“Fuck, don’t stop,” I said reaching out my fingers but then letting them fall to my side. “I just . . . I’ve never heard you laugh before and it’s . . . cool to hear.”
His eyes warmed instantly, but I could tell I had embarrassed him. He walked to the kitchen, ran the water, and then returned with a wet paper towel. He sat on the edge of the couch nearest my feet and stared at his table of wares. Well damn, I needed to make up for it somehow. I didn’t want him retreating from me again.
“So what have you got for me, Doc?” His head snapped up and his eyes crinkled at the corners. God, he was a beautiful sight. He wore his hair almost as a shield of armor and I wondered if that was purposeful. The dreadlocks were all twisted and falling in his face and they mostly covered up his sculpted cheekbones.
“You have quite a few things lined up,” I said. “Any of them going to hurt?”
His eyes shackled to mine and he shrugged. “Had my fair share of skateboard injuries, which explains the full medicine chest.”
I tried not to shiver at hearing his voice again. Instead, my gaze darted to his knees, where I noticed the same faint scars and scrapes beneath his fine blond hair.
He reached over me with the paper towel. “Need to clean your cuts, then bandage you up. It’s already beginning to swell.”
I took a deep breath and nodded. “Go for it, Doc.”
The first dab strung but I was expecting that. I just held my breath while he gently tended to my wound. I saw the irony of now being under his authority and scrutiny. Except he wasn’t wielding a tattoo machine.
Once the blood was gone, my injury didn’t look nearly as bad. He turned the cloth over to use on my shin and as he did so, his fingers slid down the underside of my knee.
Having Jude’s warm hands on me was complete torture. I wanted to moan out loud, but I cleared my throat instead. He seemed to be having difficulty swallowing and once he realized he was holding on to me longer than necessary, his fingers slipped away.
All at once Chopper returned from his exploration of Jude’s apartment. He saw his new lover sitting on the couch and hopped right up, half of his body on the arm of the couch, the other half hanging on the floor.
Chopper leaned over and licked the side of Jude’s face, then his neck, while Jude wrinkled his nose and cringed.
“You’re an attention hog, Chopper!” I said, leaning forward and nudging the dog off the couch.
Jude was full out laughing now and it was infectious. His whole face lit up as he wiped Chopper’s saliva off of his face with his forearm. After thirty seconds more of straight-out chuckling, we tried to rein it in but failed miserably.
It felt so liberating to be able to let loose with him.
Chopper wandered farther down the hallway to what I assumed was the bedroom, given the small square footage of this place. “You better watch out; he might think he’s found a permanent place to live.”
Jude sobered up quickly by straightening himself on the couch. I saw a quick flash of gloominess behind his eyes and I wondered what I had made him remember or think about. I instantly wanted to return the smile to his face.
He got back to the task at hand by reaching for the antibiotic ointment. His torso hunched over my knees and I felt hot under the collar. Adjusting my position, I realized how stiff my muscles felt after lounging in this position for so many minutes straight.
When I winced, he looked up at me and began working faster. Using the smooth pads of his fingers, he gently dabbed on the ointment and I pictured what it might feel like to have his hands doing other things to me. That was exactly the wrong thing to be fantasizing about at this moment.
I could feel his breath on my legs and I needed to get far away from him before I did something crazy like slide my fingers behind his neck and draw his beautiful face toward mine.
I was suddenly so turned on, I needed to adjust myself in my shorts. My stomach was quivering and I noticed how his fingers shook opening the Band-Aid container. Was he having the same problem? And if so, why not do something about it?
But wasn’t it obvious—something huge was holding him back.
And suddenly I wanted to know so much more about him. Like exactly where he’d lived in the States and whether that was the reason why he spoke with a strange mix of English and American vernacular.
But I knew this was a short-lived thing—being here at his house was unplanned. He was just helping me out of a jam and probably was counting the minutes until he could get me the hell out of here. If I started asking questions now, it would be even sooner.
Besides, my back was beginning to spasm. Being so still, so on guard, was causing it to cramp up.
