The Girl Who Wasn't (9 page)

I shiver, comfort and fear an equal
mix.

“
You cold?” he
asks.

His voice is rough and close. Our
chests are only inches apart. He is looking down at me with quiet
concern and I shiver again—this time for an entirely different
reason.

“
No,” I whisper.

The silence hangs like a sharp edge
between us. I feel as if at any moment, we’ll turn a corner and
rush headlong into … something. I don’t know what. So I stand
there, not breathing, waiting. Finally, he blinks and the sharpness
rounds out into nothing. I feel relieved and crushed all at
once.

“
We better go,” he says,
dropping my hand.

He leads me to the access door and down
the stairs without another word. We catch the elevator on the tenth
floor, avoiding whatever is left of the party. I’m glad for that.
Despite my assurances, my head is pounding now that I’m
moving.

When we make it outside, he turns to
me, apologetically. “The others took the car. All I have to get you
home is my motorcycle. Is that okay?”

I falter in my step. “It’s
fine.”

His head tilts. “Have you ever ridden
one?”

I am tempted to say that I’ve only
barely ridden in cars, much less a motorcycle, but I don’t. “No,” I
say simply.

He stops in front of a black motorcycle
that’s all hard angles and quiet muscle and hands me a helmet he
unstraps from the handlebars. “Put this on.”

I fumble with it for a moment before he
takes over, moving my fingers aside and nimbly working the snaps
into place. He takes off his jacket and holds it out for me to slip
into.

“
I can’t. It’s yours,” I
say. “Besides, I have mine.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not going
to be enough to keep you warm once we get moving. Trust me.” We
both look down at my mostly bare legs. “You’ll have to hike your
dress up to swing a leg over. Just … press close to me.”

I pretend the words don’t send a hungry
shiver through me. “What about you?”

“
I’ll be fine.”

I slip one arm, then another, into
sleeves that are too long, and zip it up. It feels heavy and bulky
around my shoulders, but I assume the padding is for safety and I
don’t complain. My belly is jumping from anticipation and fear as I
eye the machine next to us. There’s something sensuous about
it—like whispered danger.

“
The main thing to know is
how to turn. You have to lean into it and let the bike do the rest.
If you’re not sure, press against me and move when I move. Got
it?”

I don’t really, but I nod
anyway.

“
Just do what I do,” he
adds.

He helps me into his gloves, also too
big, and then we’re ready. He swings a leg over and knocks the
kickstand back in a practiced move.

I stand there, eyeing all of the parts,
and trying to figure out the best way to get on behind him without
falling over—or revealing any more of me in this too-short dress.
He turns the key and the bike revs to life underneath him. He looks
over and though I can’t see his expression behind his helmet, it
feels serious. There is a quiet energy between us.

“
Get on,” he says, voice
muffled. He holds his hand out and I take it tentatively, trying to
figure out where to step and where to grab as I slide in behind
him. I ball my skirt into my fist and use the other to grab his
shoulder.

He waits a beat while I orient myself
and then the engine revs. The entire machine shakes with soft,
swift vibrations. Goose bumps spread from my thighs to my
knees.

I wrap my arms softly around his
midsection, unsure, feeling overly forward if I grab on too
tightly.

“
You’re going to want to
hang on,” he says as if reading my thoughts. The inside of my
helmet heats as my cheeks burn. I’m glad he can’t see my face.
“Ready?”

I tighten my grip. “I think so.” My
wavering voice makes me sound like a liar. “Is this thing safe?” I
can’t help but add. He shakes with laughter and we ease
forward.

The bike is a life of its own
underneath me, humming and vibrating, and then he punches the gas
and it’s smooth and sleek—and fast. The pavement is rushing by and
the wind is flapping the edges of my dress and I no longer care how
tightly I should be holding on. I curl my shoulders forward so that
my chest is curved to his back.

Brisk wind blows over my
legs, turning sharper as we accelerate, but the cold doesn’t
register over the thrill of it. I want to go faster. Linc weaves in
and out of traffic, and every turn pulls me closer to his
back.

