Page 34 of Pretty Heartache

A loud rumble down the street fills the silence. I take a chance and peek up. A single headlight turns onto the street from another two blocks away. It races down the residential road faster than any car has up to this point. The blood drains from my veins and down to my feet. Goosebumps spread down the length of my legs, and my heart beats against my chest.

The headlight grows closer, slowing as it nears me. The man on the bike is wearing a blacked-out helmet, completely shielding his face from view. I take a step back off the curb, creating as much distance between us as possible. My heel hits an uneven brick, and I stumble, rolling my ankle, but I quickly steady myself, retreating until my back hits the ivy-covered brick wall dividing the sidewalk and the yard of the house behind it.

The man climbs off his motorcycle, leaving the engine running.

I place my hands on the wall behind me, clamoring for what to do.

Relief slams into my chest as soon as the man takes off his helmet.

“Adeline,” he breathes out. “What are you doing?”

I snap my mouth shut and sweep my tongue across my lips. “I didn’t know you had a bike.”

I look over his shoulder, and he follows my gaze before swinging his back to mine. His usually bright eyes are black in the dark of the night, even beneath the streetlamp we’re under.

“I have several vehicles,” he tells me. “I knew this was the fastest way for me to get to you, and if I hit traffic on the way, I would be able to weave in and out easily.”

“Oh.” I step away from the wall.

Micah backs away, his heavy black boots beating against the brick. His dark jeans are covered in streaks of paint, and his scent surrounds me: mint, laundry, and the old wood smell permeating his house.

“Here.” He grabs another black helmet from the back of his bike. “Put this on.” He holds it out for me to take, but I don’t move.

He shakes it, his frustration getting to him. “Come on, Addy.”

“I can’t get on that.” I shake my head.

Micah presses his mouth into a tight line.

I’m grateful he rushed here to pick me up, and although we’re still standing on the same corner, I do feel a million times safer being with Micah… but when I look down at my half-naked legs, I can’t help but feel self-conscious.

“You’re getting on the bike, Adeline.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes. You are.”

I look down at the black mini skirt I decided to pair with my hot pink, scoop-neck sweater.

“Micah…” I cross my arms over my chest with a huff. “I can’t get on that bike wearing this skirt.”

His eyes move to my legs. I cross them, heat pooling and spreading in places even I haven’t bothered to touch in entirely too long. It’s apparent my body is telling me I’ve been neglecting myself. Sirens and warning bells sound off in every cell, telling me the look in Micah’s eye is enough to make me soaking wet.I’m worried he’ll be able to tell my reaction once my legs are wrapped around him.

Micah’s eyes flash with darkness. His chest expands with heavy, heated breaths as he takes a step forward, cutting the space between us.

“Get on the bike.” He growls.

I look up. Our faces are entirely too close; closer than we’ve ever been. It’s an unfamiliar yet comfortable feeling. The sadness and darkness I’ve seen on his face over the past week has multiplied. His pain is up close and personal, begging to be seen, but then he blinks, and it’s gone.

“There has to be another way to get home,” I tell him. I know I’m being stubborn. I know I should be grateful. I’m broke, and Micah has driven all the way out here. He didn’t hesitate, and the urgent way he climbed off his bike tells me he was worried for my safety. He didn’t know if I would still be standing when he finally made it. The thought of his concern is comforting.

Still, I stand my ground. For now. I’ve never been able to give into Micah’s demands easily.

His demand reminds me of when I was eleven years old. Lungs burning and heart broken with embarrassment.

“There’s no other way home,” he says between clenched teeth. His sculpted jaw ticks as he shoves the helmet in my direction again. “Get on the bike.” He shoots me another piercing glare when I don’t move. “If you don’t take this fucking helmet right now, I’ll throw you over my shoulder and place you on the bike myself. Everyone in this neighborhood will think I’m kidnapping you.”

I suck in a sharp breath, my insides turning to molten lava. My nostrils flare as I rip the helmet from his grip.

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