Fearless (10 page)

Chapter 10

Niki

Jenna had just called to let me know that they were going to run the article in Sunday’s paper and I was giddy with excitement. Jesse would be so pleased. Apparently the editor loved the story so much it was set to be the featured article in the
Life and Health
section. I wanted to tell him in person so I texted him to invite him for lunch and some afternoon fun. Thursday was my short day of classes at school and Jesse had already arranged for Chase to cover for him at Rookies.

He immediately texted back:

“
I was just about to text you, babe! I have a surprise. I’m taking you to Malibu. Wear jeans and no sandals. XOXO”

Jeans, no sandals? Highly unusual for a hot summer day. He had never told me what to wear before, but I would’ve worn a winter coat for Jesse if he’d asked me. With one quick jerk I flung off my summer dress and changed into a top and jeans.

Ten minutes later I got another text:

“I’m here. Meet me downstairs.”

My curiosity was piqued by all this mystery and I was excited to spend the afternoon with Jesse. I skipped down the stairs. When I landed outside I pulled up short as I approached the parking lot.

You’ve gotta be kidding me.

I expected to be greeted by Jesse’s huge truck, but instead he was sitting, with his legs spread, straddling the seat of a huge motorcycle. He looked sharp; no, hot
.
Damn hot in black jeans and black shirt. He wore dark leather gloves with a cut-out on the back side and as he pulled off the helmet, long stray locks of hair fell in his eyes. I walked the rest of the way to the bike with a huge grin on my face. Motorcycles just exuded the words ‘bad boy’ and as I approached a shiver went down my spine. I had actually never ridden on a motorcycle before.

“Where did you get
this
?” I admired its glistening chrome, sparkling in the sun. I supposed chrome, for men, was the equivalent of what bling was for women.
Big boys and their big toys.

“Isn’t it badass?” He flipped down the kickstand and swung one leg wide to dismount. “It’s Kenny’s. He’s letting me borrow it. Crazy, I know. The cancer must have gotten to his brain,” he said with a smile.

“Jesse, that’s terrible. Chemo is not something to joke about.”

“Ah, I don’t mean it. He’ll be fine. In fact, when this is over, he’ll be better than new. He
is
getting my awesome bone marrow, you know.”

He slipped an arm around my waist and brushed his lips against mine.

“Are you sure it’s only your bone marrow he’ll get with the transplant, and not your
cocky
attitude, too?” I teased.

Jesse’s steel blue eyes danced under his dark brow; his lips curved, as if the question gave him mischievous ideas, and he shrugged.

He removed an old, scratched helmet that had been secured to the backrest with a bungee rope and held it out for me. “Come on, girl. Let’s blow this Popsicle stand. Jump aboard. You get the ‘bitch seat.’ He nodded to the back seat, behind his.

I tucked my chin in and looked up at him like, ‘oh no you didn’t.’

“Okay, but if I turn into a royal biatch while sitting there, don’t blame me.”

He smiled and opened the chin straps to help me with helmet. “Hold on…” I dug in my purse for a pony holder. I’d seen girls on the back of motorcycles, with their hair flying all crazy in the wind, whipping it into a million split ends. I tied mine into a low ponytail and slung the long strap of my purse diagonally across my body. Jesse helped me as I slid the helmet on my head, fastening the chin strap for me as if I were a little child.

“There you go, baby.” He stepped back and gave me the once over. “Ouw, mamma! You look like a hard core, bad ass chick in that helmet!”

“Yeah right. I’ll make believe that’s true for like two more seconds.” I waved him away and wagged my head, side to side, testing out the feel of it. I was unaccustomed to the heavy weight of the helmet and I imagined I must have looked like one of those bobble-head figurines as I moved to mount the bike.

“Let me get on first and start it up, then you can hop on.” He pushed his hair back with his hand and slipped on his helmet with the ease of someone who had done it a hundred times before. It struck me that he
was
a professional, very well-known for his sport, almost like a movie star. His machismo was staggering as he slung one leg over the seat and gripped the handlebars.

A spike of nervous energy passed through me, partially from fear of the unknown and partially from the goose bumps Jesse gave me. And okay, maybe I was a little excited to do something out of my comfort zone.

