Page 91 of Love Undiscovered
I turn to Taylor since he knew Helen the best. “How long has Helen been coming to the gigs?”
“Dude, Helen was here?” he asks, a frown on his face.
“Yeah, and she told Remi we were married.”
“Remi didn’t believe her, did she?” Trace asks.
“She did believe her, we just had it out.”
“Yeah, you almost had something out,” Chad jokes.
I throw my empty water bottle at him.
“Sorry, dude. You know that bitch has always been crazy, man,” Chad says, shaking his head.
“Seriously don’t know what you saw in her,” Carter says.
“True words, brother,” Trace adds.
“You guys wait until now to tell me?” I ask.
They all kind of look at each other and nod or say yes.
“It’s not like we could tell you when you were about to marry her,” Taylor says.
“Okay, I get that. I think. But what about after I left her?” I ask. They all kind of look at each other. As though they aren’t sure if they should say anything. Then they do.
“You went under, man. First emotionally, then, like, literally. We didn’t even know where you were.”
I nod in understanding. I mean, how do you explain behavior like Helen’s to anyone. I can barely believe it myself half the time. But before I can say anything more, Remi comes back into the room, she looks tired. I take that as my cue.
“Gentlemen,” I say.
“What’d we tell you about that word?” Chad asks.
I look at him. “If you assholes don’t mind.”
Chad nods as though that is the more agreeable word to use when addressing him.
I continue, “I’m going to take my lady home and tuck her in.”
They all take turns hugging Remi goodbye and making her promise to come visit them on the road. It makes me wonder if Remi would do a road trip like that with me. Then I have to snicker, because the idea of Remi on the back of my bike for hours at a time, followed by sleeping in a tent on the ground, is laughable. She needs a plush car and a hotel with room service.
The guys and I promise to keep in touch, and before I know it, Remi and I are in the parking lot and standing in front of my bike. I get her bundled up in her jacket and helmet, then help her on behind me.
She scoots up close to me, then wraps her arms around me, and tucks both hands up under my shirt against my bare skin.
As I stand slightly to start the bike, she slips one hand into the waistband of my jeans.
“You’d better watch your hands woman, unless you’re looking to create an early death by motorcycle crash for us both,” I say, my voice husky.
She giggles. “I won’t do anything, I’m just keeping my hands warm.”
I grab her hand from my waistband and raise it to my mouth to kiss the back of it. “I’ll have to get you some gloves. Which is not to say that I don’t like your hands in my pants. ‘Cause I do.”
Which is why when she tucks her hand back in the waistband of my pants a short while later, all I can do is smile.
