Page 19 of Detour

Dropping my gaze, I create some space between us, pacing to the other side of the room.

“It’s beautiful.” I gesture to the artwork but really, the whole room caught me by surprise. The entire apartment if I’m being honest. The immaculate state, despite his proclaimed day of cleaning, have me doubting he had as much to do as he let on. These guys aren’t what I expected. At all. They’re tidy, and intelligent, and caring, and responsible—I glance at the different mottos—and deep. They’re not the shallow party animals I first thought they were.

Coty interrupts my reverie. “They mean a lot. Those words.” He points at the messy painting, then to the mural. “They all do actually.”

I nod slowly. “This place is spotless. Are you sure you even had to clean anything? I feel like you guys aren’t the typical male slobs.”

My joke falls flat as Coty’s eyes bore into mine. “I take care of what’s mine.”

The intensity of his gaze, the promise of his words, the sudden heat that’s been missing since I stepped through his front door, the delicious coconut scented atmosphere—everything smashes together in an unescapable combination. Coty sees it in my wavering determination. I feel it in the invisible pull of his mere existence.

The moment stretches, neither of us moving other than the labored rising and falling of our chests until Beckett bellows, “Let’s go!”

Eyes wide, I recoil.

Coty, unaffected, says, “Come with us.”

A nervous laugh bubbles up outside of me. “Where?”

“We’re going for our Sunday night ride. You should come.”

“What? Like on a motorcycle?” I don’t even remember riding a regular bicycle, let alone adding in a high-speed motor.

“No. On my motorcycle, with me.”

Oh.

That scenario worries me for a whole different reason. There’s danger, and then there’s danger.

“Say you’ll come. You won’t regret it.”

Referencing the motto above his bed is a cheap shot but I understand. Coty’s a risk taker. He lives his life doing what he loves. You can see it in the way he describes his life. His friends, his job, his hobbies—he’s truly fulfilled. I want that, instead of always doing what I have to. What I need to do to survive. I wish I had the freedom he does. And maybe I will one day. Maybe today’s another step toward a place where I can do things that not only make me feel alive but hopefully as carefree as Coty appears. But, does that step really need to be from the back of a two-wheeled death trap?

Coty’s triumphant smile gives me my answer.

CHAPTER 11

Angela

I agree to meet everyone downstairs after changing my outfit. Coty suggested dressing warmly despite the early summer heat raging well into the evening hours. My skinny black jeans with the knees ripped out, my pink and beige Adidas running shoes—far more flexible than my shell toes—and a gray hoodie thrown over my plain tee are a welcome relief after spending the afternoon in that ice chest the boys live in.

Wobbly legs carry me across the lot, putting me directly in front of Coty’s black stallion of a bike as I take in my neighbors with new eyes. Gone are the casual outfits from earlier. All three are wearing thick motorcycle jackets, formfitting jeans, and seriously heavy-duty boots. Suddenly, I’m brought back to move-in day, the first time I saw the trio. Their faces masked by their helmets, I assumed the worst. I judged them before I even knew them. Guilt claws at my chest while I twist the strings at my neck between my fingers.

Coty cocks his head to the side watching me with an unreadable expression.

“Neighbor girl, we didn’t know you owned so many clothes. We only see you rocking your bikini and tiny outfits.”

Beckett’s unzipped jacket reveals a crisp white shirt underneath that says Get On Your Knees Every Sunday.

“What do you think I wear to school?”

His face clouds over. “I don’t know. We only do our spying at the end of the day.”

Both friends snap their heads to him, causing me to laugh clumsily. Creep much? Marc shakes his head, mounting his red motorcycle while pulling his helmet on simultaneously. Beckett shrugs unapologetically before following suit and lifting his visor.

Coty whacks the back of it making Beckett flip him the bird, muttering, “It’s true.”

I take a step backward. “Maybe I should sit this one out and go for a swim. You know, now that my audience is leaving.”