Blurred Lies (The Blurred Series Book 1) (11 page)

I don’t know what to say to that, so I just stay silent.

“You’re not in the right attire, but we aren’t going far, so it’ll do, I guess.” He looks me up and down, and his casual perusal of my body causes a clench deep in my belly, and lower.

“How are shorts, a blouse and sandals not the right attire for a picnic?” I ask, confused.

“You’ll see,” he states, flatly, over his shoulder as he exits the apartment. I quickly follow.

* * *

When we reach the sidewalk outside the apartment building, I realize why he said I’m not in the correct clothes.

“You have a motorcycle?” I ask as he takes the helmet from where it was perched on the seat.

“Your observational skills are unmatched, Miss Connor,” he mocks.

Ass
.

“Are you expecting me to get on the motorcycle?” I’m not sure I like where this is going.

“Unless you want to walk the six miles to the park.”

“Why are we going to a park six miles away? There’s one right down the street.”

“That park isn’t nice enough for our picnic. The trash cans hardly ever get emptied and people don’t pick up their dog’s poop. It’s gross. Do you want to sit in dog poop, Natalie?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Then, yes, I’m expecting you to get on the bike.”

“Don’t you have a car?” I’m starting to sound a little desperate. I can’t help it, though. My mom always said motorcycles were death traps, and that theory stuck.

“No, Natty, I don’t have a car.” He sounds irritated, and then he turns around to face me and must see the look of panic on my face, because his expression softens, instantly.

He grips my shoulders gently, and then brushes his hands up and down my upper-arms as he speaks. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you, Natalie. I promise.”

I must believe him, because my heart immediately begins to beat a steadier rhythm. It’s still pounding quite substantially, but it’s slower than it was and I can feel the anxiety loosening the hold it had on my throat.

“There’s only one helmet.” I may feel calmer, but my cautious brain is still looking for ways to get out of this situation.

“Yeah, for you.” With that, he plops the helmet on my head and swiftly does up the chin strap before I can protest.

“It’s a little big,” I state, wobbling my head back and forth so the helmet moves around to prove my point.

Ryan just laughs lightly and hands me the backpack containing our picnic, and then he puts his leg over the bike and moves it off the kick-stand. He looks back to me and I feel my heart skip a beat. I didn’t realize a bike could make someone look more attractive, especially when I thought that person had already reached the pinnacle of attractiveness, but I have never seen someone look sexier than Ryan on this bike.

Then he puts his aviator sunglasses on.

Dear Lord, have mercy.

He’s completely at ease and his biceps flex as he grips the handlebars, keeping the heavy machine upright. Mom told me motorcycles were death traps, but she never mentioned they were hot. Hot, hot, hot.

Ryan’s hot
.

No! Ryan is not hot. Land is hot. Ryan’s not.

This is so not good.

I guess I need to put the backpack on as I’ll be taking up the space against Ryan’s back, so I do just that. The thing weighs a ton, what the hell has he got in here?

“Get on, put your feet on the pegs and hold onto me, tight,” he instructs, then starts the bike with a swift kick down on the ignition. The death trap/hotness enhancer roars to life and I’m instantly glad the helmet is covering my ears.

The noise only serves to bring my anxiety back to life, and I stand on the sidewalk, staring at the bike’s seat, motionless.

“Get on, Natty.” His tone brooks no argument, so I wipe my sweaty palms on my shorts, grip his shoulders with shaky hands and throw my leg over the seat.

“Feet on the pegs,” he yells over his shoulder as he revs the engine.

I feel like we’ll definitely fall sideways if I pick my feet up, but I do as he says, anyway.

“Arms around my waist.”

I move my hands from his shoulders to his waist, and instantly feel the hard muscles of his abs, which seem to tense under my touch. My legs are bent, due to my feet being perched on the pegs, and my thighs grip his hips for extra stability.

Y
eah, stability, that’s why my thighs are gripping him. It has absolutely nothing to do with the feel of him against my bare skin.

My heart begins to beat erratically, again, but this time it’s not the panic that’s causing it.

The first few turns have my heart falling all the way down to the bottom of my stomach, but the longer we drive, the safer I feel. Ryan never falters, and my vise-like grip on his waist begins to ease a little. I might even begin to enjoy the ride, and feel a little disappointed when Ryan brings the bike to a halt in a small parking lot surrounded by picnic tables, well-manicured lawns and pretty landscaping.

I immediately put my feet down for balance, but I can only reach the ground with my tiptoes. As soon as the engine shuts off, I swing my leg over the back of the bike while Ryan keeps it upright.

As soon as I’m back on solid ground, Ryan puts down the kick-stand and dismounts. He then turns to me, unclips the chin strap of the helmet and takes it off of me, hanging it on the handlebars.

When he turns back to me, he smirks for some reason, then runs both hands through my hair. My automatic reaction is to close my eyes, but then he laughs and my lids spring back open.

“What’s so funny?” I ask, suddenly feeling embarrassed for reasons unknown.

“You had helmet hair, but don’t worry, I fixed it,” he says sweetly, before his hands come to rest on my neck.

“Oh, right. Thanks… Hey, Ryan?”

“Yeah?” he almost whispers.

“Why are your hands still on my neck?”

“I’ll carry the backpack. It’s heavy.” He quickly removes his hands from me and moves them to the backpack. I decide I like his distraction tactic, so I go along with it.

“What the hell do you have in this thing anyway? It weighs a ton.”

“It does not weigh a ton, stop being such a girl. You’ll find out soon enough.” With that, he swings the backpack onto one shoulder and grabs my hand.

Oh, we’re holding hands now. Interesting.

I refrain from pointing out that I am, in fact, a girl.