A dog runs out ahead of us.
Linc swerves to avoid the animal, and I scream. Linc moves his left
hand to my thigh, wordlessly assuring me that he’s done this a
thousand times. When his hand doesn't leave my skin, any chill I
felt vanishes.

Suddenly, I’m hot, warmed
from the inside out. My face flushes inside my helmet. A wave of
heat threads its way through me, ending between my legs in a slow
burn.
 

The speed is exhilarating. The fear and
excitement are almost too big to feel at the same time. Adrenaline
pumps into me, making room for both. Behind the anonymity of my
helmet, I am grinning. I cannot stop. I have the urge to throw my
hands out and lean my head back and let the wind roll over me in a
moment of perfect ecstasy. Then we hit a bend in the road, and
Linc’s hand moves back to the handlebars. I feel him leaning and
think better of letting go. I lean with him, matching my shoulder
dip to his. The motorcycle tips effortlessly and then rights itself
again as the road straightens. It’s pure magic.

The speedometer tips eighty and I’m not
sure I wouldn’t blow away if I let go. It’s a thrill; death is
rushing by me six inches from my toes with nothing separating me
from it except my grip on Linc’s midsection. I tighten my arms and
grin wider.

The turns are scariest, the way we lean
and the speeds with which we take them. Each time, we come closer
to getting parallel with the pavement. It’s thrilling and
terrifying all at once. I squeeze Linc’s ribs, giving away the
delicious anxiety that grips me so hard I’m gasping in my helmet. I
don’t think he can hear my intake of breath or little cries of
panic, but I’m not certain.

Ahead of us, open road
stretches, and Linc’s hand wanders back to my thigh. I try to
understand his reason because I know he wouldn’t touch me without
one. But he rests it there almost lazily, his fingertips dancing
with the wind over my skin. Goose bumps rise from my hip to ankle.
I shiver.

The heat returns, snaking a
trail as it curls toward my stomach. It settles in a tight ball
beneath my belly button. My skin feels pulled tight against my
muscles. Something—I don’t know what—desperately wants to be
released.

I shift on the narrow seat,
doing all I can to shut it out, but the motion only serves to
agitate the storm inside me. My body likes the friction of my
movements, but I pause, waiting to see if Linc notices. He doesn’t
move, nor does he remove his hand from my leg.

He is undoubtedly completely
unaware of what he is doing to me.

And I don't want him to
stop.

I imagine his hands on my
legs with no fabric to deter their wandering. I imagine him pulling
to the side of the road, dismounting. Swinging my legs around so
they’re wrapped around his waist instead of this narrow seat. His
fingers drifting higher up the inside of my thigh, underneath the
thin fabric of my panties. Slowly sliding his finger into the wet
heat he’d find there.

I am flushed with a familiar
feeling as I remember the stolen moments in Twig City when I would
run my hands over my body while the rest of them slept. But never
to this extent. Never with this sort of torment.

My hands around his
midsection tighten. I want badly to run my gloved hands over the
planes of his chest but I don’t dare give myself away. Not when I’m
so close to … something.

Linc downshifts to pause at
an empty intersection and the motorcycle bucks beneath me. The
vibrations from the engine send tingles between my thighs and make
my legs quiver. Linc's hand still rests on my thigh. I ache as I
imagine them exploring higher. To the sensitive place where I can
feel every little thing.

Without understanding the
need, I move subtly, grinding my hips against the seat. The purr of
the engine soaks into every inch of me. Heating me, teasing me,
taking me closer to the edge of whatever this is. It overwhelms me,
pushes me past the point of caring whether he notices my rhythmic
thrusts.

My breathing slows to
shallow bursts. All of my concentration is focused on satisfying
this hunger. If it’s anything like the buildup, I can only imagine
what it’s like on the other side.

