Mastering Your Heart

Chapter 3

"You look pretty tonight Rosie." My foster mother Barb smiled at me through our video call. "I'm guessing the dress and makeup have something to do with why you didn't come to dinner tonight. Where are you headed to?"

"I have a date," I said while heat flooded my cheeks.

Barb raised her voice as she turned on the faucet in her cozy kitchen. "Oh that's wonderful! You're blushing, so you must really like him." Her tone wasn't teasing, just curious. Asking me a question, without actually asking me a question, was a classic Mama B maneuver.

"Says the lady who nicknamed me Rosie because my cheeks glow neon over every dumb little thing." My cool fingers pressed against my face, hoping to soothe the boisterous blood vessels before Kyle arrived.

Barb stopped looking at the dish in her hand and turned straight toward the camera. "I never said such a thing! I'd never call anything you feel dumb. If I remember properly, I said that even though you tried to hide your feelings from me, your cheeks often gave you away. And..."

She paused, waiting for me to fill in the memory. It was one that was precious to me. My throat got tight thinking of that conversation during my first week at Barb's house.

"That you loved how I was lit up inside with so much emotion. And that feelings aren't something to be ashamed of."

That concept was a stark contrast to all of the lessons I'd learned before arriving there. Watching my mother abuse substances daily taught me that feelings were only meant to be numbed. She could barely manage her own, and certainly couldn't handle dealing with any of mine. Her parade of abusive boyfriends also forced me push my feelings deep down inside. Even a young kid will choose burying internal pain over getting external bruises. Then every foster home or group home I'd been in until Barb's, reinforced the idea that emotions are messy and inconvenient. They make you a target for bullies, or get you kicked out of your placement when you can't rein them in.

Barb's faucet was off now. Her hands sloshed gently through the sink full of soapy water, and her voice came softer through the screen. "I promised that whenever you wanted to talk about them, I'd be here for you. Always will be."

"I know." I nodded as if to remind myself.

"So, are you ready tell me anything about this young man?" She smiled.

My body still wanted to sprint off somewhere else versus have this conversation. But in the years that Barb had been in my life, she'd never given me any reason to not trust her, or be dishonest with her. I took a deep breath before I said, "There's nothing to tell yet. I hardly know how I feel, since I barely know anything about him."

A text notification popped up at the top of my screen with a ding that we both heard. It read, "Here."

"He's outside already," I explained.

Brows knitted, Barb said, "A gentleman should come to your door."

A nervous chuckle bubbled out of me when I saw her frown. "That's a bit old-fashioned. Don't you think?"

The doorbell chimed.

"Saved by the bell," she said with a wink, before adding, "Have fun and be safe sweetie."

"Love you Mama B!" I pressed the end-call button.

My formerly cool, dry palms now felt clammy. I ran them down the front of the floral dress that Felicity helped me decide on, trying to smooth out wrinkles and frayed nerves while walking to the front door. It was a futile effort. The second I opened it and saw Kyle, every pore on my body began sweating.

Framed by his mop of dark hair and the collar of a black leather jacket, his face seemed starkly pale in the dim light of the porch. I wondered if the strands were glossy from gel or pomade, until the breeze carried the scent of soap and shampoo to my nostrils. I quickly banished the tempting mental picture of Kyle soaping up that it conjured.

"Hi!" My voice came out too shrill, even to my own ears.

"Ready?" he asked in the same bored tone he used at work, while his eyes scanned the living room behind my head.

It was then that I noticed the gleaming onyx motorcycle helmet under his arm. I pointed at it. "Wh-What's that for?"

"This one's mine. I have a second one on my bike for you." He gestured behind himself at the motorcycle parked at the curb there.

This definitely wasn't what Barb would consider safe. Plus every past experience I'd ever had with a man who owned a motorcycle had been bad ones. Traumatic memories from my childhood threatened to emerge from the compartments I had banished them to. I gulped. "Oh I don't think that we should... th-that I should..."

He ignored my stammering. "You live here alone?"

"I have three roommates. I'd never be able to afford it otherwise. Honestly, I can barely afford it anyway." I pulled my thrifted red blazer from the hooks beside the door.

Before I knew what was happening, Kyle had stepped inside. He placed his helmet on the entry table, lifted the blazer out of my hands, and held it open for me. As I slipped my arms into the sleeves, one of his hands came up to gently sweep my long brown hair out of the way. His fingertips lightly brushed the nape of my neck, stealing all of the breath from my lungs. I had barely enough left to husk out, "Thank you" let alone continue my argument against taking his motorcycle to the restaurant.

Plus, as I stared up at his oddly shaped face, and into his hooded eyes, my brain suddenly couldn't think of any reason to not sit behind him, and wrap my arms around him. Every fiber of my being wanted nothing more than to feel him between my legs right then. My face blazed and my stomach iced over at the idea.

Kyle didn't say, "You're welcome." Instead, he shrugged. Just a tiny little movement of his shoulders that sent strange ripples to my core. Then he grabbed his helmet with one hand, and my hand with his other.

He said, "Let's go. I'm starved."

Down at the curb he plunked the second helmet over my head. The outside world became muffled, amplifying my heartbeat within my eardrums. It was far too loud and far too fast. Logically I knew I was young and fit, but for one hysterical moment I worried that maybe I was about to have a heart attack. Perhaps I disassociated then, because the next thing I knew, I was sitting on the bike and pressed tightly against Kyle's strong back. My arms wrapped around his waist. My hands clutched one another in a vice-like grip against his leather jacket.

Although it was the middle of September and still comfortably warm during the day, once the sun set, the approaching chill of autumn became harder to ignore. Foregoing stockings now seemed like a really bad idea. Icy cold wind whipped my skirt furiously around my legs, exposing most of both of my thighs. My hands tingled from cold and the exertion of clenching them so hard.

It was a short ride. Kyle drove within the speed limit. He obeyed every rule of the road. But between the wind and my fear, my whole body quaked. I knew he felt it too. When we stopped at a light, he placed one giant hand over both of mine. It was warm and reassuring.

The only benefit about arriving downtown on motorcycle was that we didn't need to circle long for a spot. Since Kyle could tuck it into a smaller opening, he parked right in front of the restaurant. As he locked the helmets to the bike I thought to myself, "Surely the worst of this night is over. I really hope the ride home won't be as nerve wracking."