Page 69 of Try Me
The dark look Mark gave me had me chuckling as I patted my own shoulder. “Hand here, then ease on. I’ll be gentle, sweetheart, I promise.”
His dark look morphed into a smirk. “Where do I hold on?”
“I imagine you’ll figure it out easy enough. Only thing to know is to stay relaxed. Move with the bike around the curves instead of trying to resist or stay upright.”
“I’ll try. Feet?”
“Right there.” I indicated the foot pegs. “You set?”
He wrapped his arms stiffly around my ribs. “Set. I think. Don’t kill me.”
“Not today,” I agreed.
I rolled on the throttle, then tipped my visor down when we pulled onto the street. I rode us through town slowly and made a few loops around side streets until I felt Mark loosening up.
“Where are we going?” he asked when we stopped for a light.
“Out of here.” I kicked us off with a jolt when the light turned, feeling his weight lurch, his fingers scrabble against my tee. I grinned into the wind rushing around us as we cruised out of the city proper into the country where the hills rolled. Back when I had the Charger, I’d get up early before there was much traffic on the road and head out to the countryside—predictable macho bullshit, but I’d loved it. For a while, there’d been street racing on Friday nights, but eventually the cops got really good at busting us at our favorite spots, and it wasn’t like we’d had unlimited options around here.
Careless, yes, I’d been that in the past. But I moved a little slower today A. Because I wasn’t as stupid anymore. B. I couldn’t afford a speeding ticket. And C. Mark.
Love for speed existed for a reason, though, for the heart-pounding, stomach-swooping breathlessness that came from navigating around a curve or flying over a hill. In fact, there was only one other thing I knew of that caused the same sensation…
Mark’s body molded to mine, a firm heat against my back, implicit trust in the way his fingers relaxed from their rictus grip and became more of a casual touch that secretly thrilled me. We’d been swoops and dives and potholes for most of the time I’d known him. But for this moment right now, it felt like open road between us, and it was my heart that was moving at breakneck speed.
When doubt stirred in the back of my head over the fact that we had no plan and impossible roadblocks likely lay ahead, the wind rushing around me managed to silence it. I was hell-bent on taking the reprieve—at least for today.
Because the truth was, nothing else felt as good as Mark Farrow. I wasn’t sure anything else ever could.
At Washburne Park, I cruised us to the far end of the gravel lot where hiking trails branched off in every direction.
“Wilderness expedition?” Mark slid off the bike, a smile tugging his mouth as he yanked off the helmet. “That wasn’t on my bingo card of potential date locations.”
I lowered the kickstand and took his helmet, securing it along with mine to the side of the motorcycle—I hoped maybe someday I’d own one again. “Where’d you think I was taking you?” Before my dad had moved us to the fishbowl, which was what I had always called the glass and steel house on the hill, Mark and I had spent summers tromping through the woods at the end of the cul-de-sac where we’d both lived at the time. We built forts, scavenged for arrowheads, and swam in a pitiful stream that seemed gigantic before coming home ravaged by mosquitoes. Washburne Park wasn’t exactly that, but it was an homage to those days.
“I dunno. A movie? Dinner?”
I snorted. “Is that what you’d rather do?” Because I would’ve in a second, if he wanted to.
Mark shook his head and gazed somewhere over my shoulder. “That forest where we used to play is almost completely gone now,” he said. “Shit, you already knew that though, huh? The Fenwicks built on that lot when I was a sophomore.”
“Didn’t you date Laura?”
“For a hot minute.” Mark chuckled. “She dumped me.”
“So she was smart as well as hot.”
“She dumped me for Pierce Markoway, so maybe not,” Mark shot back. “Did you know him?”
I squinted, trying to recall him, then nodded. “Yeah, burnout dude with the shaggy hair.”
“Not you. The other one.” Mark cut me a wicked grin and headed toward the trails before I could reply. I double-checked that the bike was secure because fuck knew I didn’t want that kind of loss on my conscience—or bank account—then I trotted after him, nudging into his shoulder as I fell in step beside him.
We stopped in front of a large wooden display that indicated different routes and trails through the park.
“Did you have anything in mind?” Mark sketched a fingertip along the edge of the map.
“Red trail.”