No Attachments - By Tiffany King Page 0,51
unique, not to mention, it appeals to me in a very unexpected way," he reassured me, turning the vehicle down a road with a carved wooden sign that had the words "National Park" burned in it.
The road leading to the national park was compromised of dirt and gravel and pocketed with multiple ruts. We bumped along for almost a mile before it opened up to a small parking lot where an orange rusted-out Ford truck and small yellow VW Bug were parked. Large oak trees shaded the small parking lot with the last of their burnt orange-colored leaves. Judging by the amount of leaves that crunched underfoot as we unloaded the bikes, it wouldn't be long before the majestic trees were completely bare.
Chapter 18: A day on the trails
Nathan
Ashton was silent as I finished unloading the bikes, which had me second-guessing the whole trip. I knew once again she was keeping something from me, and yet, I felt powerless on how to get her to open up. Maybe if we'd been dating for several months, I'd have the right to be more demanding, but the tentative relationship we had did not allow for that. My goal of charming her into my arms had worked according to plan, but what had been acceptable two days ago was no longer what I wanted. I knew I was scaling a precarious slope that could crash down on me at any moment. The smart thing would be to abide by the rules we had set and enjoy the moment. Unfortunately, I wasn't smart where she was concerned. I wanted more.
"You sure you're okay with this?" I asked, handing her one of the helmets.
"Only if you swear you won't laugh if I land on my ass, which seems likely since it always seems to happen when you're around."
"I solemnly swear I won't laugh if you fall on your ass," I proclaimed, raising my right hand for emphasis.
"Smart ass," she complained, wheeling her bike toward the trail. "You go first until I get the hang of it," she added, straddling her bike.
"You'll be fine. Supposedly, you never forget how to ride a bike," I said, peddling away. I rode for a hundred yards or so before venturing a look behind me to make sure she was okay. She looked like a natural, so obviously all her fears were for naught. It wasn't until I took in the clouded expression on her face that I guessed she wasn't enjoying the ride at all. Slowing to a stop, I straddled the bike, waiting for her to catch up.
"What's wrong?" she asked, looking somewhat distracted.
"Honey, I wanted to do something that you'd enjoy. I didn't mean for this to be some kind of torture chamber. Why don't we head back and we can do something else."
"No," she said in an unexpectedly stern manor. "I mean, I don't want to turn around. Really, I'm enjoying it."
"Sweets, you have a weird way of showing enjoyment. You look like you're in physical pain. Really, it won't be any skin off my nose if we head back."
"It's not that," she sighed heavily before looking up at me. I was shocked to see her in tears. "It's just, the last time I rode a bike, it was with my mom right before she died. We had this tradition where we would bike to the beach every week and ride along the shoreline. The last time we went, she was too exhausted to make it home, so my dad came to get us. A week later, she was too sick to ride at all and three days after that, she went to the hospital and never came home—stage four cancer. We never knew it. That last bike ride we took has always stuck with me. She was in a weird mood that day. In hindsight, I can't help wondering if at the time she suspected something was off," she answered as a lone tear streaked down her cheek.
"Oh, god, babe, I didn't realize," I said, using the pad of my thumb to wipe away her tear. "Let's go back. We'll do something else," I added, unprepared for the reaction her tears had on me. Usually, I viewed tears as a weapon that women readily used in their arsenal to keep men in line. Normally, I would have fled the scene at the first hint of tears, but Ashton's had the opposite effect on me.
"No, I don't want to leave," she insisted. "It's almost therapeutic. I've