Reaching my arms above my head, I stretch and roll onto my side, filling the entire length of the couch I’m lying on. The littlest hint of sun is peeking through the wooden shutters. Looking at the blanket that has been carefully laid on top of me, I have to assume she was okay with me staying here. Propping the throw pillow under my head, I wonder when she finally woke up last night and moved to her room. Falling asleep with her on my chest was amazing.

I can still smell a light hint of her perfume on my shirt, and it reminds me of holding her last night. She felt perfect lying in my arms, and across my body. It was so hard to hear and see her cry, but listening to her breathing settle as she calmed down in my arms, and the slight whisper of her breathes as she fell asleep on top of me, caused an emotion in me to surface that I rarely see—compassion.

I see that folded letter lying on the table in front of me, the one that clearly upset her. It would be so easy to reach over and read it, and for a minute, I contemplate doing just that. Turning my head, I glance up the stairs and see that there is a door that is slightly cracked, and I wonder if that is where she is.

Sitting up, I decide to not read her letter. I want her to tell me, in her own words, with her sweet voice, what happened. Pushing myself off the couch, I wonder if I should just leave before she wakes up, but something inside of me won’t let me leave just yet. There is a pull, a desire I’ve never felt before. I need to see her.

Quietly taking the stairs, I find the door that’s cracked slightly open and peek inside. There on the large bed, she lies on her side. A purple comforter pulled up to her chest, her arms securely holding it in place. Her long dark hair has been pulled high into a ponytail, and she looks so peaceful as she sleeps. Her face has returned to its olive tone and is no longer covered in red patches from crying.

I know it must have been late when she came to bed, but I want to talk to her. She is lying on the right side of the bed, and there is just enough room to slide onto the left side of the bed without touching her. I realize this is brazen of me to just slide into bed with her, but I’m not going to touch her, yet.

Walking across the wooden floor, I gently lower myself onto the bed. I don’t pull the covers back; I lie on top, and pull the blanket that is at the foot of the bed over me. I’m propped on my left side watching her sleep, and I can hear her steady breaths telling me she’s sound asleep. My presence hasn’t disturbed her yet.

I lie here for almost an hour. I watch the minutes change on the clock, wanting so badly to reach out a few short inches to touch her. I can almost feel how soft the skin on her arm is as my hand hovers over where I want to run my fingers. It would be so easy to lean in and press a kiss to her forehead or her cheek. She rolls slowly to her back and throws her arm up over her head, causing the comforter to drop to her waist. She’s wearing a light grey tank top that her large breasts are almost spilling out of. I’m instantly hard as I think about taking each of her nipples in my mouth, running my tongue around each hard bud. Fuck. She’s not ready for that yet, I remind myself.

Unsettled in her new position she keeps moving her legs, I can tell she’s not comfortable, or she’s beginning to wake. Leaning toward her, I whisper in her ear “Good morning, baby girl,” With no warning, she sits straight up and screams.

“Jesus Christ, Jess. It’s just me. Calm down.” Her hands are covering her face, and she’s now breathing erratically, almost hyperventilating. Pulling her hands down, she glares at me, her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed, and she looks ready to kill.

“You can’t just climb into my bed and think that I’m not going to freak the fuck out.”

“Did you just say ‘freak the fuck out?’” I actually laugh.

“It’s not funny. I’m serious.”

She’s so cute. Her ponytail is a mess, and she pulls the comforter up higher over her chest to cover herself.

“I’m sorry,” I say sincerely. “I woke up downstairs and wanted to make sure you made it to bed.” I realize I’m smirking as I say this. “So I peeked in your room, and you were curled up on your side of the bed, so I just laid down next to you. No harm intended.” I raise both of my hands to show I’m sincere.

Throwing herself back onto her pillow, hard, she grumbles and pauses before she speaks. “I appreciate you checking on me last night, and I appreciate you checking on me this morning, but you can’t check up on me all the time. I don’t need you.” The last sentence came out as a whisper. Those four words she just spoke, ‘I don’t need you,’ hurt. She does need me, she just doesn’t know it yet.

It is rare that I am speechless or hurt, but I am both. She continues to lie there with her eyes fixed on the ceiling and her arm laid across her chest with her hand over her heart. I can see her pulse in her neck beating rapidly.

“Why are you afraid of me?” I know this is a loaded question. Shit, I’m nine years older than her. I’m pushy, aggressive, and have intentionally gone out of my way to make her uncomfortable.

“I’m not,” she whispers.

