Page 29 of Texting Mr. Stranger

He frowns at me. For a split second, it’s like I can read him. I imagine him saying,There’s nothing wrong with your size.

“We need to hurry, right?” he says instead.

“Thanks for this,” I murmur, wriggling into the leather jacket, ignoring how it clings to me. “I know it’s odd.”

He shakes his head. “We’re wasting time. Your friend needs you.”

I fiddle with the helmet. Thankfully, it fits far better than the jacket, but the strap seems designed to make me feel dumb.

“Come here,” Matt says, his voice going breathy.

I step forward, and he reaches up and adjusts the strap for me. His hand brushes against my neck, and tingles dance down my body, under the jacket, whispering over my breasts like they’re trying to tempt me. But there’s no time for silly thoughts.

Yeah, right …

When I climb onto the back of the bike and wrap my arms around him, I know I will have to accept the sensations teasing me. He starts the engine, the thrum and the vibration making my body shudder. Thankfully, I can’t let myself get too steamy. Or, more accurately, I can bury it for now.

Emily needs me.

Matt rides like a demon, cutting between cars, never hesitating, and never putting us or other drivers in danger. He has complete control at all times, even when going fast. I’ve never been on a motorbike before, but I don’t feel afraid as I clutch onto his leather jacket.

I feel strangely safe, even when he takes the corners at sharp angles, causing us both to lean sideways.

“Hold tight,” he yells at one point, and I hug him even closer.

A silly part of me wishes he wasn’t wearing a shirt and I wasn’t wearing a helmet. I could put my cheek against his bare back, feel his heat, his sweat, just him.

Thankfully, we arrive outside the apartment building in less than thirty minutes. This is good for Emily because she needs my help. It’s also good for me because it stops my thoughts from going to those silly, impossible places.Think of Mom. Think of the money. Think of college.I need to make that into a mantra.

Climbing off the bike, I take off the helmet. “I’ll just shoot her a text. Crap. I just realized, how will we get home?”

“I can call you a car,” he says. “Just focus on getting your friend out of there first.”

I place the helmet on the seat when he steps off. “Okay.”

Typing quickly, I send,We’re outside.

When her reply comes, my suspicion piques straightaway.Hey, hon, I’ve changed my mind. I think I misinterpreted him. I’m going to stay here instead. Sorry for the hassle!

“Bullshit,” I whisper.

“What?” Matt asks, standing near me but not looking at the phone. His size blocks out what little sun this East Coast late afternoon offers. His scent washes around me, but none of that matters when I need to focus.

“She suddenly ‘wants to stay.’”

“You think he has her phone?”

“Yeah,” I mutter.

“That’s not good,” he says, his voice getting low and somehow dangerous as he looks at the apartment building. “Do you know the apartment number?”

“Fuck,” I hiss. “No, I don’t. She just sent me the address.”

Maybe my voice comes out a little too panicked. Matt reaches over and softly places his hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze that means far more than it should. Those tempting tingles dance through me again.

“One step at a time. Make sure it’s not your friend first.” He drops his hand as if just realizing what he’s doing, leaving a phantom feeling in its place.

I take a breath. “Okay …”

---