Elena

When I get to the kitchen, Mike is standing by the door – he clears his throat, shuffles his feet, and runs his hand through his hair. "Uh, your dad left an apple, a granola bar, and lunch money for you on the counter."

I follow his hand as he points to the items on the breakfast bar. Placing the granola bar and apple in my bag, the money in my back pocket, I feel his eyes on me. Being a bit daring, I look up, but he looks away and opens the door for me, clearing his throat once more.

Strolling to his driveway I expect to get into the truck; however, he stops to mount his motorcycle. He reaches behind him and offers me a white helmet. There is no way he is making me get on that thing. I have never been on a bike like that before, let alone with someone I just met nearly three hours ago. He's observing me as if I grew gills.

"No, I'm not getting on that." I argue, crossing my arms over my chest, standing my ground.

"Why not?" he asks bewildered, dropping the helmet to his side.

"Because. They're dangerous. Why can't we take your truck?" I plea.

"Kitten, if I wanted to take that, I wouldn't be on Layla here. Now come on, we'll be late. I'll take it easy on you, I promise." He grins, handing out the helmet.

He named his bike. Is that normal? Makes me wonder if he named it after a woman. Perchance he just likes the name. What's his truck's name? Does his truck have a girl's name too? The truth of the matter is that I kind of want to get on the bike, but I'm still not so sure. He can tell that I'm debating with myself when he speaks up again:

Grinning, showing the dimple, he says, "I'll be gentle. I promise. You'll be safe...I know for a fact, you'll enjoy the ride," he adds a wink for good measure. Was that an innuendo? Are we still talking about the bike? My cheeks flush at the play of his words. As quick as a frog's tongue catching its meal, I strangle the idea and throw it in the back of my mind. There's no way he's into me like that; I am not that lucky.

"Fine." Giving up, I throw my arms in the air. Yanking the helmet out of his hand, I realize something...

"Wait, where's yours?" I ask while I place and fasten the helmet to my head. If I had it my way, I would want knee pads, elbow pads, a chest guard, and shin guards, but this helmet will have to do.

"Kitten, I have been riding these things since before I could walk. I don't need one." He shrugs, placing a pair of aviators on. The whole ensemble just enhances how sexy he is as he holds out a hand for me.

"Come here, I'll guide you on." There's that smirk again. Gazing down at his palm, I place my hand in his. It's difficult, but I'm determined not to think about his calloused, warm, and large hands as they cover mine. He guides me closer to the bike, motioning that I lean on him while swinging my right leg over the seat. Taking my left leg by the calf with his left hand, he brings my foot to a peg sending heat through me to my core. My breathing hitches as I move my other foot to its peg.

Speaking over his shoulder, "Relax babe. You'll be fine." Oh, I am fine alright. I'm so relieved that he can't see my face. It's as red as a tomato.

"You're gonna wanna hang on to me." Before I can respond, he flips a switch and the engine roars to life. I can feel the vibrations beneath me, there's a slight sway of the bike as he lifts it off the kickstand. Hands immediately find his waist, I nearly dig my nails into him. Letting out a laugh, he grabs my hands to pull me forward, it forces my body to scoot closer to his as he wraps my arms around his waist. I try not to think about the hard abs beneath my touch.

"Hang on tight, when we take a corner, lean in that direction, just a little bit -okay?" He informs me. Nodding in response, I can feel his warmth between my legs, my chest, and on my cheek as I press against him. He revs the bike and before I know it we are riding down the road.

There are no words to describe it. I can tell he is going slower than he normally would, but the feeling of the whipping warm wind on my face is incredible. I feel free, not that I ever felt trapped. In the moment of finally loosening up, I unglue the side of my face from his back to look around. I realize why people ride these things. It makes you feel invincible, happy, and unrestricted. It calms my nerves as I take in the smell of pine, crisp morning air, and the sights of nature, homes, and businesses that we zoom past. They seem so close without the protection of a car. I can't help but smile at the sensation. Glancing into the side mirror of the bike, I notice that he's amused by me. Embarrassed, I duck my head behind him using his body as a shield to block his gaze upon my reddening face. How does he do that? Why does he do that to me?

***************

We pull into the school parking lot; there's a sign for Long County High School. It is a rather large red brick building with blue doors and white trim around the windows. Mike drives us to a parking spot and backs in. Looking around, I feel like we're in a fishbowl being a special kind of specie that someone just found as all eyes are on us. I'm not used to having people look at me, especially like this. Hopefully, they aren't even looking at me, maybe they're just taking their fill of the hunk of a man I am clinging to.

"You can let go now – if you'd like. I mean, we can try and go to class like this, but it will be a little difficult." He teases with a wide grin. "Although, I do appreciate challenges."

Those words cause me to blush for the hundredth time, "Oh, sorry."

Reluctantly, I remove myself from him. Holding his hand out to the side for me to use, I dismount the bike. I can still feel the rumbling from the motor on the inner parts of my thighs. While taking off the helmet and brushing out my hair with my fingers, I hear some loud giggling nearby. Peeking over my shoulder I see a group of girls. They are probably my age, gawking, pointing, and snickering amongst themselves looking at my biker chauffeur. He seems to be oblivious as he strides over to me, motioning to head into the building.

He opens one of the blue doors for me and I step inside. A large warm hand finds the small of my back as he leads me down the hall through the sea of fellow pupils. The school has white and blue tiled floors, white brick walls with a large painting of blue waves that has "Home of the Blue Tide" written above it.

