Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“Let’s talk nonsense all night, Lilah,” she says. “It’ll be fun.”
And that’s exactly what we do.
11
Thursday
A knock on the door wakes me at midday. It’s a delivery person with a package containing a black leather jacket and a matching helmet, the kind without a visor that leaves the face exposed. At the bottom of the package is a note, See you at four. Alistair.
Just seeing his name makes me smile. The jacket is a sturdy and smooth leather in a simple racer style from a brand I could never afford. The way these people throw money around is something else. I was on a motorcycle once when I was a child. Just around a pasture on a farm owned by my uncle. I’m excited to experience it again as an adult, and for the opportunity to spend time with my purely platonic friend. Knowing your end date makes you bulletproof in a way. For instance, it’s highly unlikely I’ll be involved in a horrible traffic accident today. Unless such an accident were to happen and it put me in a coma and they turned my life support off on Sunday. How fucking macabre. I am going to stop thinking about this now.
Rebecca and I sat up all night. We watched The Vampire Diaries, ate some edibles, and talked about anything and everything.
At six in the morning, we crowded out onto my apartment’s tiny balcony. The last star disappeared as the sky changed colors with the morning light. I can’t remember the last time I saw the dawn, but it was wonderful. Even LA is sort of peaceful at that time of day. Then we crashed. By the time the delivery person woke me, Rebecca had left for home to sleep in her own bed.
What a week. Given the wish-list idea only occurred to me on Sunday, I’ve covered some ground. I got a tattoo, went skateboarding, drove the Pacific Coast Highway in a convertible, tried bowling, drank absinthe, ate food from a Michelin star restaurant, and stayed up all night to watch the sunrise with someone special. On the off chance I die soon, at least I can say I’ve lived.
It’s an overcast afternoon. I’ve always thought clouds are kind of amazing. Their colors and shapes and general moodiness. The way they hang in thin air. When we were little, my brother and I used to lie on the back lawn and search for animals and faces in the clouds. I haven’t thought about that in ages. No idea why it occurs to me now. I need to call him and reminisce.
By the time Alistair arrives, my stomach has been topsy-turvy for over an hour. Being in denial about him hasn’t helped. Therefore, I’ve decided to embrace how big it feels to be seeing him again. As mentioned before, I am having a big-feelings kind of week. But I can and will keep my emotions under control. Something I believe right up until the moment I walk outside to meet him.
Huh. I have a motorcycle fetish now too. Though I have a sneaking suspicion it’s more specific. More Alistair-oriented.
He is at the curb, sitting on a big matte black Triumph motorcycle. Despite its retro design, it’s clearly modern. Alistair is wearing a helmet, and he’s struck a pose that makes the most of his muscular jean-clad thighs. Thank goodness sunglasses hide my ogling eyes. I have no shame when it comes to this man. Still no sign of any paparazzi on the street. No telling how long our luck will hold out. We need to enjoy our time together while we can.
“The jacket looks good,” he remarks with a small smile. “Put the helmet on so I can check the fit.”
I slide it onto my head, and he fusses with the chin strap. “How does that feel, Lilah?”
“Good.”
“Good. Ready to go for a ride?”
I lick my lips and nod. My nerves have obviously not abated. About him or the bike or both—who can tell?
“What’s wrong?” he asks in an amused tone. “Don’t you trust me?”
“I could ask you the same question. Though I have, haven’t I?”
For a moment, there’s nothing but silence between us. Then he holds my chin and stares deep into my eyes. Like he can read the secrets of the universe in my gaze or something. Having his undivided attention remains a hell of a rush. Then, finally, he says with all due seriousness, “Yes, Lilah, I trust you.”
I smile. “Thank you. I trust you too.”
“Hop on,” he says and holds out a hand to me. I swing a leg over the machine and carefully climb on. This is obviously what had me worked up. This moment right here. Because riding on a bike with him means all the bodily contact. We could hardly get closer with our clothes on. The hard line of his back and the breadth of his shoulders. How big and solid his body feels. It’s a wonder I don’t drool.