I continued to have issues from that accident three years ago, the one that changed everything. I had gone to months of physical therapy and still it acted up. Usually I didn’t notice it because I was always on the move, keeping myself so busy until I crashed at night.
He must have felt me studying his face because his gaze slid up my body painstakingly slowly and goose bumps broke out all over my arms. We stared at each other for the longest time, and I could tell just how labored his breathing had become.
“Thank you,” I whispered and that seemed to break the spell. I didn’t want to leave but I knew Chopper and I should get out of his space and his business.
All at once his gaze jerked to my ankle. His warm fingers slid delicately around the bone and I cringed because even the slight pressure made me remember that it hurt.
“Let me get you some ice,” he said, and his voice startled me again. It was like living for years without the sound of the rain. That first downpour was noisier and more breathtaking than you ever imagined.
“No,” I said. “You’ve done enough for me already.”
I struggled to sit up but he kept his fingers on my leg. He saw how I was arching my back and I could tell he knew that my discomfort was about more than my ankle.
His eyebrow arched. “Or the ice could be for your back.”
And unexpectedly it hit me that I was in this stranger’s house. This stranger who could probably be a friend—except that he never shared anything with me. And I’ll be damned if he knew anything about my past. About David and how lost I felt without him. It was the one sacred memory that I needed most to hold on to.
I shut my eyes and shook my head. “I need to go.”
He stood abruptly. “I didn’t mean . . . just ice your ankle for ten minutes and then you can be on your way.”
He had already pulled a pack from his freezer and was walking it toward me. First the guy was a mute and now he was Mr. Bossy. Such a fucking contradiction.
I allowed my back to resettle against the cushion as he carefully placed the ice on my ankle. What was an additional ten minutes anyway? We were silent for a while, the tension between us palpable. Now he knew there was a topic I didn’t want to discuss and I was pretty sure it had piqued his interest. But if he wanted to develop any kind of friendship between us, it would need to be a two-way street.
Chopper had found his way back into the room and had settled near Jude’s lap. He patted him almost hypnotically as the dog nuzzled farther into his hands. I reached out to scratch him behind the ears and at one point our fingers intersected. We looked away at the same time.
After ten minutes more, he removed the ice as if he didn’t want to disappoint me any longer or keep me from where I needed to go. But I had settled back into the couch so easily, I no longer had the drive to leave.
He picked up my ankle, rolled it and asked me if it hurt when he moved it this way or that. “I’m good.”
“Ice on and off for the next twenty-four hours,” he said, as if he was he was an orthopedic doctor instead of a skateboard daredevil who’d had one too many injuries.
“Okay, Doc,” I said. “Maybe you should’ve gone into medicine.”
Sadness filtered through his eyes and again I seemed to have said the wrong thing. This entire situation was so frustrating. Yet so alluring. Or maybe it was just him.
I stood on shaky legs and then looked down at myself. My shin was bandaged, my ankle was swollen, and my shorts were spotted with splotches of blood.
I began hobbling to the door. “Appreciate all of your help, Jude.”
I was having some difficulty but trying not to show it. I kept my face turned away so he didn’t see my pained expression but there was no way he couldn’t tell. Still I kept on going. I had to walk Chopper back home.
He handed me the leash, I thanked him again, and then walked out.
I allowed his door to slam behind me and I felt a sting of relief as well as melancholy. I limped partway down the drive before I heard his voice. “Cory.”
Crap, he was feeling bad. I should’ve tried to hobble less. I turned to look at him.
“Wait,” he said, thrusting open the screen door.
My eyebrows arched. What did he think he was going to do? Push me home on his skateboard?
I heard a noise and realized it was the automatic garage door.
It lifted, revealing a vintage red motorcycle.
I staggered back, more than a little disoriented because it hit too close to home. David had owned a red motorcycle. It was a Suzuki Boulevard and this looked like a used Harley Sportster, but still.
David and I would take off on the open road, riding side by side—it was our thing. And I just . . . fuck. Why seeing that motorcycle was affecting me like this, I didn’t know. It had been three years . . . but it came rushing back as if it was only yesterday.
