Braxton Jenkins straddled his motorcycle just in front of the walkway. His helmet was off, shades on. Faded jeans, the bottoms cuffed. Black boots. White tee shirt. Black leather jacket. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I knew the moment he saw me. A wide, white smile split his face in two.
The butterflies returned, full force and rabid, with teeth gnashing.
Holy God. I couldn’t do this.
Beaumont! Breathe, girl! Nutcracker! Nutcracker!
The entire silly conversation with Tessa from the night before poured into my brain and instantly calmed me. Just thinking the safe word made me smile. I couldn’t help it. It was just so damn funny. Anyway, it eased my nerves. I walked up to Brax, calm and cool. Friends. Nothing more.
“Hey,” I said. “So you won. How’d the pitching go?”
Whatever expression his eyes held was hidden behind those shades. “Bitchin’ as always. We spanked ‘em good. Nice blouse there, Gracie.”
I smiled, and his face launched into another heart-stopping grin. I inclined my head toward my truck. “Thanks. Let me grab my glasses and jacket.”
Brax said nothing, and I felt his eyes score a jagged blazing hole into my back as I walked toward my truck. It unnerved me a little, but I pushed it aside. I opened the door, and leaned in across the seat to grab my faded denim jacket and shades. Jamming the key in and locking it, I headed back toward Brax and his bike. His eyes were still hidden, but I knew his gaze followed me. I shrugged into my jacket, which, at this time of evening in August I highly doubted I’d freeze my ass off without. “Ready,” I said. I slipped my bag cross-ways over my head and shoulder, and plopped my keys in.
“Come here, Gracie,” Brax said.
My heart slammed. I stepped closer.
Brax reached behind him and retrieved a helmet. He slipped it over my head and snugged it down tightly, tucking my braid inside. I was glad he still wore his shades as his face drew closer and secured the strap under my chin. Those eyes, so close, would’ve made me squirm in discomfort. I stared at myself in their reflection, and at his fingers nimbly moving with the black nylon strap. I noticed a few scars I hadn’t seen before, small nicks that had turned silvery white with age. Definitely a roughened face, yet I had a hard time looking away. He smelled good; recently showered, light cologne. I drew a deep breath. Then another. It barely worked to settle me. My lungs just kept filling up with … him. Unavoidably, my eyes dropped to that mouth. Another breath …
“Nervous?” he asked. One side of his mouth tipped upward and again, I noticed how perfectly shaped his lips were. Perfect lips set in an imperfect and scarred face. The balance between the two was breathtaking. The grin he wore stretched the scar that dipped below his eye, beneath his sunglasses. One of many, and I was curious to know how he’d gotten each one of them.
I slipped on my shades. Of course I'm nervous! I don't know you but I'm about to get on the back of your motorcycle and leave the school! Two could play the eye-hiding game. “You’ve obviously forgotten about my knee and how it introduced itself to your crotch. I’m just used to live horses, Brax. Not horse power. How safe of a driver are you?”
He gave me a full grin then, and all of his straight white teeth showed. “Wicked safe. Get on, Sunshine.” He pulled his helmet on.
As I moved around to the back, Brax’s muscular legs braced against the ground and steadied the bike. I placed a hand on his shoulder and threw my leg over the seat. Finding the foot pegs, I settled in, scooching as far away from Brax’s backside as I could. Tessa’s childish words about his magical porn radar wiener wand and my hootchie cootchie burst into my mind, and I pursed my lips together hard to keep from laughing out loud. Why had she put that vision in my head? Crazy fool. And here I thought I was mature. I must be just as juvenile as Tessa since it made me laugh so much. Physics and astronomy? Got it. Say the word doo-doo and I fall apart like a six year old. Great.
Now, what the heck was I supposed to do with my hands? I felt behind me, searching for a bar, a thick chunk of leather seat. Anything to hold onto. There was nothing.
Brax chuckled, grasped my one arm with his hand and pulled it around his waist. Then, the other. He secured both of my arms against his abdomen with one hand, and held them there. My arms, pinned by his heavy one. Heat flooded my body. A hard, ripped washboard stomach pressed against my fingertips through his thin white tee shirt. My insides squeezed, I pinched my eyes shut, and nerves made me shudder. I thought for a second I'd back out. Then, his arm tightened against mine, and I couldn’t.
I gulped. The movement of it made my chin strap bob.