Wicked
Page 42

My eyes grew to the size of saucers. There were no words. None whatsoever.
"You like me." Letting go, he smiled up at me, that angelic face a picture of innocence. "You just aren't ready to admit it."
All I could think as I gawked at him was, what an observant son of a bitch.
Chapter Ten
The first thing I discovered after ignoring what Ren had just said and done was that there was no graceful way to get on a bike. Not like Ren had done it. I almost kneed him in the back as I climbed up behind him. The second thing I learned came after I put the helmet on and Ren did the same. They were wired with microphones. High tech right there. But the final thing was when I sat rigid behind him, my thighs resting against the outer length of his—I had no idea where to put my hands.
"Ivy," he said, clearly amused. "You're going to have to hold on to me and get closer or you're going to fly off this bike, sweetness."
"Don't call me that." I ignored his answering chuckle as I lightly placed my hands on the sides of his waist—his extremely hard waist. Under my fingers, I could feel the outline of daggers, but I could also tell there wasn't an ounce of fat on his waist.
Ren grabbed my wrists and yanked my arms forward, forcing me to slide on the back until my thighs cradled his ass. My eyes went wide as he folded my arms in front of him, just below his navel.  "There," he said. "This is how you ride."
My breasts pressed against his back, and I was grateful for the helmet shielding my burning face. "I'm pretty sure I don't have to be this close."
He chuckled and then the motorcycle hummed to life under us. My heart jumped unsteadily. Out of all the crazy things I did for my job, I'd never been on a motorcycle, and I wasn't quite sure what to expect.
"I'm taking your cherry, aren't I?" he asked.
I rolled my eyes. "Classy."
Another rolling laugh came through the speaker, and then we were off. Ren did not ease me into the experience. He kicked off the training wheels and tossed me face first into it. My arms tightened around him on their own, and at first, I squeezed my eyes shut as he headed for the busiest streets in the Quarter. I didn't want to see all the people I knew we were narrowly missing, but the wind—the rush of air over my fingers and bare arms was too tantalizing. After a minute or so, I pried my eyes open.
Stores and people blurred by in a dizzying stream, and it was frightening and crazy how fast we were going, but it was . . . it was also amazing. I turned my head, eyes wide as I soaked it all in. There was something freeing about this. Was that why so many people rode motorcycles? I wanted to know what it felt like to have the wind in my hair. However, I wasn't brave or stupid enough to whip off the helmet. The tension eased out of my thighs and shoulders, and I knew I could lean back without toppling off, but I didn't.
I could feel the power in the corded muscles of Ren's back as they tensed and rolled. Under my folded hands, I felt his taut stomach jump every couple of minutes, as if his body was unconsciously reacting to something.
"Hanging in there?" asked Ren.
I nodded like an idiot at first. "Yeah. I actually . . . I really like this."
"You should be on the back when I get this thing out in the open and really crank up the speed." As he coasted to an idling stop at a light, he reached down and squeezed my joined hands. "It's like flying."
My heart took a tumble. I couldn't find the words to respond as we started moving again, crossing Canal. I knew we had to be heading into the business district, down where we'd seen the ancient that had been masquerading as a developer.
"I've been keeping an eye on our friend," Ren explained as we idled in traffic. "Around seven every night, sometimes at eight, he leaves the hotel and heads to a club called Flux a couple of streets down. Heard of it?"
Sounded like a place Val would hang out. "No. It could be new, but I don't go to a lot of the clubs in town."
"And here I thought you were a regular party animal," he said, tone light and teasing.
"What about you?"
"I did the whole drinking and partying thing before I turned twenty-one." He reached down, patting my bent knee. "Drove my parents crazy. Looking back, I was a fucking brat. They were off risking their lives and dealing with me coming home drunk off my ass. Surprised they didn't murder me in my sleep." He laughed, mostly to himself. "But you know how it was. We went to public school but always had to come home straight afterward."
"To train." I cringed, recalling my high school years. Kids had thought I was weird because I never got involved in any afterschool stuff, didn't go to games, and only hung out with other kids whose parents were in the Order—other kids like me. All and all, it wasn't that bad for me.
"We really didn't have much of a life. So I acted out." His shoulders rose. "At least I got it out of my system. I still like a beer or a drink, but getting shitfaced isn't a priority. What about you?"
"It had its rough moments, but it was okay. I had . . ." I didn't let myself finish. I'd been lucky because I had Shaun, first as a friend and then as more. "I don't drink that much now. Don't really like the taste."
He was quiet, and it was just the idling of the engine. "Your parents still alive?"  I asked.
"Yeah. And yes, they're still a part of the Elite." There was a pause. "What about you?"