mattered, and the kids needed to know that, too.
I held the helmet uncertainly. Billy obviously knew his way around a motorcycle, but I’d only trust him sane and sober. Mothers Against Drunk Driving had made vigilantes of us all.
“So, Billy, are you high?” I asked bluntly.
“Only on life,” he said.
I rubbed thumb and forefinger against my nose. “I noticed you rubbing your nose when I first arrived, and you’ve been sniffling since I got here,” I said.
“Allergies,” he said. “Nothing more exciting than that. Do you think I’d be hanging out here if I had enough cash for cocaine?”
“What would you do instead?”
“Go clubbing with Britney Spears,” he said snidely.
“Or club Britney Spears, which might be a better idea,” I said.
He laughed and I decided to believe him. Maybe I was deceiving myself because I wanted to see if the e-mail messages gave a glimpse into Cassie’s mind. Either way, I put on the helmet, and Billy reached over to help me adjust the strap.
“You okay riding in that skirt?” he asked.
I swished the prettily pleated silk Escada, which had plenty of swirls to settle around me without hiking up. Fortunately, I’d given up wearing pencil skirts long ago. No use pretending you were still a thin line Pentel when you’d moved to Uni-ball extra-wide.
Billy patted the seat and I climbed on. He put on his own helmet, settled in front of me, and revved the engine.
“Ready?” he asked.
He turned around and flashed a devilish grin. I grinned back, my excitement rising. My face flushed and my whole body throbbed with anticipation. No wonder good girls like Cassie fell for bad boys like Billy Mann. Dancing on the edge of danger—whether with men, motorcycles, or sex—made you feel alive.
“What do I do?” I asked.
“Hold on to me,” he said, facing front again and grabbing the handlebars.
We took off down the road, and I felt a surge of adrenaline. Not the scary I’d better fight that tiger sensation, but the Wow, I could soar forever feeling. Wind in the face, hair blowing, world rushing by in a blur of color wasn’t a bad way to get from here to…
Here to where?
Maybe I hadn’t acted quite as responsibly as I thought.
I peeked sideways around my helmet and strained to get my bearings. Late afternoon and the sun glimmered to my left, so we were heading north. Good for me. But after that, my internal GPS gave up the ghost. Pressed up against the leather-clad back of a man I’d just met, I couldn’t see very much, and I didn’t dare let go for a better view.
Billy made a quick left onto a highway, and in just a couple of miles took an exit. I thought I caught a sign for Lincoln Boulevard, but now the pumping adrenaline had turned me into a heart-pounding, ears-buzzing, hands-trembling mess. I had to calm down.
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to relax. When I opened them again, a boat basin came into view, the very blue water broken by long piers packed with vessels for sailing, motoring, and showing off newly minted money. Surrounding all of it, high-rise condominiums stood like glass-and-steel lighthouses, beacons of success for the smaller dinghies passing through.
I sighed. Admiralty Way in Marina del Rey. Not exactly South Central LA. The only gang warfare here involved faux gangplanks. Billy drew the bike to a stop and jumped off. He held out a hand and I climbed down, more tentatively. My legs felt stiff from the tension of straddling the seat, and I took a few bowlegged steps.
“Walking like that is the sign of a good ride,” Billy said with a wink.
“My first time on a bike,” I admitted.
Billy cupped his hand at my chin. “Do it a lot, and it gets better and better.”
He turned around, and I expected Billy to head inland, toward one of the less-opulent apartment buildings. Instead, he began striding toward the water. At a gate marked B OAT O WNERS O NLY , he waved me forward.
“Boat owner?” I asked. “Sunfish or six-masted
I held the helmet uncertainly. Billy obviously knew his way around a motorcycle, but I’d only trust him sane and sober. Mothers Against Drunk Driving had made vigilantes of us all.
“So, Billy, are you high?” I asked bluntly.
“Only on life,” he said.
I rubbed thumb and forefinger against my nose. “I noticed you rubbing your nose when I first arrived, and you’ve been sniffling since I got here,” I said.
“Allergies,” he said. “Nothing more exciting than that. Do you think I’d be hanging out here if I had enough cash for cocaine?”
“What would you do instead?”
“Go clubbing with Britney Spears,” he said snidely.
“Or club Britney Spears, which might be a better idea,” I said.
He laughed and I decided to believe him. Maybe I was deceiving myself because I wanted to see if the e-mail messages gave a glimpse into Cassie’s mind. Either way, I put on the helmet, and Billy reached over to help me adjust the strap.
“You okay riding in that skirt?” he asked.
I swished the prettily pleated silk Escada, which had plenty of swirls to settle around me without hiking up. Fortunately, I’d given up wearing pencil skirts long ago. No use pretending you were still a thin line Pentel when you’d moved to Uni-ball extra-wide.
Billy patted the seat and I climbed on. He put on his own helmet, settled in front of me, and revved the engine.
“Ready?” he asked.
He turned around and flashed a devilish grin. I grinned back, my excitement rising. My face flushed and my whole body throbbed with anticipation. No wonder good girls like Cassie fell for bad boys like Billy Mann. Dancing on the edge of danger—whether with men, motorcycles, or sex—made you feel alive.
“What do I do?” I asked.
“Hold on to me,” he said, facing front again and grabbing the handlebars.
We took off down the road, and I felt a surge of adrenaline. Not the scary I’d better fight that tiger sensation, but the Wow, I could soar forever feeling. Wind in the face, hair blowing, world rushing by in a blur of color wasn’t a bad way to get from here to…
Here to where?
Maybe I hadn’t acted quite as responsibly as I thought.
I peeked sideways around my helmet and strained to get my bearings. Late afternoon and the sun glimmered to my left, so we were heading north. Good for me. But after that, my internal GPS gave up the ghost. Pressed up against the leather-clad back of a man I’d just met, I couldn’t see very much, and I didn’t dare let go for a better view.
Billy made a quick left onto a highway, and in just a couple of miles took an exit. I thought I caught a sign for Lincoln Boulevard, but now the pumping adrenaline had turned me into a heart-pounding, ears-buzzing, hands-trembling mess. I had to calm down.
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to relax. When I opened them again, a boat basin came into view, the very blue water broken by long piers packed with vessels for sailing, motoring, and showing off newly minted money. Surrounding all of it, high-rise condominiums stood like glass-and-steel lighthouses, beacons of success for the smaller dinghies passing through.
I sighed. Admiralty Way in Marina del Rey. Not exactly South Central LA. The only gang warfare here involved faux gangplanks. Billy drew the bike to a stop and jumped off. He held out a hand and I climbed down, more tentatively. My legs felt stiff from the tension of straddling the seat, and I took a few bowlegged steps.
“Walking like that is the sign of a good ride,” Billy said with a wink.
“My first time on a bike,” I admitted.
Billy cupped his hand at my chin. “Do it a lot, and it gets better and better.”
He turned around, and I expected Billy to head inland, toward one of the less-opulent apartment buildings. Instead, he began striding toward the water. At a gate marked B OAT O WNERS O NLY , he waved me forward.
“Boat owner?” I asked. “Sunfish or six-masted
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