“I don’t know. I have never ridden a bike before.”

I am such a whiney bitch
.

Oh God. I’m not even on it and the damn seat is already earning its name.

“Come on. It’ll be great. Just hold on to me.” Another rush of energy as he turned the key in the ignition and the beast rumbled to life. “Trust me. You’re with an expert, baby.”

I swallowed the moisture in my mouth. “Promise me you won’t do anything dangerous.”

“I promise. Now, get on the bike!”

Yikes! I placed one hand on Jesse’s shoulder to anchor myself and stepped my left foot on the peg, swinging my other one up and over like I was mounting a horse. At least I had done
that
before. I could do this.

Equipped with the helmet, squashing my hair out of shape, we rode towards Pacific Coast Highway, which would take us to Malibu. It was exhilarating. I was astounded at how good it felt. It opened me up, just like Jesse. I was at a point in my life where I was stretching my limits, going for what I wanted, trusting my own gut and living life my way. Getting on the back of the motorcycle was just another avenue to push myself out of my comfort zone and be willing to be vulnerable.

The wind in my face felt refreshing and sitting there, with my arms around Jesse’s firm and tight torso, made it even better. Every muscle on him was rock solid and sitting with my legs spread apart, so close behind him, I could feel and smell everything about him. All that, mixed with the mild engine vibrations I felt through the seat reverberating between my legs, made something hot and wild twitch in my core. Now I understood the allure of these machines. One big ‘cock extension’ for the guys and a very sensual experience for the girl riding in the…oh what the hell, the bitch seat.

“Not too bad, right?” Jesse asked, turning his head to the side and trying to out yell the wind.

“Hell, yes! It feels good.”

The bike slowed as we approached a T-intersection with a red light.

“Watch this.” Jesse snaked the bike in between two rows of cars, splitting lanes on the PCH, waiting for the light to turn green. When he pulled up to the line, we were positioned right next to a red convertible Ferrari.

A young, tan guy with tousled, Justin Bieber hair shouted from the Ferrari in Jesse’s direction, “Nice ride!” His passenger sat next to him, with a stone face in dark sunglasses, looking dead ahead.

Jesse nodded and gave his thank you with a twist of the throttle and the engine revved. “Fuckin A!” Jesse called out and gave the ‘shaka’ hand gesture, a short shake of the hand with the pinky and thumb extended to the guy. I don’t speak ‘guy-talk’ but I was pretty sure it meant, ‘I like your Ferrari too, dude.’ There was so much testosterone whipping in the wind, right there on the PCH, it could’ve been wrung out of the air.

I heard the taunting pitch of the Ferrari’s V-12 engine as it whined, ramping up its revolutions.
Oh shit
. Justin Bieber just threw down a challenge.

“Think you can take me?” He called back with a, ‘Hi, I’m young and stupid’ smirk.

Jesse gave a quick pat to my left thigh and cranked down on the throttle again. “Any time, dude. You’re toast.”

And why does Jesse think this is a good idea? Panic entered my brain. So much for pushing my limits. I can’t die today. I have an appointment to get my nails done tomorrow. “No, Jesse. Don’t!” I screamed.

Jesse’s helmet pointed straight ahead. No doubt he had his eye trained on the traffic light. The two engines whirred and screamed as they spun up, waiting for the light to change. Jesse leaned slightly forward, gunning the Harley’s unique twin engines, poised to slam it in first gear. He was fearless. The engines of the bike and the car roared back and forth to each other, like dueling pianos on steroids.

I was now sure my life was over. This was it. In a second, the light would change and I’d be dead or in a wheelchair for the rest of my life.

I squeezed my eyes shut tightly.

Oh shit
.

Help me, Jesus
.

Why can’t I be more like Jesse and seize the day?

Before I knew it, the light turned green and the Ferrari blasted off the line, racing down the road with us cruising a mediocre forty-five mph behind. My heart was pounding out of my chest. Jesse didn’t race. The taillights of the red Italian sports car were already out of sight.

I relaxed my death grip from around his waist and slumped forward against his back. “You scared the shit out of me. Why didn’t you go?” I shouted so he could hear through the helmet.

