AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I’ll never understand where he’s coming from.
My mother rode her own Harley.
I’m going to as well.
Time is running out if I want to sit for my rider’s licence at the same time as my twin brother, Sander, since it took me six months to talk Zeke into teaching me in secret. For some reason, it was my threat to beg Slash or one of the newer prospects to teach me that pushed him over the edge. He’d tried to push me toward Toker once again, but I didn’t trust my cousin to teach me anything outside how to handle a gun. He’s normally too stoned to speak in sentences and his lack of patience is legendary.
I’d either shoot him or end up equally stoned.
A recipe for disaster no matter which way you look at it.
“I’m ready, Zeke.” Slipping my hands under the bottom hem of his jacket like I have since I was little, I drum my fingertips against his t-shirt covered abs. “Let’s go.”
He stiffens, then he does the strangest thing.
With a low groan, Zeke gathers my wrists in one hand and pulls my hands from his jacket. He presses my palms to the rough, outer shell of the leather at belly button height, then pats the back of my right hand in a silent request to keep them there. Before I can ask him what his problem is, since it was his idea originally to ride with my hands tucked away after I cried one time when a stone flicked up and hit my knuckles, Zeke hits the ignition button and his Harley roars to life. The tyre sheds rubber as we peel out of the high school parking lot where we arranged to meet. I duck in his back, holding tight like instructed, and keep my gaze fixed on the perfect symphony of his feet, hands, and arms as he efficiently moves through the light, early morning, traffic.
Roll off the throttle.
Clutch in.
Kick up a gear.
Let the clutch out while rolling on the throttle.
Zeke’s instructions play over and over in my head while we ride through the small country town I have called home since my mother died when I was twelve and my father relocated me and my four brothers from the city. We pass by Nadia, who’s strategically loitering on the only road out of town, and she waves. I nod in acknowledgement, rolling my eyes at her blatant ploy to see me with Zeke, just so she can tease me about my unrequited crush later, however I don’t offer her a wave in return.
My fingers are glued to the spot where Zeke placed them.
It makes my stomach churn to think through the implications of his response.
Did he just reject me?
Or was his reaction one of self-preservation because my touch affected him?
How am I supposed to find out without embarrassing myself?
My rumination over Zeke takes a backseat as I fix my attention on his riding. As much as Nadia teases me that the sudden importance I’ve placed on learning to ride a motorcycle is a new strategy to gain his attention, it’s not completely true. It took an innocent comment from Nate, my youngest brother, about his lesson with our father for me to realise that Dad truly meant it when he said I was banned from riding my own motorcycle.
There’s no better way to spur me into action than forbidding me.
I’ll dig my heels in just to prove you wrong.
Sander says it’s my biggest strength and my greatest weakness.
And, as Zeke slows down to pull into an asphalt covered parking bay along the side of the highway, the time arrives to discover whether my stubbornness will aid me in learning to ride or not. Our lessons in the parking lot over the past few weeks have gone well, but I know that putting all my new skills together will be the challenge.
“Okay, Lil,” Zeke instructs once we’ve both dismounted. “You’re in the driving seat.”
Displaying more confidence than I’m really feeling, I cock my leg to mount the Harley, sliding into place to straddle the wide, black seat. With my hands on the ape-hanger handlebars, I slant a look at Zeke over my shoulder as I kick up the stand. His helmet is open faced so I can see every expression that flits over his granite features at the sight of me holding his bike upright.
Pride.
Fear.
Lust.
Those three emotions are clear before he shuts down to regard me with a blank look.
