Page 18 of Rogue

“Lotus is gonna be fine,” I tell him. “I don’t think anything’s broken and she only has a very mild concussion, if that.”

“Good,” he says, the heat in his eyes intensifying.

I smile at him, which just an hour ago felt like something I wouldn’t be doing anytime soon.

“And I could really use that drink you were offering before,” I say and then he finally smiles too. “If you still want to…”

And now there’s just fire in his eyes. Blindingly bright and so hot I feel it against my skin.

“Oh, I want to,” he says.

“I get off in about three hours,” I tell him.

“Then I’ll run Lotus home and come back for you,” he says.

“And I can take a look at your stitches while we wait for her.”

He shakes his head and grins wider. “Nah, you can just do that later.”

And there’s no mistaking his meaning. The stitches are not the only thing he means to have me check over later.

And I finally stop fighting myself and admit that this fantasy of his has also been my fantasy since I saw him last. I wouldn’t mind taking another look at all those tats covering his body and seeing how well they fared with the new scar he now has. Or seeing all the rest that his clothes hide for that matter.

They’re calling my name from over by the waiting room door and the first gurneys are already being rolled in by theparamedics. But it’s almost impossible taking my eyes off the raging fire in Rogue’s.

If I’m not careful, it’ll suck me right in and make ash of all my plans of making a new and different life for myself here.

But I’ll be careful. I’ll just let myself have tonight with him.

Rogue left to take Lotus to the clubhouse about half an hour before the end of my shift and insisted he’ll be right back and made me promise I’ll wait.

I didn’t do that in the hospital though. The palm trees I saw from the first-floor windows were swaying and bending in the wind, and I mistakenly thought that the wind would be refreshing, and that it would blow some of the cobwebs from my mind. So, I came out to the sidewalk beyond the ambulance bay to wait.

But this wind is weird. It’s warm and hot at the same time and makes my skin itch on the inside where I can’t ever hope to scratch it.

I was hoping for the cool, clear wind that blows in Pleasantville, carrying the scent of redwoods. But that’s another thing that I had to leave behind. And right now, the thought of that—of wind, for Chrissakes—is getting harder and harder to bear.

The avenue leading past the hospital is still full of cars, the exhaust fumes somehow made thicker by the strange wind. Everything is moving so fast when I just want it slow. Like it would be in front of the hospital in Pleasantville at one AM. There, I could always leave all the traumas behind as soon as the sliding doors of the hospital closed behind me.

Here they’re multiplying in my mind, growing worse, blending with the carnage in San Diego, ending in vivid visions of Edge’s colorless face as he lay on the dirty floor while I could do nothing to save him.

Then the sound of a Harley grows louder, drowns out even the honking and screeching of the cars driving past. Rogue drives right up to me on the sidewalk and grins as he takes off his helmet, his thick dark hair dancing playfully in the wind. And just like that the sight of him dispels all my terrible visions, making even the weird wind bearable.

“You ready?” he asks.

I nod and smile at him. “But you can’t park here.”

He looks confused for a moment. “You wanna have dinner somewhere here? I bet we’ll get food poising anywhere we go, but whatever you say.”

“Actually, I just really wanna get out of this wind,” I say, rubbing my arms which does nothing for the itching. “It’s making me feel like someone’s breathing down my neck, and not in a good way.”

He nods, understanding in his eyes. “Devil winds will do that to you. But I know just the place. Hop on.”

He hands me his helmet and I take it automatically, just like I’ve done with every other biker who ever offered it. I don’t even think about telling him we both need to be wearing helmets for safety… he’ll just scoff like they all do. He’s the type of guy who does what he thinks is right, not what’s expected and proper. I have no idea how I can possibly know that. But I do.

I slip on the back of his bike in one fluid motion, settling in like the seat was made just for me.

But I keep my purse between my belly and his back. Just so I don’t get too many ideas. Just so I don’t start thinking other things about him were made just for me. I’m just about tiredenough to do that. It’s why I don’t wrap my arms around his stomach, but only gently lay them on his sides.

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