Falling for my Biker Roommate

19

The morning after the wine felt heavier than it should have.

I woke up with a dull headache and the taste of regret still on my tongue. Not from the bottles. From the question neither of us had answered. Never have I ever thought about the person across from me in the shower. Both of us had kept our hands up. Both of us had lied with our silence.

I dragged myself to the kitchen and found Leo already there, back to me, pouring coffee. He wore a black T-shirt and the same low jeans from last night. His hair was still damp from a shower. The smell of his soap mixed with the coffee and made my stomach twist.

“Morning,” he said without turning around.

“Morning.”

He handed me a mug. Our fingers brushed. Neither of us pulled away fast enough. The air between us still carried last night’s almost. I took the coffee and leaned against the counter, staring at the floor.

“Truck’s in the shop,” he said after a long sip. “Need to pick up the order from the seafood guy up the coast. You coming or staying?”

I should have stayed. Distance was safer.

“I’ll come.”

Twenty minutes later I was on the back of the Harley with my arms around his waist and my chest pressed to the solid line of his back. The engine rumbled under us. Wind whipped past my helmet. Every curve of the coastal highway pressed me tighter against him. I tried not to notice how warm he felt through the leather cut. I tried not to breathe in the scent of him that always clung to the jacket.

I failed at both.

We rode for almost an hour before he pulled off at a familiar overlook. The same one he always stopped at when he needed to clear his head. He killed the engine. The sudden quiet felt loud. I climbed off on unsteady legs and pulled the helmet off. Salt air and the sound of waves filled the space between us.

Leo stayed on the bike for a second longer, both hands still on the handlebars, staring at the water.

“You good?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

He finally swung his leg over and stood. We walked to the wooden railing without speaking. The ocean stretched out endless and gray-blue under the morning sun. I gripped the wood and tried to ignore how close he stood.

“About last night,” he started.

I cut him off. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“Probably safer that way.”

“Definitely safer.”

Silence settled again. A gust of wind pushed my hair across my face. Leo reached out like he was going to brush it back, then dropped his hand at the last second and shoved it into his pocket instead.

I hated how much I noticed the almost.

We stayed there longer than we needed to. When we finally got back on the bike my arms went around him again like they belonged there. The rest of the ride to the supplier felt both too long and not long enough. He talked to the old man about crab and oysters while I waited by the bike, watching the way the sun hit the side of his face and trying not to remember the feel of his mouth on mine in the stairwell.

On the way home the tension sat thicker than the coastal fog.

He parked in the alley behind the restaurant and cut the engine. Neither of us moved right away. My hands were still resting lightly on his waist. I could feel the rise and fall of his breathing.

“Lily.”

“Yeah?”

He turned his head just enough that I could see the muscle working in his jaw. For one wild second I thought he was going to say something real. Something that matched the way he had kissed me like he was starving.

Instead he cleared his throat and nodded toward the back door.

“We should get these inside before the ice melts.”

I let go of him and climbed off. My legs felt shaky. We carried the coolers into the walk-in without talking. Every time our shoulders brushed, the same current ran through me. When the last box was stacked he shut the heavy door and we stood in the cold air staring at each other like two people who had run out of safe things to say.

“I should shower before service,” I said.

“Yeah. Me too.”

I walked upstairs first. Behind me I heard him let out a long breath, the kind that sounded like it hurt.

In my room I sat on the edge of the bed with my helmet still in my hands and tried to remember how to pretend this was still simple.

It wasn’t.

And both of us knew it.