Page 50 of Somehow You Knew

Hechuckles. “Not that it’s any of your business, but you’d be the first girl to ride on the back of this bike.”

“Wh-what?” That news has me stuttering.

He hands me a helmet. “Just trust me. This is going to be a lot more fun than taking your car. And I’ve technically already opened a car door for you when we went to your nephew’s birthday party, so…”

Trying not to overthink his confession, I slowly slide the helmet on, silently cursing the time it took to get my hair to look like this before messing it up. Gage swings his leg over the bike and motions for me to get on behind him.

As I slide up against his back and wrap my arms around his waist, I immediately regret every life choice that led me here.

I can feel his rock-hard abs contracting beneath my grip, and the heat of his body burns through his simple black T-shirt.

God, I want to count the ridges of his stomach with my tongue.

I have yet to even see him shirtless, and I hate how disappointed I am by that.

“Hold on tight,” he says before revving the bike to life, the sound roaring in the parking lot of my apartment complex. I can already hear Ms. Higgins complaining about the noise at next week’s tenant meeting, but I push that thought aside and tighten my grip on Gage.

My breasts are pressed against his back and my nails are digging into his stomach, but as soon as he pulls out onto the road and we begin to coast, the anxiety begins to melt away.

The past month with Gage has been…uneventful.

After Michael’s birthday party, I could tell he retreated a bit, preferring solitude to spending time with me…which is fine. The less we have to see each other, the better.

Although, those nights when it’s just the two of us in the apartment, talking on the couch after long days have started to become something I look forward to.

For years it’s just been me, alone in that apartment, day in and day out. I barely had a chance to adjust to having Blueberry around before Gage entered the space. But having him there, having someone else to think about, has been interesting.

I catch myself noticing things. What food he likes, what soda he drinks, whether he’s changed his laundry over or not. It’s a shift I didn’t expect to get used to so quickly.

I knew this second letter was coming, though. And as Gage cruises toward Catch & Release, I prepare myself to be cordial to this man for the next few hours. Our repartee has been lively, which I enjoy more than I should. Selfishly, I’m glad he’s not one of those men that just lays down, rolls over, and does everything I say. I don’t want a pushover for a husband. I need someone who will push me back.

But he’s not your real husband, remember, Hazel?

“Ugh,” I groan out loud. Luckily, Gage can’t hear it over the bike.

I hate how these convoluted thoughts slip into my mind at the most inappropriate times. I hate that I have to remind myself that this whole relationship isn’t real. And I really hate that, even though I can tell Gage is trying to keep his distance, there’s a part of me that doesn’t want him to—a part of me that wants to get to know him better.

That part of me needs to be smothered with a pillow.

Gage pulls into the parking lot of Catch & Release, finding a spot with ease before shutting off the engine. He pats my hands, silently directing me to climb off first.

After I whip off the helmet and fluff my hair, I catch him watching me.

“What?”

Heclears his throat, eyes flicking away as he removes his helmet as well. “Nothing.” When he lifts his gaze to mine again, he asks, “So, how’d you like it?”

“The breeze flowing through my romper was nice. Helped air everything out, you know?” I joke.

He laughs. “Glad to help you out with that.”

“It wasn’t too bad, actually.”

Gage rubs his hand over the body of the machine that was just purring between my legs. “When you’re on a long ride, and it’s just you and the open road, there’s no feeling like it.”

I take a step back and arch a brow. “Would you like me to leave you alone with your bike for a minute so you can write it a love poem?”

Gage shakes his head, reaching for my helmet and putting them both in the satchel on the side of the bike. “I told you, Hazel. There will be no poetry on this date.”