Page 51 of Dark Verse

“Gross.” I giggle.

His smile widens.

“Actually, it was gross. This bra just comes flying out of the crowd from nowhere and hits me square in the nose.”

“Oh, no!”

“We made the whole thing into a joke for the night, but that was not my favorite gig.”

We continue through room after room of the exhibit, my attention bouncing from Knox to our surroundings to my thoughts. I won’t lie and say that I am not into Knox. I was the first night we met, and that has not changed. But that doesn’t mean I don’t need to think through the implications of where this is headed. All my feelings are too big for a first date, so I compartmentalize them and set them aside for later evaluation, choosing to stay in the moment with him.

Knox and I leave the building and are greeted by the hot, dry air of high summer. The sun is behind the mountains, but it remains bright. The street lamps have not switched on. Still hand in hand, we step out into the parking lot. I see his motorcycle toward the front of the lot.

“Well, this was fun, Knox. Thanks for a good time.”

“Anytime.” He smiles, then pauses before saying, “Can I walk you to your car?”

I point over my shoulder in the general direction of my stop. “I actually took the light-rail to get here.”

“Did something happen to your car?”

“No, it was a rental. I decided to give the public transit system here an honest go.”

“And what’s the verdict?”

“It’s only been a few days, and I do kind of miss that instant freedom a car can give you. But I already don’t miss the cost. The gas, the services, the random things that seem to break as soon as you fix the last thing that broke.”

Knox chuckles.

“I’d like to pretend that having a bike is somehow less expensive than a car, but I swear some days it does not feel that way.”

“It’s beautiful though,” I say, taking in his bike.

I see it in the parking lot all the time, but I have never taken a moment to really stop and look at it. Even though I know next to nothing about the differences between the brands and features, I can still recognize a well-styled machine when I see one. Even stationary, the bike seems to want to move forward. The curved metal is painted in a gradient from black to red, and from afar it gives the illusion that the back end is on fire.

“Thank you.” His expression softens to pleased as we gaze at it together. “I love this bike. I was able to buy it outright with the earnings from our second album.”

I nod but don’t respond, my mind drifting back to the day in my apartment where I spent the entire morning listening to their music.

Knox asks, “Would you like a ride home?”

“There’s only one helmet,” I observe.

His black-and-red helmet hangs from one of the handles, the dark full face shield closed.

“Your head is far more important than mine, so in a pinch, it’s yours.” I open my mouth to argue, but he’s already reaching into the side bag. Knox unzips it quickly and pulls out a second helmet. It looks like the sibling of his, red with black accents and a clear shield.

“So, would you like a ride home?” he repeats. “I promise I’ll get you there safe and sound.”

I’m torn.

Part of me—the inside-my-pants part of me—cannot and will not forget how fast he made me come back in that alley. That part of me is screaming all-caps YES and wants to continue the evening. The functioning part of my brain is reminding me that a yes is a textbook bad decision.

“Yes.”

Denver is different from the back of his motorcycle—closer and more vivid somehow. The street and traffic lights pass in a multicolored blur, the warm summer air pulling at my jacket and catching my long braids. Our helmets make it hard to converse, but I don’t mind. He seems to want to bike to do all the talking, revving the engine unexpectedly and accelerating from every red light like we’re in a race. It’s both scary and exhilarating, but I keep my occasional startled gasp firmly behind closed lips. I can’t stop my grip from tightening around his waist, drawn in by both his smell and the motion of the motorcycle under me.

My apartment is twenty minutes away, but Knox takes a roundabout way to get there, so it’s a full half hour before we finally slow and pull up in front of my building. Knox cuts the engine. The aggressive purring is gone, replaced by soft ticking.