The Duality Principle (13 page)

Chapter Thirteen

Connor pulled on his helmet and straddled his bike. August was closing in around him. He could feel it from inside his riding jacket—the humidity already a little less noticeable, the season coming to an end. Tourists were still everywhere, desperate in their attempts to enjoy what remained of summer until the back-to-school signs herded them home.

Connor felt the same desperation too.

He knocked back the kickstand with one leg and cranked the Yamaha to life. The four-cylinders purred into action under him, just like he’d known they would when he rebuilt it.

The guy who’d nearly destroyed this beautiful machine didn’t know shit about bikes. It had probably been a midlife crisis purchase, a whim he’d gone and spent fourteen grand on in an attempt to feel young again. He’d brought it into the shop, banged up and on the back of a flatbed. The engine had seized on the ramp to 95 and that’s when it rolled. Jerry, Connor’s boss, promised the guy he had the best mechanics in Portland, but the owner didn’t care about fixing it. He just wanted to know how much it was worth.

Connor brought the Yamaha into the back. He’d never loved the bikes he worked on, but this one spoke to him somehow. It was a year out of the dealership at most, with smooth lines, charcoal black from end to end. A more thorough inspection proved that the engine wasn’t busted but had probably been raced down the street before the oil had a chance to warm up, still thick and cold and unable to do its job. The dipshit out front had taken crappy care of it, never even did so much as an oil change. There was some corrosion too, but that was common in coastal areas because of all the sea salt in the air. The scratches were minor, something that could be fixed with some chrome polish and elbow grease. It would need work, but it wasn’t trashed.

He’d gone out front and given Jerry his analysis: internal damage, scored main bearings, a shitload of valves bent. Even in good condition, it would have depreciated to half its worth, but with the engine rebuild and other work needing to be done, they should take another two grand off the top. It was obvious the owner had lost his taste for riding, though, and just wanted to be rid of it. It wasn’t much of a surprise that when Jerry threw a number at him that wasn’t even in the ballpark of reality, the guy went for it.

Connor started working on it right away. The bike reminded him a little of himself—beaten up, taken care of by someone who had no business riding it and then rejected. He needed to fix that bike, needed to see it returned to its former glory. He came in early when he didn’t have class, worked past his afternoon shift late into the night. Once the rebuild was done, he took it out for a test. It didn’t make any horrible noises and accelerated decently enough to make him happy with his work. But it seemed hard to let the handlebars go when he rumbled back into the shop, and Jerry had known the look in his eyes right away.

He put it on layaway for Connor. Slivers of his paycheck went to keeping it under a tarp in the back of the garage. The summer before he met Gabby, the bike was finally his.

Connor slid his boots onto the footrests, found his balance and sped off. Now he knew what his father had felt when he was riding—the freedom, the heady exhilaration. It made him understand Travis a little better when the Yamaha went from stationary to sixty in two-point-eight flat. He eased back, taking it easy on the throttle since he didn’t have far to go. Harnessing the bike’s energy, however, was almost as hard as tapping into the control he needed for what was happening tonight. And for tomorrow too.

His stomach tightened in anticipation of where he’d be this time tomorrow, with the dinner hour in front of him and Gabby on her way back to Cambridge.

They’d had an amazing summer together after that crazy, confusing first week. It seemed like years ago, after all the things they’d packed into the weeks that followed. She’d been busy reworking her thesis, and Connor had used the time while she was working to read up on search engine optimization, enjoying the quiet of her grandmother’s house and watching Gabby think. She talked to herself sometimes, especially when trying to reason something out. It was one of her little quirks he’d come to adore, one of the many things that made air catch in his chest at the same time as blood rushed down to his dick. He’d had to practice the art of patience more times than he could count, letting her work when he’d much rather have been working
her
over.

