PIPER
Timofey is silent on the ride back to his house.
For the first time, I wish we were in a car. I'd have a panic attack, but it would be worth it to be able to glance over at him in the passenger seat and read his expression. I wish I could talk to him without needing to yell and my hair whipping around my face under the helmet.
Usually, I like the wide-open freedom of the bike. I like being able to cling to Timofey's strong body and feel the wind against my skin. It's easier when we aren't face to face. I can hold him from behind and pretend he's a different man. A better man.
But after what I saw tonight, I think Timofey might already be that better man.
I want a closer look to be sure.
The garage door opens as we approach. Timofey glides the bike gracefully past his fleet of parked vehicles to the back wall. He kills the engine as the door closes automatically behind us.
I'm so lost in thought I don't realize I should be moving until Timofey says something.