“Look at me,” I order, my tone is more aggressive with her. Slowly, she turns her head to look at me, and her beautiful green eyes fix on mine. My pulse quickens as I reach out to run the front of my hand over her cheek. She closes her eyes when my fingers brush over her cheek and swallows hard.

“I know you don’t need me, but what if I need you? I wish you would give me the chance to just know you,” I stammer. I’m not a man that spills my heart out to women often, or ever, but there is something about the innocence of her that makes it easy to just put my thoughts out there. She stares at me with no emotion on her face.

“What are you thinking?”

She doesn’t say anything as she blinks her eyes slowly.

“Please tell me what you’re thinking.”

She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth and gently tugs at it with her teeth. I can’t take my eyes off of her mouth. Leaning in to her, I’m so close I can smell the remnants of the perfume she wore last night, along with the sweet feminine smell of her skin. Our noses are within centimeters of each other. I can feel her breath on my lips. I hover my mouth over hers, and her eyes open wider. She wants me to kiss her.

I never make a move to kiss her, but our eyes hold each other’s. I whisper, “Will you trust me?” She shakes her head no and closes her eyes again. “Why?”

“I don’t trust anyone.” Those words tear me apart. She slowly opens her eyes, and I see her chin quivering lightly. Instead of pressing my lips to hers, I lower my mouth to her forehead and give her the lightest kiss. With my lips on her forehead, I can feel her body trembling, and her breathing is quick and shallow. She’s fucking afraid of me, and I have to prove to her, and myself, that I’m not going to fuck her and leave her. I won’t be that guy with her.

Pushing myself up quickly, I hop off the bed. “Get up and get dressed. Meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes.”

She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Why?”

“We’re going to breakfast.”

“There is no way I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.” Her lips pucker out like she’s pouting.

“You’re beautiful. Just throw some clothes on and brush your teeth. We’re leaving in fourteen minutes now.” I flash her a big smile. Pushing the thick purple comforter off of her, she pulls her long, tan legs out and hangs them over the side of the bed.

Turning to leave her room, I mutter over my shoulder, “Thirteen minutes now, baby girl. Hurry up.”

As I’m closing her door behind me, I hear the pitter patter of her feet run across her bedroom floor. Waiting for her downstairs, I eye the letter on her table again. Whatever is written on that piece of paper is the source of much pain for her. Just as I’m reaching for the letter, I hear her door open upstairs. She comes bouncing down the stairs in a pair of worn jeans that have small rips on the front thighs, and a tight green tank top. Her wavy hair is piled on top of her head where a few loose strands have fallen out. She grabs her purse off the counter and slings it over her shoulder.

“You’re not going to need that.” I smile and point to her purse. She looks at me and scrunches her forehead, looking perplexed.

“I need my purse if we’re leaving.”

Walking over to her, I slide the purse off her shoulder. “Give me your phone and your ID.” Looking at me suspiciously, she pulls her ID out of her wallet and hands it to me along with her cell phone. Sliding both of them into my back pocket, I reach for her hand and lead her to the door.

“Wait, do you have sunglasses?” I stop abruptly at the door.

“Yeah, in my purse. Let me grab them.” She releases my hand and walks back to the table. Digging through her purse, she pulls a case out, and opens it, sliding a pair of small Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses onto the top of her head.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise. Let’s go.”

“I hate surprises,” she says as a smile spreads across her face. She walks back over to me and I reach for her hand again, this time she lets me take it. This is a good sign. Closing the door behind us, I lead her down her sidewalk toward my motorcycle that is parked in guest parking. As we cross the black asphalt, she tugs slightly on my hand, trying to pull away from me.

“Oh no, I’m not going anywhere on that.” she has now pulled me hard enough that we’ve come to a complete stop.

“Come on. I promise I’m careful.”

She’s standing, shifting back and forth between her feet. She’s tugging on her bottom lip, and she actually looks scared to death. I watch her contemplate and reach out to grab her other hand. With a small squeeze, I whisper, “Trust me,” and press another small kiss to her forehead. I rub both of her upper arms, hoping to calm her nerves. “Trust me, Jess. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

“Okay,” she whispers, and I actually feel her hands shaking. Nodding at me, she gives me the go-ahead, and I tug her slightly towards my motorcycle. If she’s afraid of cycles, I know the sound alone is going to scare the shit out of her. I have to prep her.

“Sit behind me and wrap your arms around my waist.” She swallows and nods. “The bike is loud, that’s how it’s supposed to sound.” Inhaling deeply, she nods again. “Jess?” She looks at me, and I grab her chin and hold her head still. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Do you understand?” A tight smile crosses her lips.

“Yeah, okay.” She laughs. “Let’s do this.”

