Shoulda Been a Cowboy

Oh, shit. He’d sort of overlooked this part. “Yes,” he said, conscious of the roughness in his own voice.

She took a tentative step to the bike, then disappeared from his field of vision as she moved behind him. He felt a light touch on his shoulder, which was quickly taken away.

“It’s fine, you’re going to have to hold on to me anyway.” Sexual tension was making him testy.

Two hands gripped his shoulders, and he felt her settle in behind him. Her thighs rested on either side of his.

“You need to put your arms around my waist.” Yeah, this was going to kill him.

She complied, her grip so tight around him it was like she was attempting the Heimlich. “This feels slightly unstable,” she said, her voice in his ear, muffled by the helmets between them.

“It’s not, I promise. As long as you’re not going to let go of me suddenly.”

“Yeah, it’s safe to say I’m not going to be doing that.”

He started the motor. “Good. Are you ready?”

“No.”

“We’re going anyway, okay?”

He felt her nod against his back and he smiled, putting the bike in gear and moving forward, careful to take off gradually so that he wouldn’t terrify his virgin passenger.

He gritted his teeth. All things considered that wasn’t a very good descriptor. It stuck his mind straight back in the gutter.

He did his best to keep all of his focus on the road, on the passing scenery. Belatedly, he realized he hadn’t exactly gotten directions from her. But he figured he would keep going straight until she gestured wildly.

In his defense, he had been distracted. By trying not to be distracted by his attraction to her.

Maybe that was the real issue. Maybe his attraction to her was an attempt at distracting himself from other problems. From the ranch, and all of the ghosts that it held. It was strange seeing it now, fallen into such dilapidation. In order for the excuse to wash, he had to ignore the attraction he’d felt to her back in high school, but for the sake of his sanity he was willing to do that.

The ranch had never been a mansion by any stretch but it hadn’t been run down like this. But his mother had been gone for more than twenty years, and Jake himself hadn’t been back in fifteen. From all accounts, his father had been in a home the last two years of his life and not living out on the property.

Someone must’ve been taking care of the animals because they were still there, but no one had bothered to do any upkeep on the house. If he had ever had any affection for the place, the disrepair would have made him sad.

They drove past the collection of tourist shops, which were one major change from when he lived here as a kid. This street had mainly been deserted, and there had been very little value in the properties. Which was, he assumed, how his father had managed to end up with a few of the buildings. And why he had never been able to do anything with them. The place had been a near ghost town back then.

From what he’d gathered since coming back tourism had started to build in the past ten years, along with the restoration of Old Town. Brick that had once been crumbling and rundown was now charming and quaint. Buildings that had been peeling and splitting were now restored, painted bright whites, pale blues and deep reds. Fish shacks that had only ever been for locals were now obviously designed to bait out-of-towners with promises of the freshest seafood.

One little building that he’d remembered as being empty was now covered in wind chimes, flags and things made of driftwood. It was amazing what paint, new signage, and some landscape could do.

He took the main road up out of Old Town, away from the beach. As the road curved inland the pine trees thickened, casting dusky shadows over them, golden sun filtering through the trees and bathing everything in a glittering haze.

Objectively, Jake had to admit the place was beautiful, which was a tough thing for him since it also created a knot of tension in his chest that refused to ease. He managed to find beauty in Seattle, though it had taken a few years of living there to get used to all of the glass and steel. As cities went, there was a lot of nature. And the ocean was still nearby. He didn’t think he could live anywhere that wasn’t by the ocean.

It wasn’t that he spent a whole lot of time beachcombing. He wasn’t big on the sand between his toes. It was a feeling of freedom the ocean afforded. He had a vague sense that as long as it was nearby there was an escape. The idea of being landlocked unsettled him. It was akin to being trapped in his mind.

That was one of the reasons he’d always ridden his bike. There was something about it that felt like flying. That felt like escape. What he wasn’t used to was riding with another person, and interesting that Cassie’s arms tight around his waist didn’t feel like restraints. They felt warm, they felt secure.

And it felt like they were escaping together.

Though what Cassie Ventimiglia might have to escape from he had no idea. It struck him then that he knew nothing about the life she’d led since he’d left. He knew that she had opened The Grind two years ago, and that was the beginning and end of his knowledge.

It made him feel like an asshole to realize that. Seemed like he should’ve asked.

But it wasn’t as though she’d asked about him. As far as she knew he had ridden off one day, then ridden back. And nothing had happened in between. In some ways, he was content for people to think that, and in other ways not.

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