Cherry Red Summer (Emely and Elyas Book 1) (35 page)

Me, drive? This contraption? Um, no!

I was quick to shake my head.

“It’s easier than it looks,” he said.

“That’s what someone who already knows how says,” I mumbled. “Plus, everyone will be worried about where we are.”

“Oh, those guys are all over the hills and far away now,” he said. “Come on, scoot up.”

“No, Elyas. Seriously, no.”

“Just scoot forward. I’ll explain what you have to do, and then I’ll leave the choice of driving entirely up to you.”

“I don’t know
. . .
” I looked at the bike under me, but Elyas’s encouraging smile, combined with my wish not to seem like a wimp in front of him, ultimately won out. I scooted forward, and my legs dangled in the air. “Oh God, I can’t even touch the ground!”

Elyas sighed and swung on behind me. His stomach lightly touched my back, and I felt a shower of shivers down my spine.

He took off his helmet. “You’re not supposed to stand; you drive,” he pointed out.

“That’s incredibly helpful,” I replied, looking at the handlebars covered with switches and knobs. Could I fly this thing to the moon?

“Now don’t get freaked out,” he said. “I’ll be sitting here behind you the whole time, and in case of an emergency I can put my feet down if necessary.”

Elyas was sitting right behind me, and I wasn’t supposed to freak out? Pff!

“No, seriously, we’d better change places again,” I blurted.

“Emely,” he said. “Take a deep breath. It’s not that bad. Just look at the controls, and if you’re still not comfortable, we can switch places, all right?”

I whined internally but nodded. He held out his hands, undid the strap under my chin, and pulled my helmet off. “Have you ever driven something with two wheels before?” he asked, resting his hands on his thighs.

“You mean, apart from a bicycle?” I replied in a high voice.

He grinned, slowly lowering his head to look over my shoulder at the controls. My pulse raced, and I could feel his cheek in my hair.

“Good, then we’ll start step by step with an introductory class, OK?” He spoke calmly, making me feel like we had all the time in the world. I breathed in and nodded.

“All right,” he started. “The gas is under your right hand, but you already know that.”

I said yes, happy he was taking the
introductory
part seriously.

“OK, so if you look at your left hand, can you see how it looks like a little handbrake?”

“That’s the clutch, right?” I asked. At least, that’s what it seemed like from my two motorcycle rides so far.

“You’re not as clueless as you act,” he said.

“Yes, I am!” I said. I didn’t want him to think he could skip to more advanced instructions. I looked at the handlebars but couldn’t find what I was looking for. “Where is the gearshift?” I asked.

“Under your left foot,” he answered, looking down with me. “Do you see this lever thing? That’s your gearshift. Put your foot on it once.”

I frowned. “That’s how you shift?”

“Yeah. It takes a little getting used to, but if you can drive a car with a stick, you’ll pick this up pretty fast.”

“If?” I gulped.

“You can only shift one gear up or down at a time. So it’s not like in a car, where you can shift from first to third. Right now it’s in neutral,” he continued. “If you press the foot lever down, you’ll be in first gear. If you move it up, it’ll go into second and third, and so on. But to start with, first gear is all we need.”

I nodded. I had understood the theoretical portion of the class. The applied portion looked a lot harder.

“Very nice,” he said, winking at me through the rearview mirror.

“Now this is the brake,” he said, pointing to the pedal my foot was on. Having my foot on the brake was never a bad idea. “OK, that’s the most important stuff. Let’s turn the engine on now.”

“What?” I began to sweat.

“We’re just turning it on,” he said.

I felt queasy, but listened to the beguiling voice behind me and started the engine.

“Now add a little gas so you get a feel for it.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Don’t worry. It’s not in gear—nothing can happen.”

Oh God. Elyas definitely had guts. I took a deep breath and turned my hand to put on the gas. The engine rumbled.

“Not so gently,” he said. “Don’t be afraid; you can really turn it.”

I sighed and did as I was told.

“It’s got some power. Can you feel it?”

I nodded, wide-eyed.

“You don’t need to be afraid. You only need to put on that much gas when we get going in a second,” he said.

