Page 95 of Promise Me Nothing
Then I get to work. A long, grueling shift that’s proving Hamish’s predictions about an overwhelmingly busy holiday weekend to be true.
And it’s only Thursday. I can only imagine what the rest of the weekend will look like. And I’ll definitely know at some point since I’ve been scheduled to work shifts on Friday, Saturday, SundayandMonday.
I’m just hopeful that the tips will make up for the exhaustion I’m surely going to be feeling soon.
It isn’t until I get off that I realize I have a text from Wyatt.
And I also can’t help the stupid smile on my face whenI remember what it was like to press against him, to want him closer.
Wyatt: How’s your day going?
It’s simple and short. And I’m sure a teenage me would have obsessed over it for hours before responding to make sure just the right thing was said.
But this version of me is tired of bullshit and doesn’t play games the way most girls do.
So I flick off a quick reply.
Me: Long. Split shift. Just got off. You?
Heading out to the back, I reach my bike just as I hear a motorcycle coming up behind me. I look over, smiling as Wyatt’s very fancy, very loud bike rolls up next to where I stand.
Then he cuts the engine, drops the kickstand, and pulls off his helmet.
If I could swoon, I would. Because seeing him yank off his helmet, then toss his head and run a hand through his hair? It’s the stuff you see in movies.
And then he gives me that grin. The heart-stopping one. The heart-pounding one.
The thrill of being near him rushes through my body.
“I texted you a few hours ago, you know,” he says, his voice teasing and playful. “Should I take offense that you haven’t gotten back to me yet?”
“No, don’t, I didn’t see it,” I reply, then flush. “I mean, I just responded to you.”
He nods. Sets his helmet on his leg and rests an arm on top of it. “You free tonight?”
I grin.
“That’s why I was checking in. I wanna take you on a night ride.” And then he reaches back and unclips a second helmet from the back of his bike with the ease of someone who knows what he’s doing. “You in?”
“Absolutely,” I reply, no hesitation as I take the helmet from his hands. I push it on my head, tuck my plastic bike helmet into my backpack, and climb on behind Wyatt, this time with a bit more grace than last time he gave me a ride.
I might seem overly eager. But I’m not entirely sure that I care. At least not enough to change how I respond to him.
I snuggle in close, my hands holding him tight on his stomach, and press my body flush against his. I love feeling the warmth of him, that feeling of body heat that no blanket or pillow or heater can replicate.
He turns the engine on, or whatever he does, and then we roll slowly down the alley, out towards the main street.
“Hold on, sweetheart,” he calls back to me, giving my hands around his waist a light tap. And then he revs the engine and pulls onto Hermosa Ave, beginning our journey to wherever he’s planning to take us.
We spend a while driving along the water, a long stretch of road that takes us up the coast, under the planes leaving from and landing at LAX. When we hit a dead end, we turn and head down new stretch of road, though this one is much busier.
I know I should be watching as we ride, taking in the scenes, the Los Angeles nightlife. But I can’t help it when I rest my head against his back and close my eyes, just enjoying the feeling of being pressed together.
Eventually, we come to a final stop and I’m forced to open my eyes and look around.
I laugh, pulling off my helmet.
“Donuts.”
