My eyes widen. Why didn’t I realize I would be riding with him on his bike?
“I'll take that as a no," he replies, filling the silence for me. He wraps an arm around my shoulders. I tense up a bit, despite the soothing warmth and the enticing scent of his cologne.
“You’ll love it,” he says as we walk to his motorcycle. It’s black and chrome, and it looks fast.
“What if I fall off?” This is me, the clumsiest person on earth. I step out of his hold. He frowns. “This isn’t a good idea,” I mumble.
“Scared of enjoying yourself, huh?”
The amusement in his voice irritates me, and I narrow my eyes at him. “No,” I clip out defensively.
He straddles his bike. “Well... get on then,” he says, passing me the helmet.
“Okay,” I reply, but my breathing is chaotic and I’m silently freaking out. I slip the helmet on and do up the straps under my chin. I peer around his bike. “Where’s your helmet?”
“You’re wearing it.”
I start to unbuckle the helmet. “You can have it back.”
“Elena, keep the damn helmet on. You’re precious cargo. Now stop making excuses and get on my bike.”
“Bossy,” I murmur under my breath, though guilt about his safety makes my stomach roll. I fumble onto the bike behind him.
He turns his head. “You’re going to have toactuallytouch me. Put your arms around me, hold on to me tight. Keep your legs away from the exhaust and lean when I do.”
Simple instructions... I’m sure I’ll mess it up somehow. The engine roars to life, startling me as I shift slightly in my seat. “You have nothing to worry about,” he shouts over the engine. Easy for him to say. I’m the one risking my life on a death trap with a stranger I’ve just met. Oh, times have changed.
I inhale deeply, allowing the air to calm my nerves. I firmly wrap my arms around him, and I can feel the defined muscles of his abs through his shirt. When I press my cheek against his back, a sense of warmth flows through me at being so close to him.
I catch a glimpse of my roommates, who are staring at me with bulging eyes, their mouths agape. This whole situation is a shock to me too. I glance at the sky, uttering a prayer to protect me and keep me safe on this death trap.
We accelerate and I let out a squeal. He doesn’t go fast, moving with the traffic at a safe speed, which I’m grateful for. We drive down the main street by the beach, where people are walking and exercising on the sidewalks and others are on the beach. We pass my work, and he slows down, pulling off to the side to park.
I swing my leg over the bike and wait for him to get off to pass him the helmet.
“See,” he says cheekily, “you didn’t die.”
It was only a short ride. My legs still feel unsteady. Much to my surprise, it wasn’t as awful as I had imagined.
The small café has a checkered black-and-white floor and posters of Elvis Presley and Marilyn Monroe on the walls. We wait in line, and as we approach the counter, I notice the cashier pull her shoulders back, push her boobs out, bat her eyelashes, and give Axle a flirty grin.
“Hey, Axle,” she coos.
He grins. “Morning.” He turns to me. “What would you like?”
I peer up at the menu, which is on the wall. I open my mouth to ask what’s good here, but as my eyes land on the server, she’s looking at me with a pinched mouth. I peer back at Axle. “Pancakes, please.”
He nods. “What flavor?”
“Buttermilk with honey.”
He nods again, then peers back at the server. “Buttermilk pancakes with honey, and I’ll have the big breakfast.”
“Sure, and drinks?”
“Coffee and”—he peers at me—“a cappuccino please.”
He steps closer to the register as she reads out the price, pays, and then leads me outside to a two-seater table, where we take a seat. I lift my bag to my lap and pull out my wallet. “Here,” I say as I unzip it. “How much do I owe you?”
