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Over the next hour or so, we stand there watching the fire shrink into nothing but hot coals and ash. Silent as I wonder what the hell I’m doing with my life.
three
Skye
Thedrivehereandmoving in wiped me out. I didn’t even have the energy to put on my pajamas last night. I wake up, on top of my bed covers, still wearing my jeans and sweater. When I check my phone for the time, I see a message from Marta and one from Boone. Both are the same. They each stayed overnight with someone else, hookups, I’m guessing, and won’t be home until the hangovers wear off.
Fine by me. I hate morning small talk. Knowing I won’t have to deal with it, I head downstairs to make my breakfast and eat in peace.
It really is so peaceful here. I thought I’d miss the city noise but I kind of like how quiet it is. The sun streaming in through the picture window in the dining room makes the house feel so bright and airy and warm. I could get used to this. Maybe that’s why I slept so well last night. God, I can’t remember the last time I slept in past nine in the morning. Must be the fresh country air and quiet.
Standing at the sink washing my hands, I get lost in thought staring out the window over the sink into the backyard. The tire tracks in the dirt path that cuts through the grassy landscape, the severe hills and valleys, all paint a pretty picture. Like last night, inspiration fills my mind and body again.
It’s cut short, however, when a dirt bike flies in front of my face, motor growling. My heart thumps thinking I narrowly avoided being hit. Forgetting for a moment that I’m inside and he’s outside.
I must have been really far gone not to hear him coming.
Who is it?
It’s not Boone. He rides for Hodaka and literally everything he wears has their name and logo on it. All red and black. This guy is mostly unmarked. In full riding gear but nothing branded with anything I recognize. Not that I know much about motocross brands. Just the ones Boone promotes or was sponsored by. I love mystery rider’s colors though. White, black, and bright green.
I watch him for a bit. Mesmerized by him. I didn’t even like watching Boone ride for this long but I can’t take my eyes off of this guy. He’s not doing anything fancy. But the tricks he does he looks good doing them.
Just like that, I have a crush on someone I don’t know. No face. No name. Just a body that throws a dirt bike around like it’s lighter than air and has me fantasizing about him throwing me down and doing all sorts of dirty things.
When he slows and drives off the track, I deflate.
Fun’s over.
I go on with making my breakfast.
While I’m waiting for my toast to pop, the door next to the stove opens and a tall, scruffy, dark-haired guy in a white and green riding suit walks in. The arms of the top half of his riding suit are tied around his waist, his white T-shirt is soaked with sweat and sticking to his impeccably muscled torso. And I know this in such detail because I stand there staring at him like an idiot.
“Just came in for a drink,” he says and I jump. Luckily, it’s at the same time my toast explodes out of the toaster.
I just nod and watch as he walks over to the sink beside me and turns on the faucet. He doesn’t bother with a glass. The guy just bends down and drinks from the stream for a few seconds before sticking his head under. When he stands straight, the water streams down his neck and into his already soaking wet shirt.
Speaking of soaking wet… The image of this man is going to come in very handy. If you know what I mean.
“I’m Theron,” he says, offering me his hand. “A friend of Boone’s. You must be Skye.”
He knows my name. How does he know my name?
“Um… Yeah.” I want to shake his hand. I’d take any excuse to touch him, feel how strong and callused his fingers and palms are from gripping the handles of his dirt bike. But I hesitate. My hand floating a foot or so from his.
Finally, Theron chuckles easing his hand forward taking mine in the most ginger way. “It’s like this,” he says with a goofy grin and moves our hands up and down.
As my cheeks grow hot from embarrassment, I take my hand back. “I know how to shake hands.”
“Coulda fooled me.”
His smile is shockingly disarming. It pisses me off. I want to be mad at him for teasing me but it only makes the butterflies in my stomach flutter more furiously and my pussy tingle so much it’s hard to keep from squeezing my thighs together to try and calm it. Discrete thigh clenching is one advantage of not having a thigh gap.
“You not gonna eat that?”
I’m frozen with my back against the counter as Theron towers over me, his chest in my face as he reaches around me to pluck my toast out of the toaster. After smearing a thin layer of strawberry jam on it, he leans back against the sink and takes a bite, his eyes never leaving mine.
There’s a lump in my throat that makes it hard to talk. Finally, I manage to say, “Well, I-I was.”
