Page 72 of Intrepid

Holy sexy beast, Batman. Is that his bike?” Bea stared out the window, as I gathered up my messenger bag, crossing it over the front of me.

I paused only for a second—or two—to look out the window beside her, catching a glimpse Ty casually seated on his motorcycle, smoking a cigarette, with the black helmet resting on his thigh. Jesus, did he have to look so good? “It’ll be an early night. I promise.”

“I doubt it. Not with that thing rumbling between your thighs. Not to mention that sexy bike, too.”

With a roll of my eyes, I shook my head and made my way toward the door. I’d texted Ty earlier, letting him know I’d meet him out front. No sense in making it a formal date, or anything. By telling myself we were just hanging out, I could lose the expectations, and perhaps not crawl into bed feeling like some hormonal teenage squirrel trying to get a nut.

“You’re taking your books? What for?” Bea asked, as I slipped on my Chucks.

“We’re just hanging out. I might try to get some reading done.”

Snorting a laugh, she crossed her arms. “Girlfriend, I don’t know what kind of denial you’ve talked yourself into, but I’ll bet you a dozen Krispy Kremes you ride more than that Ducati tonight.”

Never so sure about a bet before in my life, I threw open the door. “You’re on.”

“The fresh ones!” She called after me, as I ambled toward the elevators. “Not the grocery store knock offs!”

* * *

Ty rolled to a stop at the curb along Heidelberg Street, and I sat up on the bike and tugged the helmet off, staring down the long block lined with trees at either side. Streetlamps offered just enough light to see the colorful artwork painted across the exterior of every house, a stark contrast to the tired and dilapidated ones we’d passed along Mount Elliott. Artwork sat propped along the sidewalks, pictures of clocks and faces, flags and numbers and buildings. Like a garage sale of artwork, neatly arranged in tight rows, up and down the dimly lit path. The house across from us wore large round circles, decorated in different colors—not a single bit of graffiti anywhere in sight.

Gaze glued to the house, I clambered off the bike and crossed the street, fascinated by the attention to symmetry and balance. Running my hand over an old baby doll sat in a chair out in the front yard, I glanced around to find each house carried a theme. A story, told in the pieces carefully set to match their design.

Ty walked up beside me, and we both stood staring around at the unusual exhibit. “The Heidelberg Project. According to stories I’ve read, an artist returned to this neighborhood where he’d grown up, to find it teeming with gangs, drugs, poverty. A real shithole. He’d apparently lost three brothers to the streets already, and I guess, the story goes, one day he picked up a paintbrush and a broom and started cleaning the place up himself. Turned all the abandoned houses into sculptures and canvases.”

Still struck with awe, I smiled, looking down the rows of houses covered in art, just as he’d described. An entire neighborhood art exhibit. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s incredible.”

“Thought you might like it.” Tucking his helmet under his arm, he stuffed his other hand into his pocket, gaze sweeping across the surroundings and back. “I actually kind of stumbled upon this block a couple years ago. Thought it was a bunch of junk.” His lips widened to a grin I wanted to smack, but I opted for a light slap to his arm instead.

“You’re horrible.”

“You gotta admit. It’s a little cluttered.”

“It’s art. And it goes to show. You can turn the most broken thing into something beautiful again.”

“Maybe.”

Slipping my hand into the crook of his elbow, I tugged him to walk with me. “Why maybe?”

“Things can be too broken to fix sometimes.”

“I didn’t say fix. That’s the beauty of art. It’s never considered ruined.”

“Ever check out Picasso? I’d say that shit’s messed up.”

I shook my head and chuckled, giving a squeeze to his arm. “You’re seriously upsetting the art gods now. We’ll probably get rained on.”

Ty glanced up at the sky and shrugged. “Wouldn’t be so bad. Seeing you wet. That T-shirt clinging to you.”

“You pretty much had a green light the last time we went out,” I said, as we continued down the dark block. “Why didn’t you seize the moment?”

“You’d want that in some dirty parking lot beside an abandoned building? Like some cheap back alley fuck?”

Watching the chalked circles pass beneath my shoes on the sidewalk, I frowned and slipped my arm out from his, coming to a stop in front of a house plastered in stuffed animals. “I never said that.”

“You’re better than that, Sera. You deserve better than that.” He took my hand, weaving his fingers between mine. “You don’t think I want you that way? You’re wrong. I’m just trying not to be a dick about it. ‘S’like you said about art. Taking something broken and trying to make it beautiful. I’ve had women that way since I was sixteen years old. It’s different with you.”

I resumed walking beside him, wondering if I might finally begin to understand him. Maybe it’d be the night I finally peeled back some of the obscure layers that made him such a frustrating enigma.