“We should probably put another twenty hours of practice in before we even
think
about driving!”

He smiled, still calm. “I have full confidence in you. You can do it.”

“What if I break Andy’s bike?”

“You won’t,” he said. “Have you forgotten already? I’ll be sitting right here behind you, paying attention.”

How could I forget he was sitting right behind me? I was more worried I would forget I was sitting on a motorcycle.

I could feel it in the suspension when Elyas bent to the side to pick up my helmet. He handed it to me and then grabbed his own and put it back on.

“Now, squeeze the clutch,” he said. I put on my helmet, and did as he had explained.

“OK, now put it into first gear. But do
not
release the clutch yet! Only when I tell you to, OK?”

I nodded and trembled as I put my foot on the gearshift lever. “Down, right?”

“Exactly,” he said. The sound of the engine changed. It was threatening.

“Is it in?” I asked.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “Very good! Now, keep squeezing the clutch.”

“Elyas,” I started. “I know it would be smarter not to as
k . . .
but just for the sake of protocol: What would happen if I let go of the clutch?”

He grinned. “Nothing bad,” he said. “Do you remember the little stall we had before we set out this morning?”

I nodded. The stall that had resulted in his body pressing against mine; I wouldn’t forget that anytime soon.

“The same thing would happen,” he said. I felt relieved, but then he continued. “It could get dicey, though, if you got fazed or scared and turned the gas. We might end up doing a wheelie or something, and we don’t want to do any wheelies, am I right?”

No, we definitely don’t want to do any wheelies!
My hand was getting tired of holding the clutch in. It was as though I were holding a grenade.

“I didn’t mean to alarm you. Just keep the clutch in, and nothing can happen, all right?”

“Hey, uh, Elyas
. . . ,
” I stammered. “I just reconsidered.
You’re
driving!”

Elyas laughed and shook his head.

“Stop making fun of me.”

“You think I’m making fun of you? Angel, I would never make fun of you about this.”

“Then why are you laughing at me?”

“I’m laughing because you’re so cute,” he whispered.

I grumbled. “Let’s see if you still think I’m cute after I’ve peed my pants from fear!”

“Even then,” he said.

My cheeks were burning. Fortunately he couldn’t tell because of the helmet.

“So,” he continued, scooting closer to my back.

God, I really am going to pee my pants!

I was so preoccupied with Elyas sitting so close that when he put his hand on my stomach to hold on I had fresh resolve for my lobbying project. Handles! These things needed handles!

There were thousands of little tingles crawling all over my body, and my pulse dramatically increased. I blinked and looked down on either side of me.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Ants
. . . ,
” I mumbled. “It feels like ants.” I winced after I realized I’d said it aloud.

“Ants?” Elyas repeated.

“It’
s . . .
it’s a long story,” I quickly said, which satisfied him for now, thankfully.

“OK,” he said, returning to the topic at hand. “Now slowly let up on the clutch.”

I panicked for a moment, worried about wheelies. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to let it go?”

“To drive, you need to,” he said. “Same as with a car. Just ease up on it, and when you find the sweet spot, hold it there.”

I gulped, took a deep breath, and turned the control with trembling fingers, and I really could feel the right spot. Elyas was right—it was like driving a car, except you used your hand, not your foot.

“Got it?” he asked, and I nodded. “Great. Now give it a little juice. The more you feel the bike engaging, the looser you grip the clutch.”

“But your legs are still down!” I yelled.

“It’s fine, Emely, I promise.”

I had understood everything well enough, but my heart was still pounding. I carefully turned the gas and felt the bike jolt and move forward.

Oh my God, what am I doing?

“OK, now, slowly let go of the clutch,” he said after I had wobbled forward the first few yards. I followed his instructions and was overjoyed that the motorcycle didn’t stall or do any wheelies.

“I knew it. You’re a natural,” Elyas yelled.

At a snail’s pace we moved forward, every muscle in my body tense. I’d never even driven a moped when I was a teenager.

After about five hundred more yards, however, the bike was the least of my problems. Elyas had become a much bigger one. To be specific, his thumb, which gently stroked my stomach. A prickling sensation spread over my skin, leaving me unable to think clearly.