Guiding me to the office, he opens the door for me, signaling I should enter first. Walking up to the front desk there's a pungent floral smell that tickles my nose; ignoring it, I introduce myself as Elena Cochran and that I am a transfer student. It takes the receptionist a minute to look up my records; I can feel Mike's watchful eyes. Slowly, I turn my head, I was right. As soon as I make eye contact with him, he gives me a smile with a wink. Nearly losing my breath, I manage to smile back. Turning around, I momentarily think about what it would be like to kiss him. To have his arms around me...

"Okay, Elena, here is your schedule, the room numbers are here on the left and your classes are listed next to them on the right. Down at the bottom is your locker number and combination." Her high-pitched voice diminishes my daydream, causing me to clear my throat.

"Uh... thank you." Is all I say as I take my schedule and step to the side.

"I'll be right behind ya." He nods his head towards the door as if to push me along to my first class.

Having no idea where I'm going, I decide to look for my locker. The little blue signs on the white brick walls have the white locker numbers on them. It takes a while, but I finally find my hall. I scan the small black numbers on each orange locker until I find mine. The combination works on the first try. With my bag on the hook, I take out a pencil and a notebook for my first class. Having butter fingers, the pencil slips from my grasp and rolls on the floor. I dive for it until another hand picks it up. Sliding my eyes up, there's a boy smiling at me. He has black curly hair that just sweeps his forehead and the tops of his ears. His eyes are a deep brown, a clean smooth face. He is slender but has an athletic build. He offers his hand to help me up, it's nice and warm. The boy helps me up to my feet, he stands a little shorter than Mike, but not by a whole lot -maybe a couple of inches.

"Here's your pencil." Brown eyes says as he hands it to me. That sweet southern drawl escaping his lips.

"Thank you." I say, a little embarrassed even though I'm not one hundred percent sure on why.

"I'm Declan Young." He introduces himself.

"Elena." I smile.

Declan takes a deep breath and continues our awkward conversation with, "So, you're new here? I haven't seen you before."

"Yeah, just moved." Giving him a little smile while I press down my sweater.

"Cool, cool. Where are you from? Is that a 'Yankee' accent I hear?" He teases, interested.

My nose scrunches at the word 'Yankee'. "Detroit Michigan."

His eyes open wider, "Wow, quite the move then! Welcome to Georgia." He smiles, and I thank him.

"So, what's your first class?"

"Human Anatomy 101." College -like courses are supposed to help us prepare for university, but why does it have to be human anatomy? I groan to myself as I can hear him chuckle at my expense no doubt.

"That class isn't so bad. I had it last year. I'm willing to help you study if you ever want help." He winks. I blush at that, not sure what's going on here. "Who do you have?"

Looking down at the paper again, merely trying to hide the red face with my hair – thank God I wore it down today. "Miss Jackson."

"Oh! She's great. You'll be fine. She makes it fun. I'll walk you." He offers, his eyes are so hopeful. As soon as I am about to agree - someone with a low voice answers for me.

"No, I'll take her." It's Mike. I'd know that voice anywhere. I turn my head and he's standing with his arms crossed and feet shoulder width apart as he's sizing Declan up. He looks...irritated or angry? I turn to Declan with an apologetic smile, he just grins back. It doesn't surprise me to find that he is a tad bit intimated, as his brown eyes widen.

"Ok, cool. I'll see you around Elena." He waves and turns on his heel to walk away.

Hitting Mike on the arm with my notebook, I demand, "What was that?"

The man didn't even flinch when I wack him, he stands there unaffected. He looks at me as I try my hardest to look pissed off, but he just chuckles.

"Come on, let's get to your class, you don't want to be late." He says flirting with his eyebrows.

Nearly stumbling on my own two feet as I try to keep up with him, I still can't believe how he treated Declan. It was very rude; I can't let it go. "Seriously, Mike, what was that back there?"

"What? Oh, I was just having some fun." He shrugs his shoulders. Faces, classrooms, and lockers blurring my vision as we speed by.

"It was rude!" I shout.

"Oh, come on, it was harmless. I was just rattling his chain to see what he'd do. He ran away – pansy." He mutters the last word under his breath.

We suddenly stop in a hall that I follow him to. There's a classroom door open with some students with their phones out, waiting for class to start.

"Well, I don't appreciate you acting like that, especially when I am trying to make new friends." I pout, trying to stick up for myself. He just gazes at me with those green eyes, they turn a little dark as he inches closer to me. Cranking my head back a little to keep eye contact with him, I try not to lose my nerve. I can feel my breathing deepen, my hands are starting to tremble clenching my notebook against my chest, and my heart is pounding so hard, it might just jump out. Almost hovering, his face just inches from mine. Mike's jaw clenches as he holds my gaze, I can't help but gulp.

In a low curt voice, he says, "That little boy does not want to be your friend. He wants to fuck with you." I instantly flush and cringe at his crude choice of words. He backs away with a self-satisfying smile. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. How would he know that? Why does he think that? He's being rude and paranoid. I can't stand him. Does he always have to use such words?

"Oh really?" Before I can think, words just come tumbling out like a tumbleweed, "What gives you the right to say that? You don't know him! Maybe he was actually just being nice. You are so, so..." a pause lingers as I search for the right word. He cocks his head with amusement showing off those gorgeous dimples. "Conceited. Yeah, conceited." As I point a finger into his hard chest. Big mistake there. The smirk comes back. "Stop looking at me like that!" I bellow, yanking my finger away before it decides to rest there for too long.

His grin widens, "You like it. I can tell."

I feel myself start to fume.

"We're about to start class, are you in anatomy 101?" A voice interrupts us, stopping me from clobbering Mr. Dimples. Turning around, I see an older lady with her brown hair in a bun, thick round glasses, a soft smile, white teeth, and a floor length dress from her neck to her feet with a cardigan sweater.

"Yeah, I am." I respond sheepishly.

"So am I." Mike says proudly.