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I hesitate, wishing he’d just get off my bike and fuck off back to his hut or whatever.
Now that was definite racism.
But then he taunts, “What’s more thrilling than something as random as climbing onto a bike with a complete stranger?”
And I conclude that he has a point. “Fine.” I grab my helmet and yank it on my head, he watches me click it into place. “You ever ridden one of these before?”
“Best rider in Oregon.”
I roll my eyes and swing my leg over. I’ve not done this since my dad used to take me out on his as a little girl. I don’t know what to do with my hands.
“What’s your name?” he calls, his voice deep and gravelly.
“Lilith,” I reply. “Yours?”
“Nash,” he answers and waits for me to grip the seat. I’m not about to wrap my arms around him.
“Where are you taking me, Nash?”
He smirks at me over his shoulder. “You’ll see.”
We jet forward, taking the path that I skidded off. I squeak, not used to the feeling of not being in control of my own bike and very soon my hands leave the seat and grip his bare waist. I feel him laugh at me and resist the urge to pinch his skin.
We whip through the trees, zigzagging on rocky paths that completely batter my parted thighs and rear. I slip forward without meaning to, my chest against his back. It’s so uncomfortable in a really comfortable way.
Maybe this guy can scratch my itch?
We ride for another ten minutes, I try to pay close attention to where I am but after a while all the trees, rocks, green bits, and streams become the same.
Finally, the trees break apart and we enter a massive clearing, this one mostly dirt and there are a few people on quad bikes and a dirt bike flying over steep inclines into watery, shallow trenches.
“No fucking way,” I squeak as indigenous people look our way. “We are definitely on the res now.”
“It’s okay, we’re not white-people-hating devils out for your blood,” he retorts in jest as I yank my helmet from my head. “You’re welcome to come here whenever you like.”
I push back the hair that has escaped my braid and hook it around my ears, watching dirt bike guy get squirrelly for a second as he tries to land a move beyond his capabilities. Yikes.
“You don’t know me, why are you being so kind?”
He ignores my question and climbs from my bike after securing its standing position.
I change my question. “How did you know I was there anyway?”
“Fate? I don’t know. I was planning on going for a swim, there’s a lake near where you were.”
“So that’s why you’re topless,” I point out. “Isn’t it too cold to swim?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Not for me.”
“Well… whatever… thanks for bringing me here. Why is this even here?”
“Where else am I going to practice?”
“Yeah, you need it,” I joke, making him laugh because we both know he doesn’t need it. He handled my unfamiliar ride like a fucking dream, he made me feel amateur and it’s my fucking bike. “Thanks for the offer.”
“Nash, who’s she?” one of the girls from a small group of friends asks as they make their way over. She sounds curious, not threatened. This is good, I think.
“Just a lost puppy I found in the woods.”
I don’t like that one bit and I let him know I don’t like it with a glare that does nothing to shift his smile.
She struts towards me, legs bared in denim shorts, thick black hair in a ponytail to her mid-back, skin a dark, golden, reddish brown like Nash’s and Nok’s. Her friends stay behind, one of them seems to be recording the others on their rides.
She looks at Nash, a recognizable glint in her eye, disappointment, jealousy, lust. She wants this guy and he just rolled up with me.
I take a step to the side to let her know I’m not interested in him, at all, in any way. I’m just here to ride.
“Can I?” I ask him before I’m forced through introductions I don’t care about.
When he nods, I pull on my helmet and reclaim my scratched bike. I am so looking forward to this.
I do a couple of basic laps, getting used to the terrain before rejoining Nash for a short break.
“Can you mark where I’m at on my phone so I can find my way home?”
“It’s cool,” he says politely, lifting and dropping his shoulders. “I’ll show you.”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine on her own, Nash,” the girl puts in, annoyed that his attention isn’t on her.
“Lilith, this is Winona,” Nash states and she holds out her hand.
I show her the dirt splattered on mine and she yanks back her own. Grinning, I wipe mine on my ripped jeans and look at Nash. “You got time for me to squeeze in another two?”
