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Only, she didn’t.
“Come on, MaryCat,” I urged, gentler with her because she was being so strong. “Let’s get some coffee in you.”
Not rushing her, I stayed in place, letting her hands squeeze my waist for support as she made minute movements to clamber off the bike.
I liked her hands there more than I should and even missed them when they were gone.
Another soft sound whispered from her lips, but it was exactly that.
A whisper.
She was trying to stay quiet, to keep her discomfort from me, and while I was proud of her for being a trooper, it twisted me up inside too.
I shifted so I could see her. “You don’t have to hide your pain from me.”
Her throat moved, but she didn’t say a word as, in increments, she managed to climb off the back of the bike.
When she pressed her hands to the seat and took a breather, I let her stand there.
“First time always sucks,” I tried to comfort, but I knew there wasn’t much comfort to be had.
Her face was white and pale, her features wooden.
When she was standing on her own, I got off too before I dipped down to grab the saddlebags.
Hooking them over my shoulder, I stopped beside her and held out my arm.
For a second, she looked at it blankly, but then her hand settled on top of it.
I let her set the pace, peering around the grimy shithole.For all that it looked ugly as fuck, it was a 24-hour mom-and-pop joint, and the smells coming from it were strong enough to diminish the stench of gas from the roads, and they were fucking awesome.
Stomach rumbling, I didn’t say anything as we took at least five minutes for a fifteen-second trip, which let me scope the area.
Rolling my eyes at the Christmas trees in the window and the flashing Santas stuck to the glass, I grunted when, as we entered the establishment, holiday songs bombarded us.
Over the noise, I asked, “Need the bathroom?”
Wearily, she sighed. “I do.”
I glanced around the place, found the women’s restroom, then shuffled her over to it.
“You gonna be all right in there?”
Her lips quirked into a smile that gutted me. “You gonna help me there too?”
Pleased she had enough energy to joke around, I grinned at her. “I mean, I could try.”
She sniggered. “Thanks, but I think I can manage. Come and investigate if I’m not back in two hours.”
“Two hours? Christ. You’ve got twenty minutes before I send in a search and rescue squad.”
“My hero,” she retorted, batting her eyelashes.
The snort that escaped me had her grin widening, and because I liked seeing that over her rickshaw of pain, I teased, “You know it. Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Nope, it’s Digger. On his custom hog.”
Though she laughed, she asked, “Custom?”
“Yeah. Down to the tires.”
