“Let’s go,” the Hulk commanded, grabbing my hands, and leading us away from the house, his strides precise, even, filled with purpose.
I had so many questions, but couldn’t find the strength to speak out loud yet. My body was going into overdrive with the current flash of events. He kept moving and moving and all I could do was follow. I stopped in my tracks to give myself a minute, but then I heard the commotion stemming from the house and the sounds of police sirens blaring in the background.
That side of the university was lacking in light so I couldn’t completely see the expression on his face. Apparently, he was not giving me a minute because when I let out an exhale, he had me by my waist up on his shoulders and he was carrying me around like a minor inconvenience.
“Please put me down,” I said, my hands digging into his back, feeling the solid, hard muscle that his shirt couldn’t hide. The speed and pace that he took was unbelievably fast. I wasn’t a tiny woman, I indulged in too many sweets which would be the main reason why my 130-lbs was not going any lower. I’d rather be at this weight than be at my previous weight before… For many, many years…
He wasn’t listening to me or if he was, he was completely focused on what he was doing. We passed Mama Sidas, my favorite taco place, a never-been opened pharmacy store, and when we reached the small lot area where food trucks usually parked, he slowly put me down.
“Call your friend.” His voice was steady, not even slightly out of breath. “Ask where she’s at. She should be out by now.”
How was I to say no? This guy obviously wasn’t one to take orders.
I took my phone out of the tiny black shoulder bag I had wrapped over my right shoulder and with my hands shaking, I dialed Dyan’s number.
She answered on the third ring, “Athena! Where are you?”
“I’m safe…” There were no other words for it. This guy might be the cover model for a rough, tough war machine, but he made me feel safe. “Where are you at?”
Mr. Hulk walked towards a bike that screamed expensive and bad-ass and swung his leg over the top of it in one fluid motion. His head turned towards me, and I had a gnawing sensation crawl up over me. If I started carrying on a conversation with Dyan, the way his arms were hanging loosely over the front of the bike’s frame and his feet planted on the pedals, he looked like a guy who would wait all the time in the world until I ended the phone call with my friend.
Dyan’s voice was breathless, sounding as if she’d just run a marathon, “I was worried for you, girlfriend, but I got a text telling me to get out. I’ve no clue who it came from, but it looked urgent and thank goodness I did or else I’d be arrested right now, along with the others.” Her voice cracked as she continued, “I can’t afford to get arrested, A. My parents would kill me.”
On Wednesday, which were ice cream nights, a tradition that Dyan had started with me and the girls on the second floor, she’d confided in us that her parents were super strict and she either had to become a doctor or a lawyer or her parents wouldn’t be paying for her tuition. Her older brother was a doctor and her older sister was a lawyer. I could only imagine the wrath her parents would bring down on her if she had been arrested tonight for attending a college party with booze for minors and possibly drugs. I’d never smelt marijuana, but the bloodshot eyes and the slurred speeches of some of the party-goers were dead giveaways.
Somehow Mr. Muscle had managed to get my friend out of a dire situation. I paced back and forth, kicking a small rock or two that got caught in the front of my heels, listening to Dyan as she whooped in relief when she asked me for the second time, “Where are you, Athena?”
I answered truthfully, “I’m with a guy.” A man.
“A guy?” she questioned, I could hear her closing the door of her car. “Denton?”
“No. Denton is…” I knew where he was, sleeping under a tree, “Sleeping.”
“What guy?”
I didn’t know who he was. “I’ll explain to you later,” I replied, straightening my back, trying to ease the tension that wasn’t leaving anytime soon.
“Okay…” Her tone was unbelieving. “Just answer one question for me, A.”
Air infused in my lungs, “Alright.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m not...” I said - I can’t find it in me to lie to her - but for her peace of mind, I added, “But I will be.”
I breathed out thrice as long and when she said goodnight and to call her anytime so she can pick me up wherever I may be, I took a long look at the view in front of me. Los Angeles never slept, something that I found out to be so different from Atlanta where I grew up, Boston where I spent most of my childhood, and Baltimore where I had no choice but to be, so even at this hour, cars passed by at way past midnight as my phone had indicated and the view from the lights that lit up Exposition Park could be seen from a distance.
My father had sent him.
My father had never had to send anyone for me. Ever.
The only reason why my dad would send him wasn’t because of good news.
Slowly, I walked towards him where he was still eyeing me silently, patiently.
I’d never ridden on a motorcycle. However, I knew how to ride a two wheeled bike with multi-colored bells and whistles on it. It was on top of my Christmas wish list and my mom had been a nervous wreck watching me climb it and getting the scrapes on my legs after falling down way too many times. Our neighbor, Graciela, taught me how to balance my feet and push on the handles to brake.
Mr. Muscle didn’t say a word. His demeanor was entirely composed, there was nothing that could fluster this guy.
I wondered, what’s the color of his eyes? Were they as black as his mood? Or were they as green as his composure, cool, as if nothing could trip him up?
Standing a few steps away from him, I said, “She’s safe. Thank you.”
His head lifted in a nod, the lines in his mouth set in a straight line. Goodness, does this guy ever smile?
Realizing that this may be the only opportunity I had to ask, I voiced out, “Is he going to be okay? Denton?”
Again he raised his head in reply.
Wow.
What a talker.
“Can we talk?” I’d probably be getting mono-syllabic answers from him, but I wanted to know why he was here, why my dad sent him here.
For the third time, he nodded.
This man didn’t waste his saliva on anything.
I placed my phone inside my purse and just as I was about to hike my right leg up to situate myself on the back of his bike, he pulled on the hem of his shirt and took it off.
Oh. My. Jezebels.
I may not be able to see this guy’s eyes, but even in the scant lighting, the top half of his body was undeniably, irrevocably, the most beautiful work of art I’d ever seen.
The corded muscles that rippled on his back weren’t the ones that you could find in the gym. He was bulky, but not overtly so. His upper back looked rock solid; I could probably bounce three quarters off of them and they would bounce right back, and his lower back was just as impressive. Even at his relaxed state, they rippled at their own accord. They did not grow his type of body on trees. If they did, global warming would not be a problem because everyone would be planting a dozen of those trees in their backyards.
Without looking at me, he reached his left hand out, offering his shirt, “You’re cold.”
I swallowed a hearty gulp, not because of the cold that he thought I was feeling. Earlier, while I was talking to Dyan, I had felt cold. Fall was just beginning and it had been warm over the past couple of days but tonight, there was a slight chill in the air.
Heat crept up my face, “I’m okay.”
“You’re not.” He negated, the firm set of his jaw was enough for me to put his shirt on over my dress. At another time, I would probably fight with someone like him, someone who had no business ordering me around about this, but I was feeling tired and I wanted answers.
With both of my legs straddling the bike, he put his helmet on and handed me a smaller helmet. I noticed that his bike was larger than other bikes I’d seen and it looked like there was a small metal storage bin in the back where he most likely retrieved my helmet from.
Without waiting for my consent, he slowly pulled my hands over and wrapped them across his naked chest.
I may have wet myself just a little.
I’d heard stories of women orgasming just by looking at hot men. I never had that. But if one could orgasm from just touching a guy, I may have proven that theory tonight.
This nameless man with a body carved in stone and a vocabulary that would make the dictionary proud, all sarcasm intended, may have just given me my first ever orgasm.
And just to think of it, he hadn’t even touched me willingly yet.