Rooming with the Wicked

40 | a little closer

If anything, my protests only seemed to amuse him more. Chuckling, he pushed himself up and turned to face me again. "Jokes aside, I wouldn't let anything happen to you," he said quietly. "You know that, right?"

Dang it, why'd he have to say it like that?

I cleared my throat. "Oh, you can control traffic?"

"I'm a very good driver."

Something about the way he'd said "very" briefly made me wonder what else he excelled at.

I brushed the thought aside and crossed my arms. "Helmet. Now."

"Fine." He sighed, raising the strap of the scabbard over his head. After running a finger along the edge of the gas tank, he tucked the scabbard into a small space just below the seat. "There's a store a couple blocks down."

"Lead the way."

There was something weird about walking down the crowded streets of NYC with Haze. The walkway from Central Park to the garage had been quieter and I had been too preoccupied with my own thoughts to pay any attention to those around us, but it was hard not to notice the way people acting toward him now. They outright stared at him, some with distrust, others with blatant fear, as they made a path for him. One woman even clutched her purse tightly to her chest and darted to the opposite side of the sidewalk.

Haze didn't seem to care, although, unless my eyes were playing tricks on me, his had darkened to a deep red.

Just like most stores in Manhattan at this time of day, the bike shop was bustling with enthusiastic customers, humans and supernaturals alike. Haze nodded for me to head to the protective gear section in the back and then followed me there. As it turned out, finding a helmet wasn't all that easy. Most of the ones on display were either too large for my head or much too colorful. I ended up picking a black one with a single violet stripe down the middle.

A part of me still very much thought this whole thing was a terrible, horrible idea, but...it was hard to ignore that sliver of comfort of knowing I wouldn't be alone on this trip. That I would be safe with him. The fact that he handed me a back protector right then only confirmed my thoughts.

I pulled the sturdy gear over my head and tightened the straps until it was snug. It felt weird, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Next, I put the helmet on. After adjusting the chin strap, I flipped the tinted visor up and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Cheeks flushed and eyes widened in what was undeniably excitement, I looked nothing like myself.

Haze's dark form appeared behind me. A pale finger slipped beneath the back protector and then tested the helmet strap at my throat. It lingered there for a moment, causing a wave of goosebumps to erupt on my flesh. Then he moved both hands to the sides of the helmet and made sure it wasn't loose.

He cleared his throat, eyes still locked on mine in the mirror. "Good."

Holding my breath, I barely managed a nod.

Dropping his hands, he added, "Meet me out back in ten."

While he turned around and disappeared behind the nearest shelf, I still stood there, frozen and hyper-aware of the way his finger had brushed my neck.

I was about to head to the counter when my eyes drifted over to the gloves. Not that I needed any...but they did look kind of cool. And those purple ones would fit nicely with the helmet.

Focus, Ariel.

Then again, gloves were safe. And it would be easier to hang on if my hands weren't freezing. It only made sense to grab a pair. Even if I only used them this once. Besides, explaining charges on my credit card to a motorcycle shop to Dad would be impossible anyway. A couple of dollars more wouldn't matter.