I throw my leg over the bike, and she slides on behind me. Wrapping her hands around my waist just as I’ve instructed her, her feet have found the pegs, and she’s pressed her entire torso up against me. I can feel her breasts pressed up against my back, and she has her thighs squeezed tightly around my hips.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Yep.”

I turn the key and start my bike. Before she has time to freak out, I take off, slowly. Her grip tightens around my waist. I have no idea where I’m taking her yet, but I have no intention of stopping or letting her off this bike anytime soon.

For the next hour, I drive her through town, north of the city, and back again. I don’t care about anything other than the wind in my hair and the sweet body wrapped around me from behind. Pulling into a small diner in downtown Wilmington, I plan to spend the next couple of hours treating her to breakfast and getting to know her better. Pulling into a parking space, I drop the kickstand on my Harley and shut it down. I slide off the bike and help her off. She laughs as she tries to straighten her legs and walk.

“I take it that’s your first time on a motorcycle?” Nodding her head, I see a smile form on the corners of her lips.

“Yeah, it was.”

“Wasn’t so bad, was it?” I nudge her with my elbow as we’re nearing the entrance of the diner. I open the door and let her walk in first. Sitting down in a booth, Jess stretches her long legs under the table and puts them on my booth seat, between my legs.

“Still sore?” I chuckle.

“Just stretching a bit.” I reach my hand under the table and set it on her ankle. She doesn’t look up from her menu, but I feel her flinch when my hand touches the bare skin just under her jeans.

“So, what’s good here?” she asks.

“They have the best grits in town,” I say, sipping the coffee the waitress had just poured.

“Eww…grits.” She turns up her nose and whines.

I can’t help but laugh. “I grew up on grits, but almost everyone I’ve met that isn’t from the South finds them appalling.”

“Yeah, most people in California eat all healthy: yogurt, fruit, and granola. I grew up eating Mexican breakfasts. I miss that,” she sighs.

“Mexican?” I question her.

“Yeah.” She pauses to open a creamer and dumps it in her coffee. Stirring it with her spoon, she lifts the mug to her lips and takes a sip. I remain quiet waiting for her to continue.

“When my dad was working, which was damn near every single day, I stayed with our neighbors, the Garcia’s. They lived across the street and basically raised me.” She pauses again, and I notice the sadness in her eyes.

“For almost fourteen years, I spent most of my time there. They really are my family.” She’s quiet again for a minute but smiles at a memory.

“So the ‘Garcia’ from the t-shirt…your ex, that’s his family?” She nods her head.

“Do you miss them?” I ask, knowing the answer.

“More than you can imagine,” she replies quietly. Our food arrives, and Jess eyes the enormous meal that is set in front of me.

“Holy shit!” she exclaims as the waitress sets the third plate down in front of me. I laugh at her expression. “Hungry much?”

“Actually, I’m starved,” I say.

“Apparently,” she smirks.

‘So tell me about the Garcia’s,” I encourage her, catching her off guard. She stops her fork mid-air, pausing for a minute, before taking the bite of the scrambled eggs on her fork. Setting it down, she takes another drink of coffee and smiles.

“They are everything to me. Everything.” Listening to her describe the people she loves, warms me.

“But I hurt them when I moved here.” She lowers her eyes to the plate of food in front of her.

“How did you hurt them?”

“I really don’t want to talk about this.” Her eyes are begging me to stop. But I’m persistent.

“How did you hurt them?” I ask again, my tone a bit more firm.

“I told them the night before I left that I was leaving. They don’t even know where I’m really at. I told them the East Coast. That’s it.”

Now I’m confused. “I guess I don’t understand. Why didn’t you just tell them? I think they would have understood that you needed an internship and that this was available last minute.” That is what she told me at Finn’s Pub last night.

“The internship is not the only reason I left.” She swallows hard. “That’s all I’m going to say, okay? Please leave it at that,” she begs me.

“Okay.” We sit in silence for the next few minutes. I inhale my food, and Jess pushes hers around her plate.

“Not hungry?” I ask.

“Not really.”

“You need to eat. You’re too skinny, and I like a little meat on my women.” That got her attention.

“I am not your woman!”

I love seeing her flustered.

“I know. Not yet anyway.” She shakes her head and humors me with a little laugh.

“Eat!” I say, pointing my fork at her plate of food as she takes a bite of toast.

“Thanks.” Jess smiles at me.

“For what?” I’m definitely confused. “For making me get on your motorcycle,” she says while a huge smile crosses her face.

“This is just the first of many rides,” I say, and yes, the sexual undertones are implied.