Objective (Bloodlines #2)(18)

At three on the dot the loud roar of a bike engine rattles my windows. I peek out the window and see Brock's formidable figure straddling a crotch rocket. Instantly I’m nervous. I can’t get on a bike with him. I can’t touch him. I don’t want to. It’s too intimate to me. My heart starts beating erratically in my chest and I haven’t even opened the door yet. The idle of the bike still rumbles outside when the knock at the door startles me from my fears.

“Mags? You in there?” Brock calls.

“Uh, yeah, just a sec!” I return clumsily. I grab my purse and make my way to the door. Swinging it open, a very handsome Brock waits at the bottom of my steps smiling up at me, full of confidence.

“So, uh, where’s the car?” I ask, trying to shoot for humor but definitely failing.

“Bike. Thought it’d be more fun. Really get to know each other,” he winks, making it seem like we would have some secret romp in the hay instead of a ride to work together. It gives me a total queer attack. I feel my lips twitch and my ribs start shaking. I can't help it. I often laugh at inappropriate times, not because I’m nervous or anything, mainly because I think inappropriate things are funny. I burst out laughing. Brock stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. And maybe I have, but at this juncture I really don't care. He cocks an eyebrow, shakes his head at me and moves towards the bike.

“Brock, it’s cute that you, ah, are interested in...getting to know me, but I can’t ride that bike with you,” I inform him.

“Well, how the hell do you expect to get to work then?” He raises an eyebrow at me and smiles. I haven’t touched the bike behind the trailer since I moved in and I really don't think I want to. Too many memories.

“I don’t really like to be touched,” I blurt.

“Yeah, baby girl, I noticed. Too bad though, you need a ride, I gotta bike, seems like you wanna get to work...you’re gonna get on the back of my bike.”

“That’s rude,” I return, offended.

“Not big on repeatin’ myself. Get on the bike, Mags.” He pats the seat behind him. I shudder. Not because I’m scared of Brock, I’m scared of the contact. I take a step back unconsciously and shake my head no and stare at the ground. Maybe I should just call out. Two hands grab my shoulders and turn me towards the bike. Before I can freak out from the touch, the hands release me and smack my ass, hard, in the direction of the bike. Brock chuckles as I stumble a step forward. His chuckle quickly ends when he sees a tear streak down my face. I know it’s irrational, beyond irrational to be so terrified of riding with him but I can’t seem to get a grip. His face sobers and without touching me he stands as close as possible. “Mags, come on, I’m not going to hurt you,” he says gently. I stare at him, willing myself to be stronger than I feel, to banish the girl Ezra has turned me into.

“I know. I know, Brock, it’s all me. I know that. I...” I fumble for the right words to explain.

“Okay, listen, you get on, if you don’t want to hold on to me, I’ll ride real slow so you don’t fall off.” His eyes twinkle and his lips twitch. I can tell he’s trying. He’s trying so hard to lighten the mood. I don’t really have any other options but to not go to work so I nod my head and wait for him to get seated on the bike. Very carefully I sling my purse strap over across my chest and sneak onto the bike behind Brock. My inner thighs touch his outer thighs but I try to keep my legs spread wide. I slide the helmet on and fasten it. Without touching our torsos together I lean back, keeping my hands on my thighs.

“Hurry,” I squeak. The bike roars to life and, gently, Brock makes his way out of the park.

The ride is a true test of my will to change. To overcome the things I’ve let control me for so long now. I push all my thoughts of shame and being tainted out of my head. I’m a good enough rider to not need to meld myself to him to stay on. It’s the thoughts of betrayal that I can’t seem to get past. He would be so hurt, so upset, so...angry to see me riding on the back of another man’s bike. I don’t want to cause him any more pain. If he can see me, he’s fuming and it’s just one more way I’ve hurt him.

Twenty minutes later we pull into the parking lot at work. The bike idles and before I let myself process any more morbid thoughts, I strip the helmet off and jump off the bike. My legs start to give way but before I lose the ability to stand, I lock my knees and rigidly stand facing Brock. He towers over me and removes his helmet.

“I’m not that bad, am I?” he asks, smirking.

“Nah, not that bad, but I’m glad my car will be here when we’re done tonight,” I chirp, and make my way inside. Brock catches up to me in a few long strides.

“Hey, I know you’re ahh...different and all but, would you wanna grab dinner sometime?” he asks, and my breath falters. I can’t imagine being with anyone ever again.

“I don’t date. Don’t take it personally,” I offer.

“Aww come on. I don’t bite...much,” he returns playfully.

“I don't date,” I repeat.

“Why?”

“Because, Brock, I don’t make mistakes, I date them. And I need another mistake like I need a hole in the head, not to mention finding a good guy, a real man worth fighting for is like coming across a unicorn in your backyard. Legend. Myth. Fairytale. Does. Not. Exist,” I state firmly, but I know differently, I know because I did find it once and then I lost it. Brock's face falls and he shakes his head at me.