“So? How is it?” he asked.

“Nice
. . . ,
” I said.

I smiled, but Elyas replied with an irritated “Huh?”

Oh—had he meant driving the bike, and not his thumb?

“I mea
n . . .
once you can do it, I’m sure it’s nice,” I clarified. “Right now it’s slow and takes getting used to.”

“You can drive faster if you’d like. You started out great.”

“Faster? Are you insane?”

He laughed. “It’s totally fine, Emely. Do whatever you want.”

I wobbled forward for five more minutes along the fields. Then I decided that was enough for one day. I hadn’t crashed, and I didn’t want to press my luck.

“You want to stop already?” Elyas asked when I started braking. I nodded as he put his feet to the ground. “Are you sure? You’re doing so well!” he said.

“It’s better I stop before something bad happens,” I answered, turning off the ignition. As soon as the engine stopped, I sat up straighter and breathed with relief. My God, I had actually driven that thing—and hadn’t broken it. It’s always fun when you surprise yourself.

“I think you underestimate yourself. That was a great first go at it. Much better than my first hour of training, let me tell you,” he said.

That must have been because he didn’t have as talented and, above all, as sexy a driving instructor as I’d had.

“OK, we’ll stop,” he continued. “But on one condition.”

“Let me guess: Does it have to do with my lips and your cheek?” I dismounted so Elyas could scoot forward again.

He grinned. “No. I just wanted to say we’ll definitely need to have a second lesson.” He scratched his unshaven neck pensively. “But now that you mention the whole kiss-on-the-cheek thing
. . .
”

I smiled and decided to grant his wish, although differently than he had imagined. I pushed my helmet up off my head, stood tiptoe to reach his cheek height, and I gave a little kiss to the visor on his helmet.

“Emely
. . .
” He sighed heavily as I stood back on my heels. “You’re killing me.”

“Not if you kill me first.” I put my helmet back on, braced myself on his shoulder, and swung back on the seat behind him. His warm back pressed against my stomach. I softly touched his sides with my fingers, feeling his ribs through his sweater.

I caught him looking at me in the rearview mirror and felt like hitting myself for saying that. But I just didn’t have any control over it; the second he was close to me, my brain and body cramped up, automatically.

“Are you going to stay back there,” he asked, “or do I have to let the clutch slip?”

My mouth fell open. “I
knew
you did it on purpose!”

He grinned. “Ready?”

“No, wait,” I said, snapping out of my stupor and thwacking him on the head. “OK, now I’m ready.”

He laughed, grabbed my wrists, pulled them around to the middle of his stomach, and started the engine. Thirty minutes later, we were back at his and Alex’s apartment. We went upstairs to get my things, which Alex had brought inside from the Jeep. Then Elyas drove me home on the enduro.

I slowly scooted off my seat in front of the dorm. Because the second my feet were on solid ground, our trip would be over.

Elyas stayed in his seat, pulled his helmet off, and took mine off as well. A gust of wind passed through his cinnamon hair, gently moving some of the strands. It reminded me of the image of the sleeping angel I’d found in front of me this morning.

I realized I was staring at him, and I lowered my eyes. “I’m sure Andy’s been worried, waiting for his bike to come back,” I said.

“You’re probably right.” Elyas ran his fingers through his hair and looked down at the bike. “I’d better get it back to him before he calls for a fifth time.”

“Tell him I said hi.”

“I will.”

“Hi to Mrs. Bear, too.”

He smirked at my joke. But then his face grew more serious. But soft. Softer than ever before. His eyes burned into mine, and I swallowed. The only thing I wanted was to sink into them and never surface again, letting the whirlpool inside them carry me away so I could forget the ground beneath my feet forever. But a small part of me—a part that had grown shockingly weak—still rebelled, though I tried to keep it from attacking.

“Emel
y . . .
I
. . . ,
” he whispered, sounding as paralyzed as I felt.

“Yo
u . . .
?” I whispered back. What did he want to say?

“
I . . .
I
. . .
” He cleared his throat and looked away. “I need to get going.”

“Of course,” I mumbled, looking at the ground. Neither of us said anything for a moment.