I looked down the driveway, hoping to make my escape. I didn’t care how far the distance was from my apartment; I was getting the hell away from here and these too-fresh memories.
I heard the creak of the wheels as he began rolling the bike onto the pavement. Maybe this ride belonged to the neighbor who owned the house up front or to one of the Disciples. “Is that Sportster yours?”
He nodded, moving the front wheel toward me. “Bought it from some bloke a couple years ago. It’s not the best option but it’ll get you home the quickest.”
My heart was in my throat. “I’ve . . . I’ve never seen you on that thing.”
He shrugged. “Prefer my board.”
I shoved my fingers through my hair, completely staving off my panic. “I’ll pass. Anyway, I’ve got Chopper.”
“Chopper will stay with me,” he said all authoritarian and practical. “You’ll get him in the morning.”
What the fuck? Suddenly Mr. Wordy had it all figured out. “No, man, it’s all cool.”
But my words had fallen on deaf ears because he was already walking Chopper to his door and placing him inside the house. When Chopper turned to protest, he raised his hand in a silent signal, and the dog immediately sat down on his haunches.
I shook my head to clear the confusion from my brain.
“Let’s go.” Jude tipped his chin to the bike. “You’re in bad shape, mate.”
The plan was convoluted because I would have to circle back just to get Chopper in the morning. All I did was take the damn dog for a walk. I swear that ridiculous mutt causes more trouble than he’s worth.
All at once, my chest tightened and my breath stalled in my lungs. Jude’s eyes widened like he had no idea what the hell to do with me as I bent at the waist and attempted to inhale through my mouth.
“Sorry, give me a minute,” I said in a wheezy voice.
Hands on my knees, I caught my breath, suddenly feeling humiliated and more than a little sore. I cringed and straightened myself, refusing to meet his gaze. I couldn’t even begin to guess what in the hell I looked like at this point.
Dirty face. Bloody legs. Fucking panic attack.
But then I heard a noise low in Jude’s throat, as if he was trying to rein himself in as well. When my gaze darted to his face, his eyes were creased in concern, he was biting his bottom lip, and his hand was raised midair as if he were about to comfort me.
We stared at each other across the pavement for a long moment, before he turned, extended his leg, and sat down on the bike. He got down to business by turning the key to the start position and placing the bike in neutral. Except it failed to start.
“Sometimes you’ve got to pull the choke cable . . .” I said, because I knew from experience if a bike sat collecting dust, it could be difficult to get going. Especially a Sportster, which some consider the trickiest to ride because of the way the gas tank sits higher, throwing off the center of gravity.
On Jude’s second attempt, it roared to life. It sounded so powerful that I shivered.
I couldn’t get my limbs to move, even though I needed to in order to get home. The last time I’d been on the back of a hog was with David. And David was . . . everything.
I took a deep, steely breath. David was gone. Time to move on.
Jude sat back on the seat and looked pointedly at me. As if we had switched roles and he was the one egging me on. He knew that something was wrong. That I was struggling with his plan. He gaze swept to the street and concern flitted through his eyes. Like he was doing something he shouldn’t be doing and that made my stomach bottom out.
I stood frozen, not even remembering how to move. My leg was bent at the knee, using my other limb for support, because it was throbbing.
“Cory,” he said, and then my eyes darted to his lips. I couldn’t even help myself. The way he said my name was pure heaven.
I got myself together and climbed on back. This was only a damn ride home. My fingers lifted to the back of his shirt and gripped, which I knew would not be enough leverage to support me once he sped off. I slid forward on the seat, my crotch flush against his hips, and slipped my arms around his waist to his stomach.
I felt rather than heard his intake of breath while his abdominal muscles contracted beneath my touch. It felt easier knowing this closeness affected him as much as it did me. I loosened my grasp but by the time we were on the street, I didn’t care anymore. I clutched tighter and tucked my head, my stomach performing a damn acrobatic routine.
I could smell him. Sweat and moss and cedar mixed together. I had the urge to bury my nose in the center of his back, my lips wandering upward to the nape of his neck.
