The F It List - Alexis Winter Page 0,8

isn’t a lot to do and it’s too early to go to sleep. I get up and walk into my closet to pull on a pair of jeans, some boots, a black T-shirt, and my leather jacket. On my way out the door, I grab my keys from the bowl and head down to the parking garage. While I always park my car in the lot, my motorcycle stays well-protected in the garage.

I swing one leg over the Harley, put up the kickstand, and start her up. She comes roaring to life, and when I twist the throttle, she rumbles loudly. I slowly make my way out of the garage and onto the street. I have no destination in mind. All I know is that I was feeling too shut in and needed an escape. The road with the bike between my legs and the wind in my hair is the only way to do that. I weave in and out of traffic until I can hit the highway. Finally, I have the room I need to open her up.

I don’t pay much attention to where I’m going. It’s like my mind isn’t steering the bike—my body is, and it does so without being told where to go. When I look up, I’m in a familiar part of town, but I have no idea why I drove here. I park in a parking space on the side of the road and shut off the bike. I put down the kickstand and get into my saddlebags to remove my water bottle. I lift it to my lips and take a long drink while my eyes take in everything in front of me. There are a few apartment buildings, a couple little restaurants, and a gas station, but no bars or anything. It’s a quiet section of town that doesn’t get a lot of traffic, so I can’t for the life of me figure out why I drove here. Then I catch a glimpse of something that gets my attention.

Cora. She’s walking toward me with a bag in her hand. She hasn’t spotted me yet, so I lean against the bike and cross my arms over my chest as I wait. When she’s only a few feet from me, she stops.

“Grayson?”

I stand upright. “Hi, Cora.”

“What are you doing here? How’d you know where I live?”

I shake my head and point up at the building. “You live here?”

She nods with her brows lifted, as if she’s saying duh.

“I had no idea. I was just riding and stopped here to get a drink. What are you up to?”

She holds the bag up a little higher. “Just went out to get some dinner. Hungry?”

“I just ate, thanks.”

“Are you sure? It’s my favorite. Chinese.” She smiles wide.

I laugh. “I just ate Chinese food myself.”

She giggles. “I guess that’s part of being a single millennial in the city, huh? Takeout life. Want to come up and watch me eat then? I’ll even give you a drink.”

I shake the water bottle in my hands. “Well, my water is almost gone.”

She nods toward the building. “Come on.”

I follow her inside and she shuts the door, locking it behind us. She flips on lights as she walks through the apartment, and I glance around to take everything in. I smile, realizing the entire place smells like her: warm vanilla and something that has a hint of spice to it. The hallway leading from the doorway to the living room/kitchen area is rather bare. There’s nothing but a blue rug, a table where she drops her keys and purse, and a few pictures hanging on the walls. The living room is more homey; it looks lived-in and welcoming. There’s a thick, fluffy gray couch, a matching armchair, and a table between them. The coffee table is littered with a few magazines and a candle. There’s a small entertainment center against the far wall that holds a TV with a few more candles, a picture frame, and a few knickknacks here and there. There’s another big rug under the couch and table, and light-colored curtains hanging over the big windows. I take a seat on the couch, which is so comfortable and soft.

“I’m going to make myself a plate. You sure you don’t want anything?” she asks, holding up the bag to me before ducking into the kitchen.

“I’m good, but thank you.”

When she walks into the living room, she has a plate in one hand and two beers in the other.

“Drink?” she