Beg, Borrow, or Steal (When in Rome, #3)(44)
Instead, I watch with unrelenting attention as the man approaches. I catalog each moment like I’m studying for a test on it later. Jack is wearing dark jeans today with his riding jacket and brown boots. It looks less protective than the outfit he was in the other day, which worries me.
The visor on his helmet is pulled down and it’s so dark I can’t see through it to know if he’s seen me yet as he cruises in. Unfortunately, I experience the Helmet Effect all over again because something hot and electric zips through my stomach. How dare you be so basic, body. But then I know he’s seen me because he does the most boy thing I’ve ever witnessed. In the empty parking lot, he opens it up and rips through it. Just before he passes me, his helmet tilts ever so slightly in my direction. I can’t see his eyes behind that visor, but I know our gazes have just met. I feel it.
He passes me, but then in a move that has me sucking in a nervous breath because I’m nearly positive he’s about to dump his bike and end up bloody on the pavement, Jack whips the back end around and effortlessly holds control of the bike as he slows down and cruises back my way, taking the empty spot right in front of me.
As he parks, the sun glints off the motor of his bike, which I know nothing about, but see it has R1 written in matte black on the side. Next, his brown boot hits the pavement. He cuts the engine, and his head fully turns in my direction, hesitating on me long enough that I can see my own fish-bowled reflection mirrored back at me. My green eyes look wilder than I realize. I blink and adjust from my starstruck stance to my usual confident posture. Jack lowers the kickstand and throws his leg over the seat to stand.
“Do you feel better now that you’ve alerted everyone that there’s a penis on the premises?”
“Good morning to you too, Emily,” he says, his voice muffled through the visor of his helmet, and God help me even that is sexy somehow. I need him to take off this damn helmet.
“You’re late,” I say hastily. “Did you not get my text that said to meet me at school early?”
He breathes a laugh and shucks off his gloves. “Apologies. I didn’t realize early meant with the sunrise. But then I saw your truck leave and figured I better hustle. Hence the bike.”
I grumble, wishing he wouldn’t hustle on that thing.
“You know,” he begins while fiddling with the buckle under his chin before lifting off the helmet. Dammit. It’s not better without the helmet. “If you wanted to make sure we arrived at the same time, you could have come and gotten me to ride with you.” His nice golden-brownish-blondish hair is lightly matted with sweat and is flipping up at the nape. He gives his head a little shake and quickly shoves his hand through his locks to de-stick them from his scalp. It looks darker like this. He’s a brunette when he’s sweaty.
His comment curls up and settles like a purring cat in the back of my mind. We could have ridden together. Because we’re friends. I never even considered that option because this is all so new still.
“Or you could have ridden with me on the bike,” he says when I don’t answer.
“No way. This thing isn’t safe,” I say, tapping the toe of my shoe against the tire. “You shouldn’t even ride it.”
“Is anything in life actually safe?”
“Seatbelts have a pretty good track record.”
He grins while setting his helmet on the seat and then joins me on the sidewalk.
“Hey . . .” I glance sideways at his face as we walk toward the school. “You’re not wearing your glasses.” I sound like a child who was promised a sucker and didn’t get one.
“Because I wear contacts when I ride.”
“Another mark for the cons column,” I mumble.
“Huh. Emily Walker likes my glasses. Interesting.” I shoot big eyes at him and he just grins, pointing lazily at his ear. “I have bad eyesight, but excellent hearing.”
Before I can think better of it, I playfully bump my shoulder into his, knocking him off balance for a step. He looks just as stunned by my easy interaction as I feel. I’m that scene in Willy Wonka where the people are floating up to the ceiling. I’m light as a breeze in his presence and it’s astounding. Over the last few days, our dynamic has completely changed. We are no longer the two people who only see the other as competition. There’s more to us now. Layers. Context.
And I’m terrified to like it—because history suggests our rivalry always prevails and we will loop right back where we started. I don’t think I want it too this time.
Especially as I catch a subtle whiff of his cologne and a sharp tug of attraction hits me. I wish I could say that the attraction is just biological and aimed at the fantastic body I know lives under his clothes, because that would imply that I can turn this feeling off when he opens his mouth. But it’s not like that anymore. The more I get to know Jack . . . the more I . . . God help me—like him.
“You should enter a power-walking competition,” Jack says, breaking through my inner monologue and alerting me to the fact that I’ve been storming down the sidewalk. “Normally I’m happy to keep up, but this leather isn’t as breathable as you might think and if we keep it up, there will be armpit chafing.”
I press my lips together. “You wouldn’t have to worry about chafing if you just drove a normal vehicle like us intelligent individuals.”