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He nodded once, not waiting for her answer, and turned to walk back to his bike.
“Ren—”
“It’s starting to rain,” he said, holding his hand out. Tiny droplets of water began to dot his skin, and soon Katrina could feel them as well.
“Will we be okay?”
“I’ll need to wear the helmet,” he said. “I need you to really trust me, Trina. Hold on tight. Don’t let go.”
Hold on tight.
Don’t let go.
The words reverberated around her head as she slid back onto the bike and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his back as they took off, then moving to rest her cheek there, allowing the wind and rain to mingle with her tears.
***
The rain was steady, soaking them both to the bone when they finally returned to Katrina’s home. “Justin’s gone,” Lorenzo commented, and Katrina’s mouth fell open. “What?”
“My keys,” she said. “I don’t have my keys. Tell me he didn’t lock the door.”
Lorenzo reached for the knob, which wouldn’t budge.
“Shit!”
“Is there anyone who has a spare?”
“Timothy never returned his. I should probably get the locks changed, but damn it! How do we get in?”
Lorenzo peered at her, then back at the door. “Trust me?”
“Of course.”
“You’re about to see why your deadbolt is a good idea,” he said, almost grinning. He pulled a credit card from his wallet and eased it between the latch and the wall. After a couple of tries, the door popped open, and as Katrina stepped through, Lorenzo hesitated.
“Huh uh,” she said, tugging on his arm, “no way am I letting you ride home in this. Get in here. Let’s get dry.”
“Kinda hard to do,” he said as he reluctantly followed her lead, each of them leaving a puddle of water in the entryway.
“How so? I have a dryer.”
“I have no clean clothes here.”
“I’ll let you wear a pair of Justin’s shorts. Gimme just a sec.” She made her way back to her room and opened her drawer, where Justin’s shorts were ever since she’d borrowed them in her own time of need. She held them away from her so they wouldn’t get wet and walked them out to Lorenzo, who was taking his boots off. Even his socks were soaked.
“Thanks,” he said as he accepted the shorts.
“You can get changed...wherever, except for my room. I’ll be out in a little bit and I’ll get your clothes cleaned.”
“You don’t have to do that. Just dry will do.”
“They have mud spatters on them, and so do mine. No arguing.”
He put his hands up, a grin on his face. “No arguing with Trina. Got it.”
“Good.”
His laughter followed her down her hallway into her bedroom, warming her despite the chill from cold, wet clothing. Once she was in dry yoga pants and another form-fitting shirt, she gathered her wet clothes and went in search of Ren.
