Page 14 of One Killer Night
The man smells like cedarwood and vanilla, mixed with sleepy, lustful thoughts and a dash of unregretted bad decisions. I’ll take it in bulk, please and thank you.
Noah slows to a stop at a light, so I begrudgingly separate my body from his, leaving my hands politely on his waist, just over his jacket. Because while my thoughts may be in the gutter, that doesn’t mean I have to act like it.
His shiny black helmet turns in profile.
“Scary or fun?” he calls out.
“Fun,” I say back, a little breathless.
His gloved hand lands over mine. “Wanna go fast? There’s no sign of life down this road.”
My heart ticks up a notch, but I nod quickly.
He reaches back, taking my other hand, and slides them both back under his jacket across his stomach to secure me in place. My chest presses to his back.
Thank god my sister had a hoodie in her car because I’m pretty sure he’d know just how much I liked what he was doing if he could see all the goose bumps up my arms right now.
“Hold on tight, killer,” he yells.
I do, wrapped heavenly around his sturdy frame as he takes off. The squeal that bursts from my chest is drowned out by the growling engine and suffocated by his back because I immediately hide my face. I can feel him laughing as the revving grows even louder.
The wind licks my cheeks, even as they stay hidden, making me mold to him even harder as my thighs tense. Oh my god, this is wild and recklessly fast. Holy shit.
Because I can’t not, I peek, seeing the trees reduced to a blur.
Whoa. The feeling is exhilarating, making my breath stutter before I gasp. Because the moment Noah slows down, my stomach does a little flip. I laugh, not even realizing how excited I am until I feel my chest heaving against his taut muscles.
“That was incredible,” I blurt out, loosening my grip on him as my head falls back, and I shout to the sky, “You’re crazy!”
He just squeezes my hands, securing them to his stomach and keeping them warm as I look over his shoulder, seeing twinkling lights ahead from the little square that makes up the center of one of my favorite neighborhoods in Boston, Beacon Hill.
“Is this where we’re going?” I say, but he doesn’t hear me.
Sometimes my sister and I just walk around admiring all the brownstones and history. It always feels like a scene fromSt. Elmo’s Fire, like I should be wearing a cream crew neck sweater as fall leaves drift down around my feet, decorating the sidewalks in burnt orange. Beacon Hill is November, the number twenty-four, and all things cinnamon. I love it.
Currently, however, there’s a large barricade prohibiting entry onto the street we’re riding toward, which makes sense because people are everywhere, walking every which way with kids dressed as superheroes and witches, laughing and enjoying the night. This neighborhood is infamous for stuff like this.
“Are you trying to get to the park over by ... or the bars off Cambridge?”
He doesn’t answer again.
Although we’re going slow, Noah doesn’t seem to be looking for parking. Which is weird because the park is a far walk from here, and so are the bars. Plus, we should’ve gone down ... All the independent thoughts I’m having start to finally hang out and get acquainted as the realization hits me, accompanied by him pulling into a driveway.
Hold up. Did he bring me back to his house?
When he told me to trust him because he knew the perfect place, I thought we were going somewhere people go before they get down to business. Oh, this ruins him.
This is why I don’t do stuff like this. No way am I going inside. Inside is where the bed is. And there’s no way I’m sleeping with this dude. I barely know him. Why are guys like this—gross. Tonight just went from magical to murked.
See, this is why I need to go back to boycotting dating—because the men in this city are only for the streets. Sluttiest of sluts, all of them.
As soon as the bike shuts off, I let go of his overused abs and hike my leg over his sexy bait bike.
“Hey, so—” is all I get out because he speaks at the same time.
“I hope you don’t mind. My buddy Chase said I could use his driveway. This is his house.” He hitches his finger over his shoulder before taking off his helmet and looking at me shyly. “He’s barhopping, maybe, probably ... Either way, I thought we could walk around the neighborhood. I don’t know, it’s pretty cool here, and the decorations are top tier. And that’s from someone who hates Halloween. Plus, most of the neighbors give out spiked and nonspiked cider, since I’m thinking you don’t drink. And the Alcott house, theLittle Womenwriter, is around here somewhere ...” He bites his lip with a small headshake, suddenly looking unsure as I stare back in awe. “Now that I’m saying it out loud, I guess it’s not really date material, but I just figured there’d be tons of people around because girls have that ‘stranger danger’ thing to worry about. Although you did jump on the back of my bike pretty easily.” I raise my brows, but he just smiles. “Anyway, we’d be able to hear each other, unlike a bar or something ... I mean, we can do something else if you hate it—”
He’s perfect. Literally perfect. I take it all back, which only further proves that there must be something horrifically wrong with him.
