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“I’m going to browse for a bike this week,” I let him know.
He chuckles. “No, you’re not.”
“I am, Damon. Owning a sports bike is basically part of my DNA. I can’t live without it.”
He freezes. “You stopped for him.”
I sigh and turn to face him. “And I broke that promise with you.” I clear my throat. “Damon, don’t do this.”
“I wouldn’t mind if I wouldn’t have seen the hard-on you get from skirting death, Gemma,” he says sternly.
“I’ll be okay. I’ll be careful. I need to go back to being me,” I say, pleading with him to understand the part of me I don’t wish anyone to tame ever again.
His jaw clenches and releases. “Joey will follow you around.”
A soft laugh rushes past my lips. “No.”
“Please.” He kisses me while I shake my head.
I’m done letting men tell me I can’t go on a sports bike. If you’re careful and you stay clear of the main roads, you decrease your risk.
Besides, I’m not here for the stats. I’m here for the freedom it provides me. The feel no car in the entire world could replace.
“Gemma, baby, how can I convince you?” His hands land on my neck, and I will myself to remain focused on my decision and not to let his sexual advances divert me from what I truly want.
“You can’t. I won’t change my mind on this.”
“I’ll get you a pass for track racing. No roads.”
“What’s the point of that? Removes all the fun.”
“It doesn’t.” He pulls down on my bottom lip. “Track is fun. There’s sun and wind; you’re in nature. If anything, there’s probably more risk of injury. Just think about it, okay?”
I nod, knowing we won’t get anywhere with this tonight. He’ll huff and puff, and I’ll buy my bike eventually, and that will settle this argument.
On Wednesday evening, I watch Damon cook as I admire his every move from the sidelines, wondering if after all these months of wishing for more we’re finally there.
Home.
My sister harassed me by text all day yesterday about having her family over for dinner without my dad, who’s still in Seattle. He called me yesterday after hearing the news from Gia, as always. He was sad to have lost his roommate so soon but gave me his blessing—as long as I was happy.
After discussing it with Damon, I told Gia to come over tonight. We’re making spaghetti. I’m placing the garlic bread on a pan before slipping it inside the oven. When I turn, Damon’s stalking toward me, his hands reaching for my waist.
“Are you worried?” He places a strand of hair behind my ear, thumbing my green piercing.
“No,” I whisper. “You already met Gia. Besides, it doesn’t matter what they think.”
“Lies don’t suit you.” He holds me in a tight embrace. I hear myself sigh when he kisses my hair, wishing to keep this moment in my memory box forever.
When my family arrives, James and Damon settle into a conversation about work. I’m devouring my meal when James asks him where we met.
Damon ties our hands together underneath the table as I place my fork down. “I’m her boss.”
“Oh, really?” James asks, and Iknowfor a fact that Gia must’ve told him. Keeping secrets isn’t her forte.
“Technicalities,” I say, waving Damon off. “We work together.”
Damon has the audacity to smirk. I narrow my eyes at him, and he squeezes my hand like he needs the argumentative foreplay.
