Josie Guerrero is focused on one thing: getting accepted into the prestigious art studies program within the Art School at the University of Southern Washington. With thirteen weeks to create her sophomore portfolio, she knows she can't afford any d...
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The sunset sky is burning red.
But even with the sky on fire, the air whipping past me is cold enough to sting my cheeks and turn my hot breath to smoke. I usually opt to wear my helmet in the autumn and winter, if only to save my cheeks and nose from the lash of frigid air, but since Josie's with me tonight, I made sure to secure it over her head instead. Her hands tighten around me as I accelerate, dropping a gear to get us to Creek View before the sun sinks below the horizon and the looming gray clouds descend, washing us in darkness and rolling in the much cooler air.
I got my bike back from Jordan last night before my fight, and as the adrenaline coursing through my veins hits its peak, I can't deny that I missed this. I missed everything about this — the freedom, the power, the sense of paradoxical tranquility that comes with surging down an empty expanse of highway at breakneck speeds. There are only a few places where I've felt truly at peace in my life. The creek was the first, and right here on this bike, this was the second. Releasing one of her hands from around me, Josie slides up the blacked-out visor on the helmet, and I catch her smile in the reflection of my side mirror. I have a feeling she found something of her own on this bike too, and when she slowly releases her other hand from around my waist, her smile grows as she tilts her head back and holds up both of her hands as if trying to stain her fingers with the luminescent red sky.
The excitement shining in her honey eyes illuminates her more than the soft glow of the low-sitting sun, and when her silken skin warms my hand, I realize that I reached out for her, palming the side of her thigh just to touch her. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, and when she wraps her arms around me again and rests her cheek on my shoulder, her lips brush across the column of my neck slowly, sending more adrenaline through my veins than any gear drop ever could.
When we finally make it to the creek, the sunset, now in full bloom, is glimmering off the slow-flowing water. I should be more captivated by the sky slowly simmering above us, but as I drop down onto the blankets, propping myself up on an elbow to get a better view, my attention isn't focused on the sky above. Instead, it's wholly and completely absorbed in the girl standing by the water. The short hem of her white dress pulls at her thighs in the chilly wind, but she's too focused on studying the sunset to notice. Likely because she's about to recreate it in the sketchbook cradled to her chest. Taking a step back, she hesitates for a moment longer, too awestruck by the sky to look away. I know the feeling because while she admires the view, so do I. Long brown waves caught in the soft wind, and light brown skin gilded gold by the glow of the sun; I couldn't look away if I tried.
The wind picks up, pulling at the red ribbon in her hair, and when she brings a paint-stained hand up to tuck a wayward strand behind her ear, I catch the moment her lips pull back into a soft smile as she tilts her head back and closes her eyes, appreciating the last moments of warmth before the sun sinks below the horizon. I want to brand this moment into my memory, to memorize her just like this — delicate, beautiful, perfect. A sun in her own right, warming everyone around her, lighting up everything she touches.
