Lex

I felt awkward. Not a lot. Just enough to make me a little apprehensive. I tried to convince myself being in Adam’s house didn’t make me any more vulnerable than being in my mother’s, but my knee didn’t seem to agree.

It bounced up and down like a hyperactive teen’s.

“Coffee, beer, tea, anything?” he asked.

I forced a smile and shrugged. “No. I’m okay.”

“Still not hungry?”

“No. Not yet.”

He sat down beside me and put his arm around me. It felt different. I wanted to be back at home, but, then again, I didn’t.

I hated that things had changed. That the former me had all but vanished, leaving a shell of a woman that was afraid of someone or something that had done nothing to deserve the fear. I pressed my hand against my knee and stopped it from bouncing, making eye contact with Adam at the same time.

“Let’s go outside,” he said.

“Outside?”

He stood. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

He pushed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “It’s nice out there.”

I stood. “Okay.”

I followed him outside and into the garage. He motioned toward his motorcycle. “Get on.”

“Without you?”

“Get on like you’re going to ride it.”

“I don’t want to tip it over.”

“You won’t. It’s on the stand. Just get on.”

I did as he asked, and got on the motorcycle. His portion of the seat was wider and much more comfortable than where I sat.

I wiggled back and forth in the plush seat. “It feels nice up here.”

“Like riding a marshmallow,” he said. He motioned toward the handlebars. “Grab the handlebars.”

“They’re too high.”

“They look higher than they are. They’re called ape hangers. You’ve got long arms, you’ll reach just fine. Grab ‘em.”

I reached for the handlebars.

Sitting in his seat with the handlebars in my grasp made me feel powerful, but I didn’t say anything. It seemed silly, but I liked that he let me sit there.

“Just relax,” he said.

He reached for a switch in the center of the gas tank. “This is how you turn it on.”

He pointed to a glowing green light. “And this light tells you if it’s in neutral.”

“If it’s on, and it’s in neutral, you push this button to start it.”

He pressed his thumb against a button on the handlebars marked start.

“What are you doing?” I asked as the engine cranked over.

The engine came to life and started rumbling out the exhaust. Along with it, the motorcycle began to vibrate, shaking me back and forth in the seat.

“Adam, it’s running. I’m not--”

“Just sit back and relax,” he said.

The muscles in my arms were tense and my knees were shaking.

He rested his hand against my knee and grinned.

After a moment of the motorcycle vibrating between my legs, I felt like I’d been hypnotized. With each passing second, I became a little more relaxed. Soon, I was actually enjoying myself.

I watched as my hands shook violently from having the handlebars in my grip.

“Guess how many people have sat where you are?” he asked over the sound of the exhaust.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Two,” he said. “You, and me.”

“You don’t let other people ride it?”

He laughed. “No, I sure don’t.”

“Your right hand is the throttle,” he said. “Close your eyes and twist it back a little bit.”

I closed my eyes, listened to the sound of the echoing exhaust, and found that it had a rhythm. In no time, it seemed to envelop me, almost rocking me into a comfortable state of bliss.

I realized my knee had stopped bouncing.

I twisted the throttle a little. And then, a little more.

The sound from the exhaust bounced off of everything behind it, making me feel like I was controlling something powerful and manly.

I revved it one more time, and smiled at the result.

I opened my eyes and glanced at Adam. “You can turn it off now.”

“You sure?”

“Uh huh.”

Although he flipped the switch, my muscles continued to vibrate long after the engine was shut off.

“That was awesome.”

“Relaxing, isn’t it?”

“It’s weird. It seems so, I don’t know, violent. But it’s a violence you can control. With your eyes closed, it’s hypnotic,” I explained.

“Are you relaxed?” he asked.

I would have expected just the opposite, but surprisingly, I did feel relaxed. “I am.”

He held out his hand.

I reached for it, and with his help, climbed off the motorcycle.

“Thank you,” I said.

“We all need that from time to time. You looked like it was time.”

I didn’t say anything, but I liked the fact that he noticed. I wasn’t standing in wait for him to screw up, nor was I one of those people who sabotaged relationships, but I did expect at some point he’d do something stupid or inconsiderate.

