A warm balloon rises up in my chest, overwhelming me with emotion. My fingers tremble against his cheek. "Maybe...maybe you need some...mouth to mouth?"

His eyes open and capture mine. A storm is brewing in them, tugging him one way, then the other. I can see the moment he lands and gains his balance, and I'm saddened. I know the answer even before he smiles sadly and shakes his head.

"It's late." Too late, he means. "I need to get rolling."

"Okay," is all I can manage as I watch him get up. The least he could do is have the common decency to look like a wet rat or something, but nooooo...he has to look like a glistening god.

Holding out a hand, he helps me up. "You on your way home?"

"Yeah." I swear, even after everything, he leaves me breathless. And, really, he made the right decision a moment ago. Any hanky-panky would just muddy the waters. At least he's talking to me again.

"Did you drive?"

"Parking's atrocious down here. I took the bus."

He stops in his tracks. "At this hour? Uh uh. Nope. I'll give you a ride."

"On your bike?" The very idea of getting on the back of his motorcycle petrifies me. Worse than speaking in front of a crowd. "Um, the bus is fine, really. I don't want to put you out."

A second ago I was ready to jump his bones on a rickety dock, but the mere mention of riding on a motorcycle has me running. He smiles -- oh God, that smile -- and shakes his head, drips of seawater glittering like raindrops in the dim moonlight.

"No way. I can't allow our manager to put herself in harm's way. Who knows, maybe you'll figure out a way to keep the band together. Can't risk losing out on a miracle like that, can I?"

"But...you should go back to the boat and dry off or something. You'll turn into an icicle riding a bike soaking wet like that."

"Nice try. Don't worry, I won't let anything happen to you."

Boy, do I like the sound of that. Stop it, I chide myself. I'm the one who nuked any chance we had as a couple, so I just need to leave it be. But...his butt in those leathers...Stop!

I tear my gaze away just as a light-colored Beetle goes chirring past. It's dark and the street isn't that close, but I swear it's bubble-gum pink. It couldn't possibly be the woman who roofied Drax, could it? There has to be more than one pink Beetle in the City. Then the car is lost from sight, going in the opposite direction we'll be riding.

Riding. All thoughts of Barbie are chased away by images of my bloody, mangled body wrapped around light poles or street cars. But Drax is determined to get me on the back of his bike, and I can't deny that the idea of pressing up against him -- in a perfectly acceptable way -- is overriding the warning signals blaring in my brain.

"Put this on." He shoves a helmet at me when we get to the bike, which is as black and intimidating as I remember it being. I'm anxious but I'm helpless to do anything but obey. My body is crying out for contact with his and this is the only way to slake its need.

"Don't you have one?" I ask.

He nods at the helmet I'm slipping on. "That's it."

"Oh! In that case, I'll just take the bus."

He gives me a 'don't go there' look and jumpstarts the bike. It rumbles to life and he motions me on. Thank goodness I wore jeans tonight or it might have been a bit embarrassing when I swung my leg over the saddle. It's big -- big enough to handle Drax's bulk and my plump ass, but only if I'm snuggled up tight against him with my arms wrapped around his waist.

Sigh...

If my fate is to die in fiery crash tonight, at least I'll die happy.

My lustful thoughts are interrupted by sheer terror as the bike lurches forward. My hands clamp down and a shrill scream fills my ears. Only when I pause to take a breath do I realize it's my own voice.

Then we're moving easily down Divisadero Street and I can somehow breathe again. The City whizzes by and I slowly relax. I trust him completely.

"This is amazing," I shout at the back of his wet head. He bobs it in agreement and pushes us faster. Thank goodness for wind visors or I'd have a face full of saltwater splatters.

Most people who visit the Bay Area are surprised to discover just how cold it can get here. Mark Twain is credited with saying, "The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco," and it's holding true tonight. The air is already chilly, but factor in a headwind of forty miles an hour and it makes for a very cold ride. Especially when you're underdressed and the front half of you is soaked. If I'm shivering, how cold must Drax be?

The ride takes about twenty minutes, and by the end, I'm a frozen Popsicle, but still, I'm exhilarated. Drax jams down the kickstand and I jump off, tearing the helmet from my head.

"Wow, that was fantastic! I've always been scared of motorcycles, but you make it look so easy."

I know I'm grinning like an idiot but I can't help it. Not only is Drax no longer giving me the cold shoulder, but he gave me a ride on his bike, an honor I'm certain most ladies don't get.

They don't get to marry him either, a little voice whispers but I shush it.

I'm so excited, jumping around like a happy puppy, that I don't notice it at first. Only when Drax turns his head toward me do I see his entire body shaking like it's about to come apart. His teeth are chattering so hard he can barely speak.

"Shit! You're getting hypothermia from those wet clothes. I'll call an ambulance."

"No," he grunts, clumsily dismounting. "Inside."

He leans into me and I support his weight as well as I can as we slowly shuffle to Raines Records. It's probably stupid to not call 9-1-1 right away but he is moving pretty well. Maybe just warming him up will do the trick. All sorts of ideas skitter through my head as to the best way to get the job done...

The commotion of me opening up the store and helping Drax navigate the aisles brings my dads downstairs. Dad is carrying a baseball bat and Papi is holding an icepick sharp stiletto, size thirteen.

"Dio mio," he screeches when he sees us, rushing over to wrap his arms around Drax. "Chulo, you so cold!"

It doesn't escape my attention that Papi's hands are holding tight on Drax's narrow hips, not helping in any way, of course. He flinches at my scowl and moves them up, which relieves me of some of the load.

"What the hell happened, Lauren?" Dad has a bad back so he's following along helplessly. I can't help but admire tonight's T-shirt from Madonna's 'Who's That Girl' tour. It's ancient -- from 1987, or so the shirt says -- but in near-perfect condition.

"Long story. Right now we need to get him upstairs and out of these clothes."

"Ooh, I'll help!" Papi offers. Yeah, big surprise.

Drax seems to be gaining back some strength because he manages a soft chuckle. "I think I can manage myself."

"Awww..."

"Stop pouting, Luis," Dad scolds, "and go get some water heating for tea. Draymond needs to warm up."

By the time we reach my room, Drax doesn't need my help, though he's still moving pretty slow. Still, my anxiety ratchets down about twenty notches. Maybe we don't need the EMTs after all. Dad brings him one of his robes and we leave him to change.

"I thought you two were splitsville," he whispers as we head toward the tiny kitchen.

"We are."

"Then why did he risk hypothermia to bring you home? That's not something an ex does. That's something a not-ex does."