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He reached up and rapped her helmet with light knuckles. “I’ve been feeling steadier since then, but that’s why I wanted you to wear this.”
In response, she rapped his bare head and tossed him a significant look. He shook his head. “If I can’t ride my bike in my backyard without gear at little more than idling speed, it’ll feel more hopeless than I can stand. Don’t tell me how stupid that is. I’m aware.”
Skye squeezed both his shoulders, then gave him a pinch on his ass that won a stronger grin. She tapped him on the shoulder.Let’s do this.
“Okay. I’ve won this golf ball competition three times at the rallies, by the way.”
“Big talk. Let’s see if you can do it without puking.”
He laughed when she typed that, and the set of his shoulders eased. Then they were off again.
They did several more passes, during which he relaxed further, and agreed they could start to come in close enough she could try for the golf balls. With the tension slipping away, and no balance issues appearing to hamper his maneuvering ability, she quickly figured out why he’d excelled at what might seem like a frivolous game.
He rode as if he was part of the bike. Eventually, she was able to collect all the balls, then put them back again on another pass, holding onto his shoulder as she leaned out to retrieve or place. He was balanced in the seat, no sign of dizziness, no need to put his feet down to keep the bike on a straight, upright path.
Relief and gladness had started to come off of him in waves, making his dark blue eyes sparkle. She felt so gladforhim, she put her arms around his shoulders and gave him a hard squeeze. He reached back and gripped her thigh.
When they’d done three more rounds, he wanted to try it solo. As she got off the bike, he kissed her hand, squeezed her waist, before he took the bucket and headed back onto the dirt track. Balls on, balls off, his hands moving easily between the cone and the bucket he carried. When he came to a stop next to her, the engine idling with its chug, chug, chug rumble, the triumphant expression on his face made her reach out and touch his jaw. Then lean in and give him a congratulatory kiss.Well done.
His smile was shy, almost boyish, but then he shook it off and laughed, her badass biker man again. “Want to take a ride with me?” he asked.
Hell yes.
“Okay, wait here.” He put down the kickstand and left the bike, headed for the barn. When he returned, he had a full helmet for her, and a skull cap in his size for himself. He fitted the helmet over her head and showed her how to do the chin strap.
“It’s one of Maryshka’s. She does some of the custom work and testing out here with me. If you find you like riding, we can get you one that fits you specifically.”
She thought she might. After she got on behind him again, she continued to pay close attention to how he operated the motorcycle, the shift between clutch and throttle, the movement of his feet on the pedals.
But as they left the property and headed down one of the mildly curving backroads in this area outside New Orleans, the experience itself swept her away.
Whoa.As his confidence built, so did his speed. He didn’t exceed the limit, but it was more than fast enough for her first ever motorcycle ride. The engine was much louder, but it didn’t bother her in the wide-open space. The road was flanked byforest and occasional marsh. Bayou waterways in the distance were populated by lone kayakers or small boat fishermen.
He'd told her she should move with him, so on the curved roads, she held onto him, her front pressed to his back, while on the straightaways she would relax against the bar behind her, resting her hands on his hips. She tipped her head back, watching the sky and clouds, then looked to either side, the wind touching her features. He’d left the helmet’s face shield off, telling her she’d enjoy the ride more without it.
The miles slipped away as she saw what he’d meant, that their ability to trust and anticipate one another, developed over so many sessions together, worked for this in a way that had her falling in love with being on a bike.
Or maybe just being on a bike with him, like this.
When he finally pulled them over, it was at an overlook with a picnic table and large trees, branches spreading over the area to create shade. The tree was occupied by an army of white and black ibises. Since they were fluffy and round, they looked like a real-life Dr. Seuss Truffula tree.
She shared that with Tiger, and he chuckled, squeezing her fingers where they rested on his chest. He’d taken her helmet and hung it on the bars with his, but they’d remained on the bike, his feet on the ground, hers on the pegs. She rested her chin on his shoulder, her arms around his waist as she watched the birds, the water, the floating of the clouds across the sky. His jaw brushed her face.
He had his long legs braced, hand stroking hers as his other rested loose and relaxed on his thigh. He was in his element here, even without being able to hear anything.
She put the phone on his leg beside his resting hand, using it as a typing surface. “It’s nice, just riding. I thought the noise would bother me, or there’d be exhaust fumes, but on the backroads, it feels very”—she paused, then typed—“freeing.”
“That’s the best part of it,” he agreed. “The rallies are popular because it’s the chance to enjoy your bike around people who get it, who live life a different way, at a different pace, when they’re on them. Like camping.”
She’d seen a couple of postcards about those rallies pinned up in his office, before the attack. She remembered he’d thought about inviting her to one, and was about to broach the subject again when he shifted it in a surprising direction.
“When you were taking over our scenes, you sometimes used sign language with Abby. I assumed it was Mistress secret code, to tell each other how I was doing and where my head was at. Or what diabolical things you were planning to do next, without giving me a heads up to prepare for it.” A smile. “That kind of thing.”
She nodded against his back. He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m glad you use the phone to tell me what you say. But I really like the way your hands move, the expressions you make when you sign. Would you mind continuing to do that, if it doesn’t bug you? I, uh, enrolled in a signing class at the hearing center.”
At her neutral expression, he continued. “It’s Signing in English, where you learn grammar and how to say basic things. ‘I would like to order now,’ that kind of thing. But you can advance to classes where you learn ASL as a language, not just phrases and how to spell the alphabet. Though I’m getting that down pretty good.” He spelled out Tiger for her, making her smile, though her chest was tight.
“Anyhow.” He shrugged. “I thought, if you were willing to show me some things, that would be cool.”
