Emersyn

The book in my hands has lost its charm, the words blurring into meaningless shapes as my mind wanders. I spent most of the day in the garden with Cruz, but I haven't done much else since then.

I showered, took a short nap, and now I'm trying to read. But this book just isn't keeping my focus. My mind always keeps drifting back to the guys, especially Marx.

Locke is out of town for business and won't be home until late.

Fowler has a double at the hospital. Maybe I will take him some food later. I feel like I haven't seen him much lately either.

Marx is, well, I don't know where Marx is. He might be in his room, or he could not be home at all. I didn't get to see him too often before, but since the other night, I haven't seen him at all. Or even heard him.

A soft knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts. "Come in," I call out, not bothering to look up. There's only one person it could be.

The door creaks open, and I sense rather than see Cruz standing there. There's something about his presence, a calming energy that's become familiar.

"Hey, Em, are you busy?" Cruz's voice is soft, almost hesitant.

I finally raise my eyes, setting the book aside. "Not really, just reading. What's up?"

He leans against the door frame, his hands casually tucked in his pockets. "I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me for a bit. Just... to get out of the house."

The invitation surprises me, and a curious flutter awakens in my stomach. "Where to?" I ask, already intrigued by the spontaneity of his proposal.

I haven't gone out alone with Cruz before. Other than being in the garden together, I don't think we've even been alone together.

Cruz shrugs, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "I don't actually know. Just felt like getting some fresh air, thought you might too."

I consider it for a moment, then nod, a smile breaking across my face. "Yeah, I could use a break from these four walls. Give me a couple of minutes to get ready."

His smile widens. "Dress warm," he advises before disappearing from my doorway.

I hop off the bed, quickly swapping my loungewear for a pair of snug jeans and a cozy long-sleeve shirt. Boots seem like a good choice for whatever Cruz has in mind. I brush through my hair, leaving it down to cascade over my shoulders, a few quick strokes of mascara and I'm ready.

Stepping into the living room, I find Cruz waiting. He's a vision that momentarily steals my breath. Tight black jeans mold to his legs, a form-fitting black shirt accentuates his muscular torso, and a leather jacket is thrown over it all. His hair is down and I can't get over how much I love it like this.

In his hand, he holds another leather jacket, which he extends to me as I approach.

"Thought you might need this," he says, his voice a low rumble that resonates within me.

"Thanks," I murmur, taking the jacket. It's heavy, the leather soft and warm. As I slip it on, I can't help but be entranced by him. There's an air of effortless charisma about Cruz that's always captivated me. The way the jacket hugs his broad shoulders, the subtle hint of a tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve, the rugged stubble along his jawline, and those deep, dark eyes.

Cruz watches me, an unreadable expression in his eyes. For a moment, there's an electric silence between us, filled with unspoken words and unexplored possibilities.

"Ready?" he finally asks, breaking the spell.

I nod, a surge of excitement coursing through me. "Let's go."

Cruz leads me to the small garage, a place I've never ventured into during my time in the house. It's a realm of shadow and concrete, with faint smells of oil and metal lingering in the air. There, in the dim light, stands a motorcycle, its sleek form an unexpected sight.

My eyes widen in surprise. "Is this yours?" I ask, my voice echoing slightly in the enclosed space.

With a charming, devilish grin, Cruz nods. "Yeah, it is."

I can't help but feel intrigued by this new revelation. The Cruz I've known is calm, almost serene. Yet here stands a machine that speaks of adrenaline and wild freedom, a side of him I haven't seen. It's an exciting contrast to the tranquil afternoons we've spent in the garden.

I hadn't put much thought into what Cruz drives. My car and Marx's van sit in the driveway. I'd assumed Locke and Cruz had cars, but I don't think I have actually seen them. There are plenty of cars parked on our street, I had only assumed their cars were among those.

Cruz straddles the motorcycle, the motion fluid and practiced. He puts on his helmet and flips the visor up. He looks at me, a silent invitation in his eyes. His hand extends a helmet to me.

As I watch him, my thoughts drift to Locke. This seems more his style, the thrill of speed and risk. Yet here it is, a part of Cruz's world, revealing layers I have yet to explore.

"Never took you for the motorcycle type," I say, a playful note in my voice.

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Em." His voice is slightly muffled from the helmet.

I step closer, the proximity to both Cruz and the bike sending a thrill through me. "I'm starting to see that." I take the helmet, placing it on.

With a gentle ease, I climb onto the motorcycle behind Cruz, my hands hesitantly gripping the sides.

The leather of my jacket creaks slightly against Cruz's as I adjust my position. I'm suddenly aware of the closeness, the heat of his back against me, the steady rhythm of his breathing. I wrap my arms around his waist, joining my hands against his lean stomach.

Cruz's hand briefly pats mine. "You good?" He asks, glancing over his shoulder.

"Yeah," I reply, my voice steadier than I feel. "Let's see what this can do."

The engine roars to life, a deep, vibrant sound that vibrates through my body. As Cruz maneuvers the bike out of the garage, I tighten my hold around him, feeling the muscles of his stomach contract and relax beneath my fingers.

The world outside transforms as we hit the road, the night air rushing past us in a cool, exhilarating wave. The city lights blur into streaks of color, the stars above us are distant, twinkling gems. I lean into Cruz, into the moment, surrendering to the freedom and thrill of the ride.