To be honest, they’d done plenty of that too. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out she had a thing for doing it in places they might get caught. He could have kicked himself for misreading all the signs she was giving him in the beginning. He’d made up for it, though, against the windows of her bedroom, in her car, and even once on her front porch after finding some creative positioning and a blanket to cover them up. At the first beach bonfire party they’d gone to together, she’d sat down between his legs and leaned back against him, her hand snaking back behind her, nails scraping over the zipper of his fly. He’d hissed and hauled her up from the sand, ignoring the way Jamie and Dean smirked at them as he led Gabby to the abandoned lifeguard stand.

He still remembered the way her legs felt wrapped around him that night, the way her fingers dug into his back, and him unable to keep his eyes open, clutching the slatted wood they were braced against, something more powerful than an orgasm taking over him.

He was sure he’d never forget how she carried herself at dinner with his grandparents the week after that, either, with a poise that so easily covered the bad girl underneath. Or maybe it wasn’t a cover. Maybe it was just Gabby, both angel and devil, never all one or the other, and Connor enjoyed getting to be both sides of himself with her too—proper when necessary and letting loose when they were alone.

His grandparents loved her, of course, and Connor thought he might feel the same way, although that wasn’t a word he and Gabby ever exchanged. Wondering if he loved her, and if it was possible she felt the same way about him, was what helped propel his doubts along during their other adventures. She’d said she wanted to feel the open road like he did and asked him to ride them out to a hike in the White Mountains. They’d gone to Jerry’s and Connor showed her all the body armor she’d need. Seeing her in a riding jacket and gloves nearly had him rubbing one off in the shop’s dingy bathroom. She looked damn good in leather and even hotter when she topped it off with a helmet. He decided to upgrade his helmet too, and insisted on paying for both of them, splurging on a matched set with Bluetooth integration so they could talk during the ride.

They’d set out early one Saturday morning, her voice in his ear, arms tight around his waist as she marveled over the quality of the helmet, how it channeled the air around her head. She said she’d always wondered how he’d stopped from getting dehydrated in the heat. He’d replied something about soaking his shirt under his clothes and the brilliance of his grandfather’s advice on showers, but talking about being naked and wet with Gabby while he was supposed to be focusing on the road was a formula for disaster. It was already difficult enough to concentrate with her body pressed against his back, her legs split open on either side of him. He had to pull over, had to insist on changing into the bathing suits they’d stashed in her backpack. He’d carried her laughing into the crisp, cool mountain run-off that cut a rocky path between Lincoln and Conway, warming her with his body over hers and his hand down her bikini. It was either that or they’d both have become smudges somewhere on the Kancamagus Highway.

They’d come back to his house later that evening to find it empty. A note from his grandparents had been left on the dining room table saying they’d gone down to Ogunquit for an impromptu overnight getaway.

“You can hop in the shower if you want,” he told her. “I need to clean the drive chain.”

“I’ll wait. I want to watch.”

“Seriously? It’s pretty basic. And kind of sticky and messy too.”

She’d smiled coyly and followed him back into the garage. “Fine by me.”

Connor chuckled. Only Gabby could turn something as grime-filled and boring as oiling a chain into something hot and sexy. She settled herself onto the floor while he set the bike up on its stand. He peeled off his riding jacket and shirt, changing into one of the ratty tanks he wore for greasy jobs before bending down and starting to work. He could feel Gabby’s eyes on him, and he smirked. The shirt made his arms look good and he knew it.

“Any idea why it’s best to lube after a ride, not before?” he asked her.

“I would have thought it would be the other way around.”

“No, you do it after because then the chain is nice and hot. The lube penetrates better into the links that way.”

“Penetrate,” she said.

He turned to grin at her. “That’s what I said.” The words were innocent enough, but he could see them affecting her already, through the quickening of her breaths and the way her eyes changed. Fuzzy, drunk with lust.

She got up on her knees and crawled closer to him. Connor felt himself thicken, hardening for her despite how, only hours before, she’d had her fingers wrapped around him in the water. Crazy, the shit this girl could do to him.

“Anything else you want to—” she bit his earlobe, “—penetrate?”

“Maybe. What did you have in mind?”

She moved in close. He could feel her hot breath over the span of his shoulder. Then she bent low and sparked her tongue out over his bicep, licking slowly across his tattoo. He groaned. The chain could wait.

