The Row(45)

“I’m pretty certain I have, but whatever it looks like, it wouldn’t change my opinion.” He speaks these words like they shouldn’t surprise me, but they do, and as my cheeks flush red, I’m abruptly grateful for the helmet.

Once we’re both seated on his black death trap, he turns the key and the bike roars to life. The engine revs so loud my ears ring. Jordan lets it idle, and the sound mellows to the point where I can mostly hear again. He reaches back and grabs my hands, bringing them tight around his waist. My nose fills with the strong, clean scent that is so Jordan. For whatever reason, the first reaction my body has is to melt against him.

“Riley, don’t let go. No matter what,” he says just loud enough for me to hear over the engine and my heart pounds in response as he lifts the kickstand and eases the motorcycle forward. Wrapping my arms tighter, I feel a little better knowing my instincts at the moment are from pure panic and not my confusing attraction to him. I force myself not to whimper as I close my eyes and lean my helmet against his back. Any playfulness from just minutes before is gone in the face of genuine fear. Motorcycles have always terrified me even from a distance. Being on one intensifies my distress more than I expect.

I cringe as he glides the bike smoothly out into the street, but when we reach the first corner and have to turn, the way it leans makes me squeeze myself even tighter against him. I feel him pat my hands as they grip the front of his shirt to reassure me. I try to relax because the tension is causing the muscles in my shoulders to ache.

Closing my eyes, I let the tension drain down from my neck, along my back and out through my legs. Once I release my muscles a bit, I’m shocked to feel the worries and fears that have tied me in knots for weeks start to melt away, bit by twitchy bit.

Wrapping one hand up and across Jordan’s chest, I settle into the way our bodies shift together with the motorcycle’s movements. We lean and curve as one, moving with the power and force of the rumbling engine below us.

It’s still horrifying to think about how fragile and exposed we are, but in a way there is a certain desperate beauty to it. Right now, we live and die together. We’re vulnerable together.

My hand curls into a fist and I look up as we start passing through shadow after shadow. We’re getting close now, and the tall buildings of downtown Houston hide us from the sunlight. Between the shadows and the wind whipping past us, the temperature dips so fast that my skin prickles with an immediate chill. I snuggle closer to Jordan’s warm back, for the first time not out of fear. I swear that being from Texas turns you cold-blooded sometimes. I don’t handle temperature changes as well as a normal mammal should.

Jordan drives into a parking spot near the base of the tall blue building we’re looking for, and I recognize another reason he prefers a motorcycle. Parking spots are definitely easier to come by in the city.

As he turns the key and cuts the engine, I’m blown away by the abrupt onslaught of city noises I couldn’t hear before: cars honking, music from a café up the street, people talking. The deep rumble of the motorcycle had eclipsed all of that and more.

Pulling off his helmet, Jordan looks over his shoulder and smiles at me. “So? Did she grow on you?”

I make him wait for my answer. Taking a firm grip on the hand he holds out, I step off the bike and wait for my legs to stop trembling. Kind of a surprising side effect considering I’ve essentially been sitting still for the entire drive. When I fumble with the latch on my helmet, he reaches over and unclips it. Once I shake my hair down and free, I respond. “Better than expected. This beastly machine is a girl?”

“Don’t you think?” He puts the kickstand down and stows our helmets in a container on one side of the seat.

I take a few steps up onto the sidewalk and examine the bike. It’s all shiny chrome and black paint. He obviously takes care of it and it looks like Jordan to me now. He definitely falls under the masculine category. “I don’t know.” I shrug.

He gives me a pointed stare. “You’ll hurt her feelings.”

I laugh and rub my hand across the leather seat. “My apologies, very feminine bike. I didn’t mean any offense.”

“She forgives you.” Jordan steps up next to me. “So, now what?”

I crane my neck up at the building and see nothing but mirrored windows looking back. That’s one thing I don’t like about skyscrapers. It feels like so many people can be looking down on you. You don’t know who they are, and you can’t even stare back.

“Now, we’re going to talk to an old friend.”

*

The elevator doors slide open and the tiny ding signaling our arrival feels absurdly loud in the quiet office. The reception area is empty. Curving letters glitter at me from behind the desk: Law Offices of Smedley, Masters & Goldman. The silver-and-black words feel strange and wrong now, like something is missing. Daddy is what’s missing. It used to be Smedley, Masters, Beckett & Goldman.

It’s early evening, but the lamp on the receptionist’s desk is off for the night, and the reception area is empty.

Jordan grabs my elbow and jerks his thumb over his shoulder toward a lighted sign for the restrooms. “I’ll be right back.”

“Now?”

He gives me an exasperated look. “I didn’t plan it.”

I nod. “I’m going to look around to see if anyone else I know is still here tonight. Find me when you’re done.”