Beyond The Roses - Monica James Page 0,16

near. “What’s that?”

“That?” he asks, feigning horror. “She is a 1968 low rider chopper. I rebuilt her myself.” The way he runs his palm over the black paintwork and shiny silver thingamajigs, I can see it’s true love.

“That’s a really nice story, but why are we standing near it…her?” I correct when he looks like he’s about to cry.

“Don’t listen to her, baby,” he coos to the bike. A smile touches my lips. “This is my vehicle; although, she’s so much more.” He fetches two helmets, which are resting on the handlebars. When he passes me a red one, I know he’s serious.

“We’re riding that thing now?”

This time, he doesn’t correct my oversight. “Yes, we are, and you’re going to love it. Unless…”

“Unless what?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Are you okay to ride? I mean yesterday…”

“Yesterday, I fainted. No big deal. Now give me that helmet.” I thrust out my hand.

I understand his reservations, but I’m fine. And I refuse to be treated any other way.

When he passes me the helmet, I now understand why he asked about my clothes. There’s nothing to protect my skin from peeling off when I go flying through the air like Evel Knievel. But regardless, this is happening.

I watch as he mounts the bike with ease, looking like a complete badass settling back against the black leather seat. No wonder he’s wearing those motorcycle boots.

When he places the key into the ignition, he turns to look at me. I clutch the helmet with both hands, gulping. “Where do I sit?”

He points at a small incline behind him. I laugh, but abruptly stop when I see that thing he’s gesturing to is a pathetic excuse for a seat. “You’re not serious?” I shake my head, backing away.

“I’m very serious.” He grips the handles, waiting for me to get on.

The helmet feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, and I’m seconds away from handing it back to him and telling him thanks, but no thanks, I like my head where it is.

But that small, bothersome voice, a voice which has been with me since I first arrived, has suddenly become a smidge louder. It’s telling me to stop being a chickenshit and…live.

Funny, I’ve heard that voice before. It’s Georgia’s.

The voices in my head are no longer nameless. That fact gives me a sense of comfort, and it also gives me the courage I need. Taking a deep breath, I put on the helmet and hope to god I’m not making a terrible mistake.

“If we leave now, we might make it by Christmas.” He looks down at his imaginary watch with a dimpled smirk.

I clutch my sides, laughing sarcastically. “When did you get your license?”

His lips move from side to side as if contemplating his response. “Yesterday.”

He’s joking and trying to make me feel at ease, but I’m still scared. “What if I fall?”

Suddenly turning serious, he offers me his hand. “I promise I won’t let you fall.” The sincerity behind his pledge has me stepping forward. “But if you’re afraid…”

What he’s doing is blatantly obvious, but still, I take the bait as I slap his hand away. “I’m not afraid.” I fumble with the strap under my chin, and after three attempts, it’s buckled tight. Now I must attempt to get on the bike without falling on my face.

I’m mercifully no longer blinded by fear, but when I see how closely I’ll be pressed up to Dr. Archibald, a different sort of fear arises. There isn’t a seat belt in sight, so to stop myself from face-planting, I’ll have to hold him, and tight.

I gulp.

Hoping I don’t fall on my ass, I lift my leg and mount the bike just like Dr. Archibald did. All those horse-riding lessons come in handy as I clench my thighs and apprehensively wrap my arms around his firm waist. His body is warm and feels exactly how I envisioned it to feel—divine.

Once I’m settled into place, he revs the engine before we launch off with an ear-splitting whoosh. I scream and tighten my hold around him, pressing my chest to his back. I feel his stomach ripple as he laughs at my response.

He maneuvers the bike with skill, hinting he’s ridden for a long while, and before I know it, we’re past the pines and out the double steel gates.

The wind whips at my cheeks, breathing a new lease of life into me. The landscape flashes before me, but I absorb enough to appreciate its beauty. Dr. Archibald

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