Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“What the–?” I jerk it as it moves forward, and the kickstand goes up. “Oh, thank God…” With a quick glance around, I hope no one was watching all this. Thankfully, I appear not to be of interest as I try to remember what’s next. The thing on the throttle says, Kick, Press, Go.
“Fantastic,” I mumble and push it. It instantly jerks forward. Holy shit, it works. My heart pounds with nervous excitement. This machine is my independence. It’s also good for the environment and cheap, win-win.
I swerve around a couple, ignoring them as they yell at me. I might need a little practice, but I’m doing great for a beginner. Just me and the e-scooter, and the wide open road.
“Okay,” I whisper, glancing at the bunch of cars behind me as I cautiously jerk forward and stop at the light. I think I need to stick to the bike lane, and smoothly turn when the light turns green. If I can do that, there should be no problems the rest of the way to Santa Monica.
Jesus, my hands are sweating and kind of aching as I try to relax my grip. Just focus, stay calm, and relax, I chant over and over as the car to my right speeds past me, alerting me that the light is now green, and green means go.
“Don’t panic, just look straight ahead,” I whisper as I push the throttle and move forward, slowly turning. Now that I’m actually on the road, I’m not seeing anything but cars. Just stay in the bike lane. I clutch the handlebars, trying to swallow and not scream as cars fly by me. A loud honk makes me instinctively jerk to the right as an SUV driver flips me off as they pull out of a parking lot.
“Oh my God,” I scream because I’m not in the bike lane, and all I can hear are horns and people yelling. This is how I die. I tried to save money, and I’m going to be run over.
“Get off the road.” A car jerks around me, pulling out into the lane intended for oncoming traffic except for a small window where it’s clear.
“Over that way.” A guy points.
Trying not to look, I jerk my head. But now cars are passing me on the other side, so I can’t do anything but go straight and pray I don’t crash or get plowed into.
“You fucking idiot,” he screams, then guns it forward.
Hot tears spill down my cheeks. I’m clinging to the handlebars. My knees feel like they’re about to buckle, and I’m trying to block out the fact that I’m literally in the middle lane on Pacific Coast Highway with what feels and sounds like hundreds of vehicles honking, their drivers screaming terrible things at me.
“I’m going to die.” Because now it’s just a steady flow of cars. They’re going around me on both sides of the highway…
“Alexandrea.” The warmth of the motorcycle and his strong voice makes me wonder if I’ve lost my mind. Like am I conjuring him up as though it’s my last dying wish?
“Listen to me. I need you to follow everything I say.” His voice is calm and strong. I guess I’m not dead because I can hear him… and I’m about ready to throw up.
“Help me,” I scream, turning to look at him, but his voice stops me as my body instinctively obeys.
“Do not look at me. I need you to stay focused. Don’t take your eyes off the road. Follow my lead, and I’ll get you to safety,” he yells, and suddenly, I’m sweating even more.
“That’s it, Alex, nice and easy. Stay with me.” His voice is like a caress, like a security blanket wrapping around my tired limbs as I maneuver the scooter to the right.
My eyes remain glued to the shiny black bike and Dean Powers’s thigh. He holds up his hand to the traffic and, as though he were a god, all the horns and vehicles seem to obey and stop.
I can’t breathe. I can barely see, but I can feel him as I maneuver the scooter to the right side and into a parking lot with a building that says Fish Market.
Cars whiz by. I’m pretty sure I hear people cheering. I know I hear fuck-yous, but none of that matters as I jump off the scooter and drop my backpack.
I’m alive.
Dean Powers saved me. The world stops as I watch him get off his bike and walk toward me. My eyes connect with his, and suddenly, the oncoming traffic might be safer? If I jump on the scooter, maybe I can get away. No question, I need to run.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls when I start to back away.
Out of nowhere, the terror racing through my veins is nothing compared to the throb between my legs.