So far, however, he hadn’t.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out his key ring. After fumbling with it for a few minutes, he extended his cupped hand. “Here.”

“What?”

“Open your hand.”

I did as he asked.

He dropped a ring with two keys on it in my hand.

I looked at the keys, and then at him. “What…”

“One is a key to the garage, one is a key to the bike. If you ever need to relax, feel free to hop on and escape to wherever your mind needs to take you. Just lock up when you’re done, okay?”

“But…”

“Keep them.” He nodded toward my hand and then grinned. “I trust you.”

It seemed ridiculous, but I felt like crying. “Are you sure?”

He reached for my hand. “Yep.”

He led me to the porch, and we sat down side by side. It was still early in the evening and the sun had yet to set, so sitting outside was nice.

“The detective stopped by this morning,” he said.

I spun to the side and gasped. “Oh shit. What did he say?”

“He asked me the same questions you said he asked you. Then, he asked how I knew you and your mother. I told him we were old neighbors, and that I met you most recently after the abduction. I said I asked you what they looked like, but that you said you were blindfolded the entire time, just like we discussed. He left happy.”

I looked at him in disbelief. “That was it?”

He nodded. “Easy, peasy.”

I glanced across the street. A young boy was working on an old car that didn’t have any wheels on it while one of his friends talked to him.

“Can we go inside?”

He stood. “Sure.”

We went inside and sat down on the couch. As he relaxed into the cushion, he let out a sigh and draped his arms over the back of the couch. Before he had a chance to do or say anything, I straddled his thighs.

He seemed shocked. I felt, at least for that moment, that I was in control. I rested my arms over his shoulders and smiled.

Then, I closed my eyes. “Kiss me.”

Softly and slowly, he complied, kissing me full on the lips. I returned the kiss, being slightly more aggressive than he was.

I needed to find my new limit.

His fingers raked through my hair as we kissed. Soon, my hands were plastered all over his body, attempting to feel each and every inch of his muscular physique.

His arms felt like steel beneath my grip, and his chest, stone. I slipped my hand beneath his shirt, and lightly rubbed the tips of my fingers along the surface of his stomach muscles.

I felt his finger trace along the edge of my jaw, around my chin, and up the other side. Having him touch my face while we kissed was comforting and sensual at the same time, and the combined feeling drove me insane.

I continued to kiss him, anxiously waiting to see what was next. The sensation from his touch gently followed a path along my neck, to my shoulders, and then the length of my arm.

I ground my hips against him lightly as we continued to kiss. When I finally reached a point that I knew I couldn’t go any further without having sex, I stopped and opened my eyes.

He smiled.

I kissed him lightly and smiled in return.

“You make me comfortable,” I said.

“You make me nervous,” he replied.

“I feel like I’m fourteen.”

He kissed me. “I feel like I’m in heaven.”

“Me, too.”

I rolled to the side, took a deep breath, and then sighed.

He stood. “Want something to drink?”

“Coffee?”

He nodded. “Coffee sounds good.”

“It’ll just take a second,” he said. “I’ve got one of those machines with the pods.”

“Okay.”

“Cream and sugar?”

“Please.”

While he was away I closed my eyes and tried to count the number of days since we had kissed the first time, but quickly became lost. Then, I tried to count the amount of times we had kissed. Again, in a matter of seconds, I was convinced I was forgetting something.

“Here,” he said.

I opened my eyes and reached for the cup. “Thank you.”

He nodded and sat beside me.

I took a drink of coffee, and then another. I turned to the side and smiled. “I think I’m okay.”

He lowered his cup to his lap. “What do you mean?”

“I’m comfortable with you.”

“Good,” he said with a laugh. “You’re okay, and I’m far from it.”

I wrinkled my nose. “What do you mean?”

He took a sip of coffee. “You still make me nervous.”

“Good.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Why is that good?”

“Because you’ve got plenty to be nervous about.”

“Thanks.” He chuckled. “That made it worse.”

There were a lot of things that could have entered my mind as we sat drinking coffee together. But only one did.

Adam wasn’t put in my life to hurt me.

The way he entered my life was a perfect example of who he was.

He slayed monsters.

And, on that night, he slayed what little remained of mine.