With grease still on his fingers, he stripped her down. She didn’t mind the way he ran an oily line between her breasts, painting her in the markings of his past, or how he left handprints behind on her sides when he stopped to pull a condom from his pocket. She’d taken the reins then, yanked down his pants and boxers, and climbed on top of him. She even took his dirty hands in hers and dragged them back to her hips, silently asking him to guide her movements, to set the pace. He complied, happy to take the chill of the cement floor against his back if it meant he got to watch Gabby writhe above him, to feel her tighten when she got close and hear her tiny gasps when she got even closer. He arched up and fisted his hand in her hair, knowing exactly what it would take to push her to the edge, and swallowed her moans with a kiss that took him over as well.

She was still trembling when he picked her up and sat her down on the bike, her long legs splayed out on either side of it, back slippery against the leather. She tried to shimmy away from him when he started to play with her clit, saying she was too sensitive to go again, but he knew she could. He knew her body, knew all its cues. Her eyes slid closed and that crush of emotion he’d felt at the bonfire returned—a compression that seemed to force its way through him from the inside out. It was a need to be closer, to solder his bond to her. To quiet the doubts that told him these adventures they were having were no more than just that. That Gabby didn’t think he was the best thing that ever happened to her, because if she did, how could he ever believe her? She was still the kind of girl who went beyond his wildest expectations. The kind he still thought he could never have. She hadn’t mentioned anything about what was going to happen after the summer ended, and the thought of her leaving wrecked him so thoroughly he almost couldn’t breathe.

She’d pulsed against his fingers, and he’d squeezed his eyes shut, mouthing the words
I love you
.

Connor sped around the corner and found Gabby waiting outside her grandmother’s house. She’d thought it wasn’t going to be hers to stay in much longer, but tonight was going to change all that. She turned toward him as he pulled up on the driveway, her riding gear on, helmet balanced against her hip.

He flipped up his visor. “You ready?”

She tucked an envelope into the inside pocket of her jacket and zipped it up. “Hell yeah.”

She climbed on behind him, and he could feel her energy, her excitement. He’d almost seen that light go out in her the week before, when her parents had called, telling her an interested buyer had put an offer on the house, and they were overnighting some paperwork for her to sign. It was a proviso in her grandmother’s will, stipulating that if a decision were made to sell the house, everyone in the family would have to be in agreement about it, including Gabby.

She’d never known the clause existed before. She hadn’t signed it. She hadn’t told her parents that when they’d come up today to finalize the deal with the buyer, either.

Connor put a little more kick in the engine as they flew past the restaurant where her parents were waiting, hoping they heard the buzz and wrinkled their disapproving, holier-than-thou noses at it. He found a spot halfway up the block, and Gabby shook her hair out of her helmet but didn’t look at him. She was steeling herself, pulling down the gates and rolling up the drawbridge to her emotions. He knew she was only doing it so she didn’t get hurt. Hell, he’d done it himself a million times before, but he didn’t like it. He had so little time left with her, and he wanted to spend it with her shining.

He took her hand in his and squeezed.

Inside the restaurant, her parents were waiting at a table by the window. Her hand tightened around his when her mother zeroed in on them, gawking as she took Connor in, from his boots to his helmet-mussed hair. Gabby had told them she was bringing someone to dinner, and her mother had apparently been ecstatic at another prospect for a suitable husband, but it was obvious she didn’t like what she saw. Connor wanted to grin and say,
That’s right, I’m the one your daughter’s been with all summer
, but this wasn’t his night to be the rebel. It was Gabby’s.

“Hi,” she said when they reached the table. Her father skirted his gaze over the edge of the menu then looked back down at it, just as Gabby had predicted. God, these people were such shits.

“Who’s this?” her mother asked. She looked a little like Gabby, with the same blonde hair, although Connor had a feeling at her age, the color came out of the bottle. Her mouth was the same shape as Gabby’s too, but thinner and meaner-looking, her lips pressed into a sneer.