I don't know how long we've been riding. Time seems suspended, just like the night around us. The city fades away, and all I can focus on is the rhythm of the motorcycle and the warmth of Cruz in front of me.

My arms are wrapped securely around him, my front pressed against his back. His earthy scent fills my senses even though my helmet. It's a mix of leather and something uniquely him.

We stop at a red light, and the world pauses with us. Cruz moves one hand from the handlebar, resting it over mine. He strokes the back of my hand with his thumb, absentmindedly, and I feel a warmth spreading through my body. It's a simple gesture, but it feels intimate, connecting us in this small moment.

The light turns green, and we're moving again. The engine hums beneath us, a steady heartbeat to the night. I find myself relaxing into the ride, into Cruz. There's a comfort in this closeness, a sense of safety despite the speed.

Soon, Cruz is pulling up to a small café. We come to a gentle stop, and I reluctantly let go of him, missing the contact immediately. As I dismount the bike, my legs are a little shaky, not just from the ride, but from everything I'm feeling.

Cruz takes off his helmet, running a hand through his hair. He looks different in the soft glow of the café lights, more vulnerable, more real.

"Thought we could use something warm to drink," he says, breaking our gaze to park the bike.

I nod, following him into the café. My mind is a whirl of thoughts. This side of Cruz, this adventurous, spontaneous side, is new to me.

As we enter the café, the warm aroma of coffee and baked goods envelops us. It's a stark contrast to the cool night outside. Cruz leads the way to a small table by the window, his movements confident yet gentle.

I take a seat, stealing glances at him. He's more than just the calm, collected guy I've known. There's depth to him, layers that I'm only just beginning to uncover. And I find myself wanting to dive deeper, to know all the sides of Cruz.

But there's a part of me that's cautious, aware of the other guys, especially Marx. My feelings for him are complicated, unresolved. But sitting here with Cruz, right now, feels right. I feel like this is where I am supposed to be at this moment in time.

I think back to how hesitant I was to move in with these men. I didn't know a single thing about them. But now, now they're my family. They're more than that, though. They're the missing pieces of me. We all fit together in this unconventional relationship.

Cruz's voice brings me back to the present. "What would you like to drink?" he asks, his eyes warm and inviting.

"Um, I'm not sure, honestly," I reply, trying to steady my thoughts.

"I'll order you the same as me. Something tells me you'll like it."

He smiles and heads to the counter to order. I watch him, appreciating the way he interacts with the barista, easy and charming. It's easy to see why I'm drawn to him, why I feel this connection.

Cruz comes back to the table holding two paper cups, no lids, with whipped cream and sprinkles on top. They look festive and inviting.

"What are these?" I ask, curious and a bit amused.

"Peppermint hot chocolates," he says, placing one in front of me. "With whipped cream and colored sugar sprinkles. My guilty pleasure."

I can't help but laugh. "Really? I wouldn't have pegged you as a peppermint hot chocolate guy."

Cruz shrugs, a playful glint in his eyes. "Everyone has their surprises."

I take a sip, and the warm, sweet flavor fills my mouth. It's comforting, like a holiday in a cup. I lick some of the whipped cream off the top, and when I look up, I catch Cruz watching me. His eyes are intense, like there's a fire burning in them. It makes my face flush.

We make small talk as we drink, but there's an undercurrent of something more, something unspoken. The café is quiet, cozy, just us and a few other late-night patrons.

After a while, Cruz reaches over, his voice low. "You've got just a little something here." He gently wipes my bottom lip with his finger. My heart skips a beat at his touch.

When Cruz pulls his finger away, there's a bit of whipped cream on it. I watch as he slowly moves his finger to his mouth, sucking the cream off with a slowness that is agonizing. Watching him, something stirs inside me. It's oddly erotic, sending a warm shiver down my spine.

I can't help but think about that night, the night I spent with Locke and Cruz. The memory of it is vivid in my mind.

Cruz meets my eyes again, and I know he can see what I'm thinking. My skin flushes more.

We finish our drinks and decide it's time to leave, but neither of us is in a hurry. Finally, Cruz stands up, offering me his hand.

"Ready to head back out?" he asks, his voice soft yet inviting.

I nod, taking his hand. As we walk back to the motorcycle, he keeps his fingers interlocked with mind. There's something wildly intimate about holding hands with him like this. I feel like we are crossing the line from a physical relationship to more of an emotional one.

The thought of that scares me. Not only because I feel like an outsider, a third wheel to his and Locke's relationship. But because the more I let these men in, the more I emotionally connect with them, the worse I'll get hurt if something was to happen. Being only physically intimate with these men keeps a wall up between us. A boundary around my heart. But these men, with their soft touches and softer words are dismantling that wall brick by brick and the thought of that overwhelms me.

Climbing back onto the bike, I wrap my arms around Cruz once more, feeling the familiar warmth of his body.

I want to believe they would never hurt me, but there is never a guarantee that won't happen. Sometimes it's inevitable, even when it's unintentional.

The ride back is quieter, more contemplative. I rest my head against Cruz's back, letting my thoughts wander.

The motorcycle hums beneath us, the vibrations a steady rhythm that lulls me into a sense of calm. The cool air brushes against my skin, refreshing after the warmth of the café.