He was an alert driver, looking in every direction, as hyperaware of his surroundings as ever. His caution transferred to me, and a shiver travelled across my shoulders. He must’ve felt it because his hand moved back and fleetingly squeezed the fist that clutched his shirt, before falling away.
Each time he rounded a corner, I braced my thighs reflexively against his torso because it was difficult to relinquish control and simply hang on. This might have seemed like a simple ride on the outside, but it was hard to trust someone when you’ve rarely seen them vulnerable.
Before I knew it, we were on my street and it hit me that he hadn’t even asked for directions. How in the hell did he know the town house I lived in?
Maybe Jude had checked up on me and was way more dangerous that I had given him credit for. Maybe he had this bike because he was an honorary member of the Disciples of the Road. Or a new recruit.
I had a feeling that if I asked him, I’d get no response, so I just dropped it. When he came to a full stop at my doorstep, I carefully climbed off the back.
“Hey, thanks,” I said, retreating to the door. “Sorry that I took up so much of your evening. I’ll get Chopper from you first thing and we’ll be out of your hair.”
I noticed how he thinned his lips and tucked them inside his mouth as if to stop himself from saying something. Probably because I was a sweaty, rambling, pathetic mess.
I looked down at his bike, the red paint, the chrome wheels, appreciating that it had ended up being a pretty sweet ride.
“Do you ever . . .” I shook my head. “Never mind.”
Still he didn’t move, as if imploring me with his eyes to ask my question.
I thought of David and me out on the open road, camping a couple of hours away, beneath the stars. “Ever go for a long ride out of town? It’s a nice change of scenery.”
I saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, considering my question. He’d said tons of words to me already tonight but now I was intruding again. It was those quiet moments between his words that pierced me and caused the most damage.
His voice had filled up the hollow, but now his silence emptied it.
I started moving toward my door. “Forget it.”
“I—” he began speaking and I stopped forward progress immediately. “I should do it more often. Been on the go so much lately that staying put felt good for a change.”
And then as if he regretted giving me that kernel of information, he broke his gaze and wheeled the bike around to make his exit.
As my mind ticked through options of why he’d moved around so much, he lifted his hand in a wave.
You’d never suspect it was Jude York on that motorcycle with that helmet planted firmly on his head. He was such a fixture on his skateboard that he became an enigma right then. I couldn’t help wondering what it might feel like to drive off into oblivion with him by my side.
***
I shot up in bed realizing I had slept in late and had a shift in a couple of hours. I had missed my workout and walk. Not that I could make it with my damn foot problem.
Outside of some tightness and throbbing, I could tell my ankle felt better this morning. I didn’t need stitches for Christ’s sake. If I got my ass in gear now, I could walk with Ace to pick up Chopper.
When my doorbell unexpectedly rang, Ace ran to the front room and started barking. I threw on a pair of sweat shorts and hobbled to the door. Jude and Chopper stood on the landing. Fuck, I had taken too long.
“I thought you could use the rest,” Jude said after tearing his eyes away from my bare midriff. Instinctively I raised my hand to my chest, maybe in a lame attempt to cover up, and his gaze followed my fingers.
I worked hard to keep in shape and the guys I’d been with seemed to appreciate the effort. I didn’t have six-pack abs but I knew I was built. The way Jude was looking at me right now made me want to grab him and pull him inside my house so I could shove my tongue down his throat.
The front of my sweats tightened in response and I took a leveling breath to grab hold of my damn fantasies. I had no clue what Jude’s story was, it was difficult enough building an acquaintance.
“I bet you had a good sleepover, Chopper.” I patted him on the head and let him inside where he circled and nuzzled Ace.
Jude bit his lip as he bent over and removed his skateboard from his Velcro backpack.
“How did you know where I live anyway?” I asked as he placed one foot on the board.
His eyebrows slammed together and his lips drew in a straight line.
“It’s just . . . you never asked for directions last night.”
His eye narrowed and I had no clue why he’d be so pissed at my query.
“You know what, screw it,” I said scraping my fingers across my abs in frustration.
As he began rolling away, I bit out, “Guess you used up your word quota for the week.”
His head and shoulders slumped forward and all I felt was hollow.