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My heart swells. I love he just showed up and wants to take me out. In my closet, I search for my red Converse and after pulling my jeans on I lace them up. I change into a white tank top, grab a long sleeve shirt, tie it around my waist, and wrap an elastic around my long curls, securing it in a low bun so I can wear my helmet. I grab my keys off the counter and hang my purse across my chest.
As I walk down the sidewalk, I see him sitting on a motorcycle. It’s black, with orange flames painted across the tank and the handlebars are raised several inches away from the body of the bike.
“Is this yours?” I ask, dragging my fingers along the paint.
He nods, wraps his arms around my waist and covers my mouth with his. As usual, his lips are warm and soft. The stubble is thicker than usual today and I’m remembering what it felt like to kiss him freshly shaven.
“Necesitaba verte,” he says, not responding to my question.
“Needed to see me? Miss me that much, huh?” I ask, teasing him. He nods and rather than respond, his lips crash into mine again. It’s like he’s searching for something, and he thinks he’ll find it in me.
He brings his head back and asks, “¿Te gusta?” responding to my earlier question about the motorcycle with his own question.
My fingers fall on my lips, feeling how swollen they are from his onslaught of kisses. “It’s badass. I love it! I didn’t know you had a motorcycle!”
“I no take it out as much as I’d like to, but now that I knowque te gusta, we can take it out more often.”
I more than like it. It’s super sexy and sleek. “It’ll be my first time on a motorcycle. A scooter is as close as I’ve gotten.”
“You’ll love it.Es muy diferentefrom your Vespa.” He’s beaming with pride as he talks about how different his motorcycle is from the scooter. “It has loud pipes and you’ll feel the vibrations of the engine, and the ride is much smoother than the Vespa.” He stands and swings his leg over and sits, settling into the seat and then strapping his helmet on before turning the key and rolling the throttle, the roar of the pipes making themselves known.
Amaury is sexy, he exudes confidence and walks with swagger, and he knows he’s a good-looking guy because he never doubts himself. But here, sitting on this motorcycle, it’s sexiness on steroids. The sight of him straddling the bike causes my breath to quicken and my belly to stir. It makes me want to straddle him on the bike and make out with him.
Instead, I strap my helmet on and climb on behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist—his unique scent tickling my nose. It’s like he said, I can feel the vibrations coursing through my body. We take off down the street, the loud pipes echoing off the surrounding buildings.
We ride down the causeway, the sun inching its way across the Miami sky. The massive cruise ships docked in the waterway to my left are a sight to see, lined up one behind the next, the people on the decks are tiny specks from a distance. The palm trees lining the median strip are still, the air stagnant from the thick humid air.
When he takes the turn onto I95 South, I tighten my arms around his torso. In all my years of driving I must’ve seen dozens of motorcycles on the highway and always thought how crazy the idea of riding one was, yet here I am, on the back of this gorgeous man’s Harley. It’s exhilarating and frightening all at the same time. Amaury speeds up as he integrates himself into the traffic lanes and as the cars pass us on the left, they’re so close I can see the passengers inside and what they’re doing. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves and shift my eyes back to the highway. Maybe if I keep my eyes on the road, I won’t feel as nervous.
I95 ends after downtown Miami and Amaury takes the last exit toward Rickenbacker Causeway, Key Biscayne. I’ve not yet been to this area of the city and I’m excited to see and explore a new part of town. As the motorcycle rolls through the tollbooth and we’re taking the turn, to our left are the bayfront skyscrapers lining Brickell Avenue—it feels like I can reach out and touch them. To our right is a beach, the shoreline busy with people and dogs. The road takes us onto a high bridge, giving us a spectacular view of the Miami skyline. The bay expands as far back as the MacArthur Causeway, the water peppered with yachts and sailboats as far as the eye can see.
As we descend the bridge, there is another beach to our right, the ocean water a deep blue and calm. To our left, signs indicating there’s a restaurant, a marina, and a water tour company. Buildings continue to line the left side of the island, the Miami Seaquarium to our right, an ocean front property that expanses nearly a half-mile. We cross another bridge, this one low and close to the turquoise-colored water before we see a sign welcoming us to Crandon Park. The road is lined with plants and trees on both sides, mixtures of palm trees and other tropical shrubs, the occasional small sign indicating entrances to different beach parks along the way.
Finally, we roll into the Village of Key Biscayne. There are apartment buildings along one side of the road and a small strip mall to the right with shops and restaurants. Amaury slows the speed of the Harley as we continue to drive through the town. It’s a quintessential beach town, palm trees lining the streets, golf carts alongside cars, and high-rises along the stretch of beach to the east.
When the Harley rolls to a stop, we’ve arrived at a gatehouse at the entrance to the Bill Baggs Cape Florida State Park. Amaury leans forward, pulls his wallet from his back pocket to pay the entrance fee and then shoves it back inside before revving and taking off. The road is narrow, one lane each way, again lined with tropical vegetation. There are no cars in front or behind us and the desolate sight causes a shiver to run up my spine, which quickly dissipates when Amaury finds a shaded parking spot inside a semi-full parking area.
Once on my feet, I remove my helmet and place it onto the seat, letting my hair loose and shaking it out a bit. “What a beautiful ride! Well, at least the part after we got off the highway,” I say, as Amaury is removing his helmet.
“You were scared?” he responds while hanging his helmet off the handlebars.
I nod. “A little bit. The cars were so close, and they were going wicked fast.”
“Ven aca chica.” He draws me to him and wraps his arms around me, dropping kisses along my hairline. “No be afraid.”
Here, wrapped in his arms I’m not. I don’t want to ruin the moment with my fears, so I separate from him and ask, “What are we doing here?”
“El Faritois here. It’s my favorite place in Miami, and the beach here is like no other beach in the city, turquoise waterscomo en Cuba.”
“There’s a lighthouse here? In Miami?” I ask, genuinely surprised. When I was researching Miami before moving down, I never came across any information about a lighthouse.
“Sí. Our last dayen el marwe could see it. It gave us—” he stops and bites his lip, seems to be in search of a word “—esperanza. I no remember the word in English.”
“Hope,” I say, my lips curling up on one side.
“¡Sí! Hope, andmuchaalegría! Finally, our time in the ocean was almost over. When the Coast Guardnos rescatóthe lighthouse was so close. After they rescued us, I stared at the lighthouse the entire time until we were far away, I couldn’t see it anymore.” He gives me a crooked smile as he locks the engine and removes the key.
“I can only imagine what that felt like,” I say, even if I don’t think I can truly imagine any of what he’s been through. Not even my wildest imagination could conjure anything close to what Amaury has experienced.
