Cassidy looked away, swallowing hot anger. She began to walk in fast, determined strides. Behind her, Dutch’s motorcycle engine quit and she heard his boots behind her.
“Leave me alone!” she said.
“Hey, take it easy,” he said.
“Take it easy?” she cried, stopping. “You think I don’t see what this is?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Enlighten me.”
“Some giant come-on, that’s what. Cash, grass, or ass, right?”
He crossed his arms, his face halfway to a scowl. “If I wanted any of those things from you, I would have already made that clear.” He paused. “You need a ride, I’m here. It’s pretty simple.”
“Why do you want to help me so much?” she asked.
He seemed to think about his answer. “I know what it’s like to want to help someone you care about,” he said, his lips curled into a grimace.
Cassidy thought about the tattoo on his bicep, the young face, the long, flowing hair, the haunted eyes.
“Contrary to what you might think I’m a decent guy,” he finally said. “And you’re out of your element. What do you think they’ll say to you when you walk in to that club and start asking questions?”
“I don’t know,” Cassidy said with a huff. “Enlighten me.”
He didn’t flinch at her sass. “Nothing, that’s what.”
“And you can do better?” she asked.
His eyebrows arched up. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I’m willing to help.” He turned to look at his bike. “And it looks like you need it.” He gazed at her, his icy blue eyes so sharp she had to look away.
Cassidy felt exposed, like a fly trapped in some web, and he was the spider offering to set her free. “The bike, I can’t . . . ” But before she could finish, her mind went back to the intersecting skid marks across the gray pavement and the embankment that fell away into the trees. She saw Pete in bandages, his face so swollen she hardly recognized him. She whimpered softly as the fear came from deep inside her, filling her with an anger that grew stronger by the second until she was clenching her knuckles ached.
“Whoa, there,” Dutch said, looking concerned.
Cassidy pressed her fists into her eyes, trying to recall what she and Jay used to do when this happened. Breathe. So she tried it. Breathe in and out. In and out. She heard her breath suck in through her windpipe and felt her chest expand. In and out. In and out. Slowly, the crushing fear lessened. When she opened her eyes, Dutch was watching her carefully.
Cassidy drew herself inwards. “A few years ago, my . . . friend died in a motorcycle crash,” she said. It had become her new way of being able to talk about Pete—calling him “her friend” not her fiancé, which was too hard, too awkward. It led to too many questions she couldn’t answer, and looks of pity she loathed. However, her calling Pete a friend felt like a betrayal.
Dutch’s chest expanded in a giant breath, which he let out in a slow sigh. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said.
A long silence stretched between them. Cassidy focused on the sound of the passing cars. The heat from the pavement seemed to bake her cheeks, and she wiped her face with her forearms which felt blazing hot. She needed shade soon. Or water. Or both.
“C’mon, Cassidy,” he said, holding out his hand. “I promise you’ll be safe with me.”
Nineteen
Cassidy stood staring at the motorcycle, her heart fluttery and fast.
Dutch released his helmet from the strap holding it to the back. “You ever ridden a bike before?” he asked.
“A few times with my brother, but never on the freeway,” she answered.
Dutch offered her his helmet.
She recoiled. “I can’t take this,” she said. “What about you?”
“I could use some fresh air,” he said with a grin.
Cassidy tried to take a breath but the hot air made her pipes clam down. The helmet felt heavy in her hands, like a bowling ball.
Dutch gave her a nod, and climbed on. “Don’t lean away in the turns, okay?” he said, his face stern. “Keep your body neutral. And when I brake, don’t fall forward against my back.”
He started the engine. Cassidy’s skin jumped. She slipped on the helmet, her fingers shaking. Dutch lowered his sunglasses and gripped the handlebars, looking completely relaxed. He faced forward, waiting.
Cassidy stared at his back adorned with the leather vest, at his leather-clad legs and black leather boots perched on the ground. Inside the helmet, the engine’s rumble was softer, but her galloping pulse popped inside her ears. C’mon, Cassidy, she told herself. You can do this. She remembered how she rode the moped with Bruce in Nicaragua. Just imagine it’s him driving. Or Quinn.
Slowly, she stepped closer, put her hand on the black leather seat. It felt warm from the sun, and smooth. Dutch didn’t turn around. She stepped closer still. Reached her hand to the opposite side of the seat, and fighting the feeling that she was making a mistake, swung her leg over. Under her butt, the saddle felt soft. There was a place to rest her feet. But what about her hands?
Dutch gave just the slightest glance back at her over his shoulder. Cassidy’s body vibrated with the engine’s puttering. Slowly, she reached her hands to Dutch’s waist, past the vest’s chunky side stitches. She reached further, wrapping her body closer, her hands finding a stable grip around his firm sides.
“Ready?” he shouted.
No, Cassidy thought. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to hear her, she gave his sides a squeeze.
Dutch increased the throttle and lifted his feet off the ground. Cassidy closed her eyes as Dutch accelerated forward. They cruised out of the parking lot, then Dutch turned onto the street. Cassidy tried to keep her body neutral as the bike tipped slightly, but she felt stiff. She hugged Dutch’s back tighter, feeling the heat from his firm back spread into her body, the black leather vest warming the exposed skin of her neck.
When she opened