I remember my ‘desensitization’ plan and decide this kind of touching is okay, for now. Though I am a little alarmed at how much I like it.

“Aren’t we going to use one of the picnic tables?” I ask as we pass the last of the tables in the immediate vicinity.

“Nah, I brought a blanket. We’re having a real picnic,” he states, never slowing his rather brisk pace through the park.

We walk for a couple more minutes until we reach a picturesque area shaded by a large tree. I’m thankful for the shade since it’s hot as a sauna today. If I were prone to sweating, there would definitely be patches on my clothes. Luckily, I seem to run at a low temperature…other than when Ryan decides to touch me, it would seem.

Ryan looks around a little, like he’s assessing the suitability of the location, then unzips the backpack and retrieves a large, red picnic blanket. After he lays it out, he gestures for me to take a seat, so I oblige while he continues to retrieve the food from the bag.

Once he’s done laying out the sandwiches, chips and dips, salad and cupcakes, he goes back into the bag and pulls out a bottle of wine, a beer and a plastic wine glass. I look closer at the labels and realize what he bought.

“You got my mom and dad’s drinks,” I say in wonderment. I can’t believe he remembered.

“Yeah. I only brought the one beer for me, seeing as I’m driving later, but you can finish the whole bottle of wine if you want. I’ve been wondering what you’d be like when you’re drunk.”

I laugh at that, and I think that’s what he intended. He doesn’t want me to look too deeply into his sweet gesture. He just wanted to bring something he knew I’d like to drink. Nothing deeper going on there.

He wouldn’t want me getting all attached like I was when we were younger.

That thought depresses me a little, but I quickly snap myself out of it.

“Well, I don’t really drink enough to get drunk, so you’re out of luck.”

“Bummer!” he says with a smirk, as he opens the wine and pours me a glass. Then, after he hands the glass to me, he opens his beer and takes a long sip. I can’t help but stare as he swallows the cool liquid.

When I realize I’ve been looking at him longer than is appropriate, I avert my gaze to my own glass and quickly take a huge gulp.

Maybe I will be getting tipsy after all.

“Jesus, slow down a little, Nat. I was just kidding about you getting drunk. I can’t have you wasted on the back of my bike.” He laughs and puts his beer beside him and starts placing food on two paper plates for us.

“Sorry, I just realized how thirsty I am. The wine tastes good on a hot day like this.”
It wasn’t because I was nervous, at all.

“Here,” he says while pulling something else from the backpack. “I brought water, too.” He tosses a bottle to me and, surprisingly, I catch it. A few feet isn’t exactly a long throwing distance, but I’ve never been coordinated, so it’s an achievement for me.

“Wow, you really thought of everything. And I now know why the backpack was so darn heavy.”

“I always come prepared.” And there’s that wink, again.

Careful, Natalie. Your horny-teenager-mode is showing again.

* * *

We chat about everything and nothing while we eat and drink. He makes me laugh more than once, and I manage to make him laugh a couple of times, too. I’m beginning to believe he actually does like hanging out with me.

Then the hard questions start.

“So, I never really hear you talk about your friends. You must miss them? I’m sure they miss you.”

Ugh
. I hate this. This is the part where I basically reveal I have no real friends and I’m a loser who meets people online. Ryan would never understand the way Nate does.

“Not really,” I say, sheepishly, whilst moving the remaining chips around on my plate.

“You don’t miss them?” He’s confused now.

“I don’t really have any friends to miss...or miss me,” I admit, feeling embarrassed. I don’t want sympathy, but I don’t want to have to lie about this along with everything else I’ve lied about recently.

He’s silent and I’m fascinated with my plate of chips.

“After Claire moved away to college, we sort of grew apart. She’s got a different life now, that I’m not a part of,” I offer as an explanation.

“Claire… I think I remember her. Skinny little thing, glasses? You guys were attached at the hip, back in the day.”

“Yeah…back in the day,” I murmur.

“You used to be into chat rooms, right? Do you at least have a lot of friends you can speak to online?” His curiosity about my online friendships surprises me. He doesn’t sound judgmental, just concerned.

“Well, I used to have a few friends I chatted to regularly. I kind of just have the one friend now, though.” After I met Land, I felt like I needed to talk to other people less and less. After the first couple of years of our friendship, I was barely talking to anyone else, and now I talk to no one else.

I realize that it’s likely my fault that me and Claire are no longer good friends. I did to her what I did to my other online friends. I neglected them until they didn’t miss me anymore. Everyone eventually stops trying when they realize you stopped trying a long time ago. I’m beginning to see that maybe my relationship with Land isn’t quite as healthy as I’ve always told myself it is.

“So, tell me about him,” Ryan says, pulling me from my introspection. I never told him my friend was a guy.

“How do you know it’s a him?” I ask with an accusing tone, fully expecting to find out Ryan has been snooping where he shouldn’t be.

“You used to have a lot of friends you spoke to. Now you only have one. It’s a guy and you like him...a lot.”

Well, okay then.

I sigh, and decide I might as well be honest. What’s the harm, right?

“Yeah, I do.”

“So, tell me about him.” Ryan repeats his earlier question.

He listens to me talk about Land for a long time. I start at the beginning and go from there. When I get to the more recent developments, I leave out some key details. I’m feeling in the mood for honesty, not over-sharing.

“So, you want to meet this guy?” Ryan asks.

“Yeah, I think I do.”

“Would you listen to me if I told you I thought it was a bad idea?”

“Why do you think it’s a bad idea?” I ask with mild irritation. I’ve just shared all the best parts of my friendship with Land, and Ryan thinks it’s a bad idea, after everything?

I thought it was a good idea to share this part of my life with him. I’m beginning to think I was wrong. I’ve been wrong about a lot, lately.