“Party at Brock’s,” Penny told me, squeezing my hand as she climbed into a car with some friends.
“I thought we were headed to Chelsea’s?” I called after her. There was always an after-party, and sometimes an after-after party. Chelsea’s family was never in town and we’d already made a habit of heading there on several nights. After-parties at Chelsea’s ran toward the all-girls, ramen-noodle giggle-fest variety, just my speed. But Brock’s house? Somehow I didn’t see us all changing into T-shirts and sweatpants, putting our hair up in scrunchies and watching Twilight for the hundredth time.
“Got room for you in my car.” Right on cue, Brock appeared at my side. Alcohol practically oozed out of his pores. Even sober, Brock’s leering aggressiveness made me shudder. Late at night, drunk behind the wheel to head to his house? Not going to happen.
“Oh, no thanks,” I refused, stepping to the side and away from his large hand trying to grasp mine. I approached the car Penny had entered, but it was already packed. Plus, it was headed to Brock’s.
“Looks like you’re with me.” Brock declared victory and wrapped his hand around my upper arm with a bit too much force.
“No,” I said loudly. In response, he started leading me toward his car.
“She’s got a ride.” A low, commanding voice called out from behind me. “Let her go.”
“What the fuck, man?” Brock’s voice sounded whiney, but he dropped my arm quick. He winced and rubbed his shoulder where my hero had clearly gripped him in a vice.
“You heard her. She’s not going anywhere with you.” Dom took a step and placed his large, intimidating frame between me and Brock. I loved him there, so close and protective.
“Who the hell are you?” Brock sounded wounded, all bark and no bite.
“I’m the one making sure she gets home safe. Now get out of here.”
“Fuck this!” Brock turned tail, kicking a can someone had dropped in frustration.
“I’ll go with you!” I heard a girl’s voice call out. She rushed over to his side, accompanying him to his car. Such was the power of good looks and money. Brock could easily fill his passenger seat. But not with me.
I gazed up at Dom, grateful and relieved.
“You OK?” he asked, cupping my elbow and looking down where Brock had squeezed me. In stark contrast, Dom’s hands were gentle as he held me, his thumb lightly grazing my skin where, sure enough, red marks revealed the likelihood of a bruise the next day. “Motherfucker,” Dom muttered, dropping my arm and turning in the direction Brock had headed.
“Dom, I’m OK.” I reached out and placed my hand on his forearm, corded with muscle and tense with his hand in a fist. Brock wasn’t worth a fight. We stood and watched as he sped out of the parking lot, heading out into the street and flipping the middle finger at Dom as he peeled out.
“He shouldn’t have touched you.” Dom nearly growled, looking like he wanted to chase down the car. I half expected he could catch it, maybe with his bare teeth.
“I’m all right,” I assured him again, stroking his forearm. He looked down at my hand on him, then up with heat in his gaze. I stepped closer, feeling so drawn to him, as if it were inevitable he would wrap me in his embrace, hold me close, crush me against him and kiss me deeply, passionately. Instead he cursed, stepped away from me and ran his hand through his thick, black hair.
“How are you getting home?” he asked, sounding angry. I bit my lip, suddenly feeling awkward. My friends had all left, clearly assuming I would drive over with Brock. Sometimes my life felt so pre-arranged I wanted to scream.
“I’ll get an Uber.” I pulled out my phone and started tapping to open the app.
“I’ll get you home.” He sounded resigned as he spoke, not enthusiastic.
“It’s fine.” I shrugged, wondering how I’d gotten myself into this situation. Even Penny had driven off and left me with Brock.
“Let me get you home, Gigi.” He reached out and touched my shoulder as he spoke. I looked up into his eyes, getting lost in the shocking silvery gray. Damn it, I would say yes to anything he asked.
“Don’t you have to work?” I remembered his words from earlier, implying I was a spoiled little rich girl. And now I stood there, ditched by my friends. He must think I was a real winner.
“Give me a second.” He walked over and spoke briefly with another guy in a black T-shirt. They both nodded and he returned, beckoning for me to follow him to the parking lot with a tilt of his head. After a brief discussion about where I lived—only about ten minutes away, sadly, I wished we had more time together—he stopped at a large black motorcycle.
