Shut Up And Kiss Me (gxg)

11. This F*cking Sucks

        MONROE KNOCKED ON THE the door at seven fifteen sharp. 

        She was dressed in . . . oh, God, she was dressed in black from head-to-toe. The fabric clung to every inch of her long, lean legs. The tattoos on her fingers flexed as she handed me a helmet.

        "This," she said with a wink, "is for you. Not that you need it."

        Right—the motorcycle stunt I'd pulled. For some reason, it felt . . . good that someone knew the secret, other than Aaron. Even if it wasn't exactly a secret anymore.

        When my fingers tightened around the helmet, her bare skin brushed mine. Heat swept through me.

        I couldn't help looking up at her.

        But she was already looking at me. Something unfathomable flared in her dark gaze. What was she thinking? I'd give anything to be a mind-reader right now.

        And the colour of those eyes—I steeled myself. Who even has eyes like that?  I thought. Seriously? 

        Maybe they weren't real. That would have made me feel better. Because that colour, like emerald held up to a golden afternoon glow . . . it was warm and inviting and tantalizing all at once. The lush meadow of springtime at its fullest. 

       Fuck. I had been staring.

       "Ready to go?" she asked.

       I almost shook my head. I almost backed into the house, fled up the stairs, and suffocated myself under thirteen blankets. 

       But I didn't. I lifted my chin. I pulled the helmet atop my hair, buckling it at my throat. And when I stepped outside, when I breathed in that chilly, dew-kissed air, something inside of me woke up.

       I hadn't known what it was yet. I hadn't known it would be the beginning of the end—of life as I knew it.

       So I braced myself on the back of Monroe's motorcycle. And once she had positioned herself, I swung one leg over and leaned into her.

       Calm. Casual. As if I'd been doing this my whole life.

       And there was something familiar about her. Not in a love at first sight way—but in a way that said, I don't know you yet. But I will. 

       When she gunned the engine, my arms circled her waist. My cheek was pressed against the back of her shoulder.

       She didn't give me a warning, and I didn't need one. As soon as she pulled out of my driveway, taking off into the empty morning streets, I let out a chime of breathless laughter.

       Did I hate her? 

       I wasn't sure. I hated what she made me feel. What she made me question.

      The world around us blurred, narrowing to the sensation of the drumming engine, the fierce wind—and the warmth. My body against hers.

      Was it my heart I could hear pounding, or hers?

      Probably mine, I reasoned. But when my arms tightened around her, I could have sworn I heard its twin echo. A rhythm to counter mine, reverberating in her chest.

       What did she have to be nervous of?

       I thought back to the way I'd called her bluff—by riding her own motorcycle. By blowing her a kiss afterwards.