I had already lost the woman I thought was the love of my life, so I didn’t want to stack another big change on top of that. Jocelyn slowly migrated her way out of my life for good, and I was okay with that. I just threw myself into fixing up my house and doing a good job for Sam’s uncle at Tire Depot.
Mercedes’s grip tightens around my waist as I pull off onto the small lookout point. Behind us you can see the Gross Reservoir, to the left are the Aspen Meadows, and to the right is the beginning of the Twin Sisters Peak. This entire area is chock full of enormous pine trees, animals, and unblemished nature.
As I cut the engine and drop the kickstand down, Mercedes presses down on the top of my shoulders and lifts her leg up over the seat. I instantly miss her warmth and realize that was not one of the many descriptions Mercedes gave me when she described the warmth of a woman at the Walrus Saloon.
“God, that was incredible!” Her voice is muffled as she yanks her helmet off and shakes out her red hair. The sun slices through her strands as it sets behind the far-off hilltops. The few clouds lingering in the distance shift the sky to a stunning blend of pinks and purples. It’s the perfect weather to watch the sun set.
“Good. Were you scared?” I ask, recalling the fact that Joce never let me take her out on my bike because she never wore anything but dresses and she said my driving made her nervous.
“No, was I supposed to be?” Mercedes asks, her eyes wide.
I laugh at that, pulling off my glasses and tucking them into my shirt. “No, not at all. My ex hated the bike, though. She never wanted to go out on it.”
“Your ex is a fool. I mean, I get that motorcycles are dangerous, but it’s the danger that makes it all the more satisfying. Do you know what I mean?”
I swallow slowly. “I think so.”
“Ugh, why do we crave danger?” she asks, tucking the helmet under her arm and pacing back and forth in front of me. I have a feeling she’s doing that writer thing I’ve seen her do when she’s working through how to describe something. Only this time, she wants to articulate an emotion instead of describe a physical act. “I mean, what is it about the danger that draws in the human mind? Is it a sexual thing? A sexual attraction? I mean, what is it about the danger that keeps bringing us back over and over and over again?”
Mercedes pauses and looks at me, giving me the approval to have an opinion. I shrug. “Maybe it’s the thrill of not knowing what’s to come,” I reply and throw my leg over and stand to stretch. “We get bored if things stay the same for too long.”
I look down and see her eyes staring at the bit of skin peeking out on my abdomen. Good God, I really wish I could just fuck her. Just once. Just to know what she feels like. Her softness to my hard. I’m certain it would be incredible.
“Do you think men feel that way about women?” she asks, her lids fluttering with nervous blinks as she looks up at me. She’s so small wearing my jacket as a dress with her flip-flops.
“I couldn’t say for sure,” I reply, awkwardly stuffing my hands in my pockets while moving over to a big log that lines the edge of the gravel pit. I sit down on it and look back at her. “But I do think women get blamed for loving drama when men are equally as guilty. We get away with calling it macho.”
Her flip-flops slap noisily as Mercedes makes her way over and sits beside me so we’re both facing the sunset now. I glance over at her. Her cheeks are flush, and some freckles have sprouted across her nose, probably from sun exposure.
She tucks her knees up inside my jacket and rests her chin on top of them. “Do you want to tell me what you mean by that, or do you want to say ‘word’ again?”
I half-smile, marveling a bit over how easily she can read between the lines. I suppose that’s writer’s intuition, to see the signs.
Exhaling heavily, I reply, “Eventually, I hope that every cryptic thing I say in my life won’t all circle back to my ex.”
Mercedes smiles, her dimple peeking out from the collar of my jacket. “Probably, but life lessons come from hardship, so spill it, Miles.”
I growl and run my hands through my hair, feeling the strands sticking up every which way. “I think I stayed with my ex so long because I liked the drama on some sick level. It was stupid.”
She nods thoughtfully, processing what I’ve said before asking, “What kind of drama did you guys have?”
I lift my eyebrows and shake my head up to the sky. “You name it, she probably did it. But the thing I hated the most was when she’d try to make me jealous.”
I glance over just in time to see Mercedes wince in sympathy. “Yeah, jealousy is no fun. Although, I will tell you, from a purely romance writing profession point of view…my readers love a possessive man.”
I chuckle at that. “Well, there’s being possessive, and there’s being made a fool of. Unfortunately, I think I was the latter more often.”
She shakes her head from side to side and wrinkles her nose. “Your ex sounds horrible.”
“So does yours.”
“Why did we ever date them?”
“I ask myself that all the time.”
She pulls her legs out of my jacket and stretches them out in front of her to cross them at the ankles. She gazes out into the sky for a moment before saying, “Well, a fun way to look at our exes is that if we hadn’t dated them, then we wouldn’t be right here, sitting on this tree, and enjoying this incredible sunset.”
Mercedes waggles her brows at me and turns to watch the last few inches of sun dip down behind a faraway hill.
But I can’t seem to take my eyes off her. Her hair is kind of like a sunset.
She feels me watching. “You’re missing something really beautiful,” she sings teasingly.
My voice is serious when I reply. “No, I’m not.”
Her smile fades, and she looks over at me with wide, wondering eyes. The soft pink sky lights up her face, giving her this angelic glow. She’s enchanting.
Her voice is a whisper when she croaks, “I can’t figure you out, Miles.”
I swallow slowly and reach out to cup her cheek, running my thumb from her cheekbone to her lip, lazily tracing the lines of her mouth. “I can’t figure me out either.”
She inhales deeply when I lean in to taste the lips that I’ve been reliving the taste of all week, but suddenly a motorcycle engine growls loudly up behind us. I freeze mere inches away from her mouth, my hand still on her face, my eyes still trained on her lips.
Swallowing hard, I turn around to see another couple dismounting from their bike, probably up here for the same reason we are.
Clearing my throat, I pull back and offer a sheepish smile to Mercedes. “Should we head back before we lose all the light?”
She looks forlorn and replies, “I’m at your mercy.”
I help her up and get her kitted up and back on the bike behind me.
Away we go, back to Boulder and back to the life I’m currently living…with no drama.
When the day comes for me to write my epilogue, it’s almost as if Miles knows because, in the middle of the day, he strides into the CCC dressed in his greasy coveralls that he has knotted down around his waist. The white T-shirt underneath is damp with sweat, and his hands look washed, but dirtier than I’ve ever seen them. Almost like he didn’t bother to give himself a full scrub because he knew he was going back to work.