Bear

Chapter 22: Birdie

"Bear."

The gasp leaves my parted lips as I step into our room to find him standing there. He lingers in the middle of the room, as do I by the door, both of us seeming unsure of what to say or do next.

Considering the way we left things I'm not entirely sure what I expect to happen now. It's funny, because I'd never once felt awkward in front of Bear— not even when he broke into my house. Now I stand, tensely poised like some sort of doll, wondering if I can— should— hug him, touch him the way the blood in my veins so desperately wants me to.

"Birdie."

He looks at me with wide eyes, his bright blues clear like a summer morning as they take in my scrub covered form. A faint glimmer lights them, realisation perhaps that I've just gotten back from my shift at the hospital.

Then we're locked in that unnerving silence again.

I hate it. Not knowing what to say, or where we stand. I want to pretend that it never happened, that we can go back to the way we were; only I know that isn't an option anymore.

My heart spikes with a sharp pain, almost as if it shrivels up a little inside. All the distraction I was hoping for working double shifts, the sudden urgency after seeing that Viper at work today, after everything I'd been using to try to put Bear out of my mind... It was all foolish.

Because now that he's standing right in front of me, I feel almost the same way I felt on the night that he left.

Confused, afraid, and filled with a strange and ridiculous hope.

"Put on something warm, I'm taking you for a ride. Be ready in 20."

I pause for a moment, my brain buffering after a long day, or maybe it's just because I'm hearing his voice again after almost 2 weeks. Either way it takes me a moment before I hear exactly what he says.

I don't argue, I don't tell him I'm still righteously terrified of getting on the back of one of those things. I don't tell him that I'd been planning to speak to his president, and then hide away under the duvet with Netflix on my laptop. I don't tell him any of that, because he's offering me an olive branch and I want nothing more than to accept that.

I nod, bursting into a flurry of action. I decide to take a quick shower, needing to wash the A&E off me completely; before standing in front of our shared wardrobe looking for warm, suitable clothes for a motorcycle ride. What is one supposed to wear on the back of a bike?

My mind flashes to the last time we had a motorcycle crash in the A&E. Severe road rash, (and if you don't know what it is, imagine cheese on a grater but it's your flesh on the ground. Yeah, not fun.) Broken clavicle, fractured pelvis, broken legs, head injury, spinal damage...

I'm either really damn foolish, or I really really like this guy.

I end up sliding on a pair of thick, blue stonewashed jeans, along with a navy blue cami and a long sleeved plaid shirt to cover my arms. The outfit is cute enough to remind Bear that I'm a freaking snack, but also conservative enough to protect against the chill of the darkening evening— and of course give me a better chance in a crash.

Bear is leaning against his bike, a cigarette hanging from his lips when I finally step out of the ear splitting club. My combat boots crunching gravel, alerting him to my presence.

He hasn't changed clothes still in those dark jeans, a hoodie and his heavy cut over the top. Even through the layers I can see his powerful thighs, I can imagine exactly where the hardness of his abs lay, and those arms of his...

The thought of him alone is enough to send a pulsing warmth shooting through my body; a seductive heat curling in the pit of my belly— I know what he can do with that body of his.