was wearing jeans that looked as though they’d never met a washing machine, and a startlingly white t-shirt that showed the distinct mark of tattoos along his neck stretched under a heavy leather jacket with dingy patches on almost every available surface. He was clean shaven, but his brown hair was a little long, a greasy collection of strings around his face. There was a pack of cigarettes sticking out of his jeans pocket and she was pretty sure there was a knife sticking out of the top of one of his heavy work boots.
He scared the crap out of her.
“I know a guy who could fix it for fairly cheap. He has a shop over on Quaker.”
“Well, thanks,” Nola said, “but I think I should probably call triple A.”
“Okay.”
He stood and rubbed his hands on the seat of his jeans. He walked over to his bike and straddled it again, his movements almost graceful. He picked up a small helmet—one of those that was designed to look like something out of World War I—and set it over those brown strings. He started the bike and the sound seemed to vibrate through Nola’s body. She tightened her hold on her own arms as she discovered she couldn’t tear her eyes from him.
He was scary, there was no denying that. There was something about him, a sense of danger that made her heart race in a way she’d never experienced before. But there was also something sexy about the way he looked on that bike, the way his muscles flexed in perfect synchronicity with the roar of the bike’s engine. And the way he looked at her with a barely concealed hunger…no one had ever looked at her that way before.
“Want a ride?” he suddenly asked.
Thoughts raced through Nola’s mind—rape, murder, dismemberment—but they were overshadowed by a sense of excitement. She’d never been on a motorcycle before. To feel such power between her legs…and then there was the practicality of the whole thing. She needed to get home before her mother so that she wouldn’t worry.
But still…
She shook her head. “Thanks, but no,” she called, her voice raised over the sound of the bike.
He shrugged, but he didn’t move. He looked around, watching a group of students wander from their cars to the student union.
“You know,” he finally said, “taxi drivers charge a flat fee of twenty bucks, plus ten cents a mile. And the city bus only takes change. Do you have enough change to get home?”
Nola shrugged. “I don’t know.”
He cut the engine of the bike and pulled another helmet out of a hidden compartment on the back and side of the bike. “I won’t bite,” he promised.
Nola glanced at the car, frustration bursting through her chest again as an unbalance ledger played through her mind. This was going to take a huge chunk out of their meager savings. To add to that the cost of a taxi…was it really that much?
What choice did she really have?
Nola slammed the hood of her car down and went around to grab her bag and keys.
The man took her bag from her and helped her strap it properly onto her shoulders. Then he carefully set the helmet on her head, his fingers gentle as he attached the straps to the underside of her chin. She began to have thoughts, wondering if he was always this gentle with the women in his life. Again, thoughts raced through her mind, but these were more along the sensual side, her imagination taking her places she had never been before but suddenly wanted to go. She blushed, her eyes dropping to the ground as he finished his task.
He took her hand and guided her onto the bike behind him, tucking her arms around his waist. “Hold on tight. And move with my movements, that way I can control the balance of the bike.”
She nodded, but he was pretty sure she didn’t hear him. He started the bike, guided it out of the parking spot, and then they were flying.
He took them out to the main thoroughfare and began weaving in and out of traffic, the bike’s speed increasing with every inch of asphalt the tires
Jean-Marie Blas de Robles