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“Thank you for sharing your practice with me, and I look forward to seeing you all next week,” I said, bowing slightly toward the class before turning the lights all the way up.
Frank stayed on the floor. “This was torture.”
“I thought it was wonderful.” Mom wrapped an arm around me. “Frank, sweetheart, come on. While I’m feeling energetic, I want to go home and go over the seating arrangement one last time.”
“Sorry, I can’t. I live here now. On this mat. Gemmie, you’ll need to bring me some food every once in a while.”
Jason shook his head with a chuckle, and the sound tickled my skin. His laugh would haunt my dreams.
“Come on, big guy,” he said and hoisted Frank up.
I escorted them all outside into the cool night air, a shock to my overheated body, then locked the door to the studio. From the car, Mom waved out of her window. “Rehearsal is at five o’clock. Don’t be late, Gemma. Jason, you’re a peach.” Frank beeped the horn once, and Mom blew a few kisses. “Love you both!”
“I’m not always late,” I muttered, grabbing my bike from the rack, and Jason stopped in his tracks.
“Where’s your car?”
“At home.”
He dropped his head back to his shoulders, letting out a growl. “Wasn’t it bought for you so you don’t have to ride that thing?”
“I guess.”
He threw his arm out to the side, scolding me like it was his favorite thing to do. “Then why are you still using your bike?”
I glared at him. “Because I like it.”
“Get in.” He opened the door to his truck.
“I’m good, thanks.”
He tilted his head toward it. “Get in.”
“Nope.” I threw one leg over the bicycle and settled my feet on the pedals.
“Don’t be so stubborn.” He stalked over to me, trapping the front wheel between his legs. “We’ve done this before.” He shrugged, and I hated it. “You know I win this one. Get in my truck, Gemmie,” he said with a smirk.
And I hated that too. All he did was shrug and smirk. Smirk and shrug.
“You’re the worst.” I hopped off the bike, making sure to shove the handle bar into his stomach on the way. But if I wasn’t mistaken, his eyes flared in a challenge.
He enjoyed fighting with me.
Once we were inside his truck and buckled in, he took off down the street, the last vestiges of the sunset leaving traces of deep purple on the horizon while the navy night sky twinkled with stars above us.
“It’s really not safe for you to be riding a bike when it’s so dark,” he told me.
“I have reflectors.” I picked at my long-sleeved bright-white zip-up, evidence that people could see me on the bike.
“But you never know who’s on the road. I know you’ll be fine, it’s the other people I don’t trust.”
In all of our conversations, I’d never heard him like this before. Jason’s voice was always full of certainty, laced with a little humor. Even when we were picking fights with each other, I’d come to expect and sort of look forward to the hint of arrogance.
But this, this voice, was something I had never heard.
It sounded like…like he actually cared for me.
That possibility was a little too suffocating, so instead of pursuing that line of thinking, I changed the subject. “Class was a bit of a struggle for you, huh?”