Jesse shifted into high gear and sank back in his seat to cruise for several miles, one hand on the throttle and his left hand resting casually on his thigh. He turned his head to the left and shouted over the wind, “I’m not an idiot. There’s no way a Harley can take a Ferrari. I was just messing with that guy.”

I smiled. I chastised myself for distrusting Jesse. He might be impulsive and reckless when it came to bar fights, but I was glad to learn he wasn’t that way with me.

The PCH was a beautiful stretch of winding highway that led up the Coast of California. It was a perfect scenic route to enjoy, on a warm day, with the jagged ocean cliffs and cresting waves completely in open view from the backseat of a motorcycle. Breathtakingly beautiful. Jesse reached back with his left hand and stroked my thigh, wedged up against his side. His large hand easily palmed the top of my knee and he stroked up and down my jean covered leg, his thumb nearly reaching all the way up between my legs on the up stroke. Bitch seat my ass…this was more like a massage with a happy ending.

No sooner had we pulled out of a sharp bend in the road when we caught sight of a sports car, pulled over on the side of the road. It was none other than Justin Bieber and his red Ferrari, alongside a California Highway Patrol motorcycle cop. The CHP officer had probably been waiting just around the bend, with his radar gun pointed at oncoming traffic. That was their usual M.O. I had seen it numerous times before on California streets and highways. Jesse waved at the driver as we passed, traveling at a smooth sixty miles an hour.

Jesse turned his head again to shout back to me, “Baby, you’re my guardian angel. I would’ve given that guy a run for his money if you hadn’t have been here.”

I pulled my arms tighter around Jesse’s waist, enjoying every moment. The craggy, creaking sound of the steel doors to my heart could practically be heard above the wind blasting past us, as they opened a little more. I had never felt this free and happy before.

~*~*~*~

We stopped at a cute little Italian restaurant called Mi Piazzi on the PCH, just outside Malibu. As we entered we were greeted by an elderly host, who looked as if he had just got off the boat from Italy.

“Buongiorno. I have just the perfect table for you two.” His accent was thick and absolutely authentic. I took Jesse’s hand as we were led through the restaurant to our table, on the patio with an ocean view. The sound of squawking seagulls filtered through the air as I watched them dive and peck at people’s lunches, down on the beach, below. The crash of the waves, the sand, being on a motorcycle adventure with Jesse - what could be more romantic?

Jesse stared at me intently. The expression on his handsome face was pure satisfaction after his motorcycle ride. He told me it was his first real experience back on a bike after his injury, other than taking the bike for a test drive after he fixed it. My belly twinged as I stared back at him, and the hope in his eyes swirled into future possibilities of many more days with me on the back of a bike. Phrases like, ‘motorcycle mamma’ and ‘his old biker lady’ sprang, with horror, into my mind. Eeww! That wasn’t my self-image; but it tickled me nonetheless, as a humorous juxtaposition against my stylish fashion design persona.

Scolding myself for being so quick to judge, I entertained the idea of donning a tube top and black leather chaps. Getting really tan to show off my abs, so Jesse would drool over me in super low rise jeans that curved just right over the rise of my ass. It could happen. I reconsidered as I pictured myself wearing lots of silver studded black leather. I could rock that look.

I swallowed hard, coming back to myself, wondering if Jesse noticed my little flight of fantasy. I touched my hand lightly to my throat and blinked, redirecting my attention to Jesse’s voice.

“I love this restaurant. It reminds me of a little tavern I used to dine at when I was in Italy last year.”

Italy? Now that sounded super romantic.

“How long were you there?”

“A week. We had a few extra days between races so I stayed longer than normal. It was like a mini vacation. I can’t wait to go back.”

“It must be amazing, traveling the world and getting paid for it,” I said.

“You would think so, but most of the time you don’t see much, except for airports, hotel rooms and the track. It’s really not all it’s cracked up to be. I don’t do it for the travelling, sightseeing, or even the money. Racing is in my blood. I live for it. No matter how bad my day has been, when I get on that bike, my day is instantly so much better.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “That’s why it was so frustrating for me to be injured,” he said casting his gaze towards the ocean view.

“Which do you like to race better, Supercross or Motocross? I mean, I don’t really know the difference.”