“Ever ridden one before?” he asked, unzipped a pack on the back and pulling out a helmet. I shook my head no. “You trust me?”
I looked up at him and with no real reason why at all, I answered, “Yes.” Completely. I’d hop on the back of that bike and ride anywhere with him.
I reached out and took the helmet. “Is what I’m wearing OK?” Heels and a skimpy dress, that wasn’t exactly what people wore when they rode motorcycles, was it?
“You’ll be fine,” he assured me, helping me get the helmet on properly, slipping my clutch into a zip pouch then putting a helmet on himself. He showed me the pipe I shouldn’t touch with my ankle in case it got too hot. Then he straddled the bike, turned to me and extended his hand. “Climb on.”
Hesitant and shy, I did my best to hop on without flashing the entire world. Then I placed my hands awkwardly along his waist.
“Hold on tight.” He pulled my hands fully around him. I scooted closer on the bike and my bare thighs pressed against his jeans. My skirt rode up and I was sure I was a sight, but all of a sudden I didn’t care. I wanted him to take me for a ride. He started up the engine with a roar, and we sped off into the night.
The rush of adrenaline coursing through me had something to do with the night air, the speed, the exhilaration of my first motorcycle ride. But it had more to do with being pressed so close against Dom, my arms and legs wrapped around him. I knew it was naughty, but I swear between the warm vibrations of the bike and the pressure against him, by the time he pulled up at my front gate I was practically panting. It felt so good, rushing through the night, following his lead, clinging to him.
“You got a code?” he asked after he killed the motor.
“Oh right.” I’d become so enraptured, so caught up in him and our ride together, I’d forgotten we’d need that for entry. He stepped off the bike with more fluid grace than I might have expected possible from a man who probably weighed close to 200 pounds, then practically lifted me up and off. He kept his hands around my waist as I got my feet underneath me, literally and figuratively. I steadied myself, hands on his biceps, my eyes wild and pulse racing.
He unfastened my helmet, helped me out of it and asked, “You all right?”
“That was so amazing!” I couldn’t help exclaim, knowing I probably sounded like a kid who’d just gone for an amusement park ride. I should probably try to play it cool, act like it was no big deal. But I couldn’t. I was me.
“Yeah?” He gave me a lopsided smile after he removed his helmet. I gushed about how exciting it felt and how I’d loved it and he watched me, seeming to enjoy my reaction but not saying a word until I remembered he was probably waiting for me to open the gate so he could drop me off. I approached it, slightly uneven on my feet, but he was right there by my side to steady me.
I entered the code, the gates swung open and I offered him the opportunity to leave if he wanted. “So…thanks!” I said, brightly.
“I’ll walk you to the door,” he insisted. He kept his hands in his pockets as he walked by my side along our driveway.
Would he want to come in? Should I invite him in? No one was home but me. I shouldn’t, should I? I didn’t really want to say good night, but I didn’t actually know him at all.
“What kind of security do you have here?” He eyed the property, not seeming to like what he saw around our expansive
, perfectly-manicured estate. “Who do you have keeping an eye on this place? You’re not alone here, are you?”
“I am this weekend, but my father and brother are around sometimes.”
“You’re by yourself in this house?” He sounded appalled. How romantic, he was dismayed by the idea that he might have me to himself.
“Well, we have a caretaker. And a housekeeper. They’re around almost every day.”
He shook his head. “Not right now they’re not.”
“I’m fine.” Frustration crept into my voice. Didn’t he find the thought of getting me alone even slightly appealing?
“Sure you’re fine.” He shook his head at my vulnerability. “Just like you were fine when some shitfaced asshole almost pulled you into his car tonight.”
“I was not going to get into that car with him.”
“Next time you go clubbing you should drive yourself,” he insisted. “Then you don’t have to rely on some jerk. You stay sober. You get yourself home.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I rolled my eyes. This had to be the least flirtatious conversation I’d ever had. Too bad it was with the sexiest man I’d ever met. Stupid me, I kept on talking. “I don’t even know how to drive.”