Page 22 of Detour

Mock innocence for days, Beckett says, “What? I didn’t say where I was growing.” The hands in front of his crotch say otherwise.

I put my hands over my face to cover the blush threatening to spread, only to peek back out between my fingers. The guys throw their heads back in amusement.

“Who did I move in next to?” I muse.

Remembering my punishing hoodie strings, I tuck them inside the collar of my sweatshirt. Coty notices, arching a brow, so I explain what happened.

“Shit. I didn’t even think about that. Want this instead?”

He begins removing his thick jacket.

“No, no, it’s fine.” I wave him off, not wanting to steal the only source of warmth, and probably protection, he has.

“Sorry. I haven’t had passengers on my bike for a while.” He holds up my helmet from before. “This is Beck’s spare.”

“He only lets his girlfriends ride with him is what he means,” Beckett teases as Coty helps me with the helmet, avoiding my gaze in the process.

Girlfriends? As in plural? Of course girlfriends because look at Coty. I mean why wouldn’t he have girlfriends? Lots of them. Boatloads even, according to Beckett. It’s nothing that should make me jealous, that’s for sure. Picturing another woman, or women if his best friend is to be trusted, wrapped intimately around Coty should do nothing to me. Certainly not make me want to power walk my ass to the back of the gas station and scream until my lungs give out. It shouldn’t. And yet, the urge to do exactly that has me bouncing on the balls of my feet anyway.

Proficient in emotionally detaching, I bat down the nasty bout of heartburn plaguing my insides, and throw my hands up in surrender. “No worries here. I’m not looking for a relationship.” It isn’t until I pull away that Coty meets my eyes. Another step backward puts me in front of Beckett. “Just looking to get home.” Coty’s eyes narrow but I ignore them and the ache in my chest facing Beckett fully. I jut my chin out soliciting a little help with the straps but Beckett doesn’t bite, instead his head whips over to Coty. I will Beckett’s eyes to return to mine only for him to feign ignorance to my very existence. The guy is more than devoted to the mantra ‘bros before hoes’ and having me ride on the back of his bike rather than Coty’s apparently falls directly under that misogynistic umbrage. I don’t even waste my time looking at Marc. A girl always knows when she’s unwanted. Well, this girl does.

A hand suddenly wraps around the mouthpiece of my helmet and I’m pulled back to Coty with a tender but demanding guide. Helpless to stop it, my feet follow their newfound leader, but before I can tuck away all the emotions bubbling too close to the surface, Coty is there. Observing. Taking in everything I don’t want him to see, forcing me to be the one to drop my eyes.

“I’m picky with who I let on my bike. It’s not about who I’m sleeping with.” I can feel the glare he shoots Beckett. “It’s about trust. I lean, you lean, right?” He lowers his head, catching my eye. “But it’s more than that. It’s-” he starts only to stop, frustrated. “Remember how I told you that every move you make I’ll feel?” I nod. “Well, I have to trust that you feel our connection when we’re together on there. And that you respect that connection as much as I do. I have to trust you won’t make careless moves that’ll affect either of us. Moves that could hurt both of us. Moves we can’t come back from.”

His eyes tell me his words carry more weight than he’s letting on. They also tell me he’s waiting for my reply with an equally profound sentiment but what am I supposed to say? “I swear not to crash us?” I mean I would if I could but I can’t, so I don’t. What if I careen us into the first ditch as soon as we’re safely off the bike? I can’t promise a smooth ride to anybody because I’ve never traveled one myself.

Marc interrupts the strained moment. “It’ll be getting dark soon. Should we go home or stay out a little longer?”

They look to me for my response. The fact that jealousy reared its ugly head on our first official time hanging out together scares me. Coty’s deep proclamation scares me. The look he’s now pinning me with scares me. But the thought of not being wrapped securely around Coty at least one more time, breathing in everything he is, fucking terrifies me. Admitting that, even if only to myself, is out of the question which is why I pick at a random cuticle when I mutter, “longer.”

“What was that?”

The circle constricts with strained ears.

With a huff, I look up. “Let’s ride longer.”

The boys whoop loudly, shouting another round of “ride it” before everyone busies themselves on their own bikes.

Take off is much the same as before except for the different route back. Once clear of the store’s light traffic, Coty pulls one of my hands off the gas tank, placing it on his chest while keeping it there momentarily. It’s such a relaxed gesture, almost like a reflex, I don’t dare pull away. The slack allows me to sit back, creating a small gap between us so I glance out over the landscape. The sun is slowly sinking toward the horizon, painting the sky pink and light blue in its wake. Cotton candy colors. The stunning backdrop reminds me of the mural in Coty’s room and the accompanying quote. As I take in the triangle composed of motorcycles, I wonder who will be left with regrets when all’s said and done—me or them?

My musings are cut short when Coty returns my hand to the tank, my body conforming to his only seconds before he lays on the gas, all three bikes collectively picking up speed toward an on-ramp with no signs of slowing.

Oh. Shit.

A quick thigh squeeze the only warning I get, then we’re barreling around the curve going way faster than I would attempt even in my own ride. “Taki Taki “by DJ Snake and what sounds like Cardi B fills my helmet as Coty leans his body down and to the right. Far to the right, directly into the fucking turn, leaving me no choice but to go with him. Careful not to anticipate where he’s going before he goes there, I feel his body as it’s moving and follow blindly even though everything in mine begs to go left, away from where the motion is pulling us. Sensing my compliance, Coty’s back relaxes a fraction and soon we’re like magnets but better. There’s no pull from him or push from me because we’re already there, together, no hesitancy whatsoever, only total harmony between us. The fear of falling off the crotch rocket is quickly replaced by the fear of falling somewhere else. Somewhere completely foreign to someone like me. Somewhere even a leather jacket can’t cushion the blow. The ground at love’s feet isn’t as forgiving as the asphalt whirring beneath ours. Road burn heals. It can leave nasty scars, yeah, but over time it does heal. Heartbreak leaves no trace other than the unfathomable pain nobody else can see. The kind I’ve endured for years and refuse to add to after one Sunday night ride.

Out of the bend, Coty rights us, forcing our melded bodies to shift as one then we’re zipping onto the highway toward town. Marc and Beckett take turns cutting across the open lanes ahead. What starts out as lighthearted fun though quickly turns into cutthroat competition when they lower their bodies almost flush with their bikes then shoot off into an all-out race. Anxiously watching, I let out a squeal when their taillights disappear in the growing darkness. Coty’s back shakes with another silent laugh. Suddenly hungry for his calm, I rest my head between his shoulders, praying it transfers by osmosis. He does the thing again where he grips the seat under my ass, and I do the thing where I pretend not to notice.

Back at Creekwood, a white extended cab pickup is pulling out as we near the entrance. The resemblance registers a moment too late and by the time I chance a second look, it’s already gone. Facing forward, I notice Coty honed in on the truck as well. Maybe he knows the driver and that’s why it looked familiar. It couldn’t be… No, it’s just a coincidence.

“Well, as promised I got you home all in one piece. I think anyway. You may have left a vocal cord or two back there with all the screaming you did,” Coty teases once we’re all dismounted, approaching the stairwell. He doesn’t mention the truck and neither do I.

I smack his arm playfully. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“Neighbor girl, you’re gonna have to start closing your windows at night if that’s even close to how loud you are when you-”

“Dude!”