Page 18 of Love Grows

Apparently,Steph was an enthusiastic pillion passenger, as she’d ridden all the way around Europe for six months on the back of a friend’s bike when she’d been on an extended holiday after finishing uni. Another piece of the chronological puzzle that was Steph Thatcher.

My pride and joy was a 1200cc Triumph Tiger. Black, white, and chrome, with gold forks. I’d fallen in love the moment I’d seen the ad for it in one of the magazines Jules kept in stacks for lost introverts who looked like they needed a prop so they could hide from the world for a bit.

That was four years ago, and here I was, pulling up to the apartment block in Steph’s swanky neighbourhood. I’d only turned off the ignition when Steph appeared at my side and brushed the leather on my back.

I felt it through the material.

“Hi! Thought I’d meet you down here.”

I pulled off my helmet. “Hi, right back.” I rubbed at my short, choppy locks, and we grinned at each other. Nope. This wasn’t adatedate as such. Yes, it was. Oh boy. Grinning and shoulder rubs and…it was a date.

I kicked the stand down and climbed off, plopping my helmet onto the left hand grip. “I’ve got my spare helmet here for you.” I undid the back pannier and pulled out the flashy, eye-waveringly neon green helmet. Steph eyed it, then laughed.

“That’s been attacked by a wayward teen with a spray can, hasn’t it?”

I laughed and passed the helmet over. “Or something. Not so wayward. One of my Bonsai brainiacs last year did it for me. He had a way with street art. He’d even bonsai in a somewhat morally grey manner.”

“How…” Steph giggled. “How can you bonsai in a morally grey manner?”

I pointed to the very tip of my index finger. “That much. Just that much of the plant? Slice, don’t cut.” I nodded wisely and I don’t think Steph could tell if I was being serious or not, because she was definitely holding back a giggle. Then I winked and she let it out, still going as she set the helmet on her head. She reached through the visor window to brush hair away, then pulled at the tabs underneath. Her fingers fumbled with the catch, so I plucked the two connectors from her hands and clicked the pieces together.

“There you go,” I said quietly. My assistance had brought our bodies into each other’s space. Our gaze held. I reluctantly lowered my hands, my fingers missing their touch on Steph’s soft skin, and I breathed softly. Carefully. Steph’s lips slowly parted, then she stepped back.

“So, a Triumph, hey?” she said, zipping up her own leather jacket.

“Absolutely.” I threw my leg over the bike, kicked up the stand, and held the bike steady while Steph got on the back.

“Do you want to me to hold on to you or use the grip bars behind?” Steph’s voice floated in under my helmet and into my ears. I shivered.

I cleared my throat. “Hang on to me, if you like.” Please say yes. Please say yes.

Steph answered by wrapping her arms about my waist, holding fast to the front of my jacket.

My bike thrummed to life. So did I.

* * *

Popcorn duly placedin between our lush Gold Class seats in the cinema, we both sighed as we raised our footrests, and appreciated the luxury. I’d insisted on paying for the tickets since it was my invitation and because I’d wanted Gold Class, even though it was expensive with its recliner chairs. With a twenty-four patron capacity, it was a well-known fact that kids usually weren’t in attendance because a family usually had to shell out a hundred bucks or more to purchase Gold Class tickets just to entertain their eyeballs. And that was before buying food.

I like kids. I just don’t like kids who are brought up as pause-on-demand, talk through a show, self-entitled munching machines who think that empty chip packets are fidget toys.

Truth be told, I liked teenagers more, but then I could handle anything from surly grunts through to hyperactive excitement with obligatory arm-waving.

“This is lovely, Angel. Thank you,” Steph whispered, despite the screen still showing the ads and the ‘switch off your phone otherwise you’re a dickhead’ warning.

“You’re welcome,” I whispered just as quietly under the volume of the phone company ad that was blaring through the Dolby surround sound. “Wait until you see the movie. The reviews are great.”

We reached for a handful of popcorn at the same time and I paused.

“A little bit of a ‘Lady and The Tramp’ moment, hey?” I laughed awkwardly.

Steph hovered her hand over the bucket. “Somewhat. Touching fingers over popcorn is quite the movie cliche.”

Be bold, Angel.

“Well, cliche be damned. I say let’s go for the total package. Here, I’ll play my part.” I dropped my fingers into the bucket as Steph lowered hers, and we laughed softly as our skin became smooth with butter. I plucked out a few pieces of popcorn, tossed them into my mouth, quickly licked my fingers, then found the napkin the staff left on each section divider. I looked up to find Steph studying me in the half light, her hand still in the top layer of popcorn. Her lips parted, her eyes widened, then she shook her head, and refocused on the bucket, or her hand, or the popcorn, and looking remarkably like she’d been caught catching her breath by my unconscious gesture. I blushed, which was silly because I wasn’t the one getting all flustered by finger licking. Perhaps I was flustered because she was flustered. Oh God, this was a bad—good—idea.

Thankfully, the movie started as the cinema was plunged into darkness and we were taken on a sci-fi journey full of animatronics, robots, gun-toting women, and aliens. And not one flustered lesbian to be seen. Except me and the one I was sitting next to.

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