Linc speeds up, sending
stronger vibrations to my thighs. We’re weaving through traffic
now. I don’t know where we are or how long before we’re home, but I
don’t look. I don’t stop. I can’t. There’s something amazing just
out of reach. I’m determined to get there. Finally.

The result is
amazing.

The sensation between my
legs explodes. It takes over my entire body. I shiver hard enough
for Linc to feel. His hand shifts and rubs, unsuspecting, along my
thigh. He’s trying to warm me. He has no idea I’m lava beneath his
touch.

The pressure of his hand
intensifies as the buildup inside me reaches a climax. I cry out,
grateful for the wind that steals the sound of my voice before it
can reach his ears. My legs shake with a jilted twitch. Then I go
limp.

I force myself to breathe.
Long drags of helmet-filtered oxygen fill my lungs. It’s just short
of a wheeze. I close my eyes. My legs go still as the fiery
sensation takes over and burns like molten lava through my core. I
cling dizzily to Linc, letting the feeling wash over me. For a few
electrifying seconds, I am completely out of control of my own
body.

Whatever just happened, it
was real. Authentic. And no one, not even Titus Rogen, can take
that from me.

All too soon, the road gives way to
warehouses, then businesses, closed and boarded and littered with
dirty sidewalks, trash, sleeping bodies. I caught glimpses in the
car the other day, but this view is different. I can see it all, no
tinted windows to paint it less horrifying.

We pass a stumbling man and have to
swerve to keep from running him over. He doesn’t even jump back. I
wonder if he’s aware we are there at all. Children play with some
red-eyed animal that hovers behind an overturned dumpster. Their
clothes are ragged and dirty, even in the darkness. Through the
filter of my helmet, the air is stale and sullied.

The afterglow of what I’ve just
experienced quickly fades underneath the neon lights of poverty. I
want him to drive faster and get me gone from this place. It reeks
of filth and of wanting and makes the inside of my skin ache for
these people who have so little when I suddenly have so
much.

In a few moments, the warehouses with
shattered windows and boarded doorways give way to moderate
apartments and then slowly, it all fades into the glitter of
uptown.

Linc lets me off in front of the
revolving doors of Rogen Tower. I slide off, mindful of where the
fabric of my dress has ridden up. My legs are tingling from cold
and the leftover rush. My knees are soft, as if my muscles have
relaxed past the point of being useful. I’m careful to keep steady
on my pointy heels.

After my fumbling fingers release the
snap, I slide the helmet over my head and hand it back. He flips
the visor up on his helmet, revealing the top half of his face. He
looks sorry, though for what, I’m not sure.

“
Thanks for the
ride.”

“
I hope you don’t mind I
took the long way home.”

“
Not at all. That was …
amazing.” My cheeks warm at the memory of what I’ve just
experienced. I feel exposed, like there’s no possible way he can’t
read it on my face.

He grins. “I’m glad you liked it. I’ll
see you later.”

I blink, terrified for a moment that
he’s figured it out. But then I see him patting the motorcycle
appreciatively. He means the ride. The speed. The wind. I exhale.
“Maybe we can do it again sometime?”

“
That would be
fun.”

Butterflies dance inside my stomach. He
has no idea. His foot depresses a lever and the engine growls. I
frown. “You’re not coming up?”

He shakes his head. “I’ll be back in
the morning. You better get going. Gus is waiting in the
lobby.”

At his nod, I twist around and catch
sight of Gus watching us from the other side of the glass. I’m not
sure but I feel like I’m in trouble, though surviving is my only
crime.

When I turn back, it’s to the sound of
the bike’s engine revving. “Bye,” I say, but I doubt Linc hears me.
He’s already pulling into the flow of traffic and speeding
off.

Gus is unsmiling but silent as he
escorts me upstairs. By the time the elevator dings for the
penthouse, I think maybe I’ve avoided the inevitable. But the first
thing I see when the doors open is Titus. His demeanor shifts at
the sight of me and I think the brick wall I hit earlier wasn’t
nearly as impenetrable.