and Davis settles in next to me. Anthony takes a seat in one of the risky chairs and crosses his legs. He’s in another suit that looks far too stuffy to be worn for dinner in his own home. Davis and I look like a pair of bums in comparison, but I much prefer our clothes to his.
Neither one of us takes our coats off. It’s cold in here and I don’t really care to hand over any item on my person to Anthony.
“I’ll get drinks.” A woman comes bustling out of the kitchen. “Wine, beer, cocktails?”
The voice we heard earlier must belong to her. She doesn’t look that much older than me. Maybe in her early thirties. She’s beautiful, with platinum blonde hair pulled up in a high topknot, but fancier than the messy kind I can manage with my hair. Her skin is luminous, and she practically glows with energy. Her eyes are a clear blue and when they land on me, I fight to suppress the shiver that wants to race its way out of my body. There is something so cold and unnatural about her gaze.
In fact, now that I’m looking at her as a whole, there’s something off about her. I don’t know what it is, just that my instincts are telling me to back away slowly. Not that I can do that, because we have to sit down and eat the food that one of these people prepared and pretend that they aren’t freaking me the fuck out.
“Seraphina, come meet Miriam.” I don’t miss how he completely ignores Davis.
“It’s Miri, actually. And this is Davis.” I gesture toward my date, noting that he’s as rigid and uncomfortable as me. I also don’t miss the fact that his arm is flung behind me on the couch. Anthony makes a clucking sound at my name but doesn’t comment otherwise.
“I’ll have some wine, thanks.”
“Water,” Davis grunts next to me and I almost start laughing. He’s so eloquent.
Serafina is back within a minute, holding drinks for everyone. It’s a little odd having her wait on all of us like a servant. I’m guessing she’s not since her dress is as fancy as Anthony’s suit and her shoes look like they cost more than my first car.
