“Okay,” I whisper. I lean forward and kiss his lips. “Thank you for the helmet. It’s super cute.”
“You’re super cute,” he chuckles. “I knew it was perfect for you. Pink is your color.”
“I do love pink.” I watch as Keeton slides over, straddling his bike. I’m not sure what to do now.
“Put your hand on my shoulder, here,” he says, patting his leather-clad shoulder.
I do as he instructs.
“Place your right foot on that foot peg there,” he points to the tube-like thing coming out from the side of the motorcycle. “Hold onto me and swing your leg over the back of the bike.”
I’m not the most athletic person in the world, but I do as he says, and my leg goes right over. “I did it!”
“You did. Great job. Now scoot as close to my back as you can and bring your arms around my middle.”
I do as he instructs, and he pats my hands in approval. “Keep them here. Hold on tight. When I lean to turn, you do too. Okay?”
“Okay,” I reply nervously. Why is this so scary?
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
He hits a button on his handlebars and the motorcycle comes to life with a roar and a rumble. The vibrations are running through my entire body. Keeton pushes the bike off the stand and it begins to move out of my parking lot, then out onto the street. In no time, we’re on the old highway and heading out of town at a fast clip. It’s exhilarating. I press my body into his and make a ‘woo hoo’ sound. I feel him chuckling through my fingers. His belly’s rumbling with me. My goodness, this feels amazing. I’m surrounded by sensations. The rumble of the bike, the vibration of the road beneath me, the feel of his hard muscles under my hands and my chest. And his smell—my, my, my, his smell. It’s musky and sexy and all man, all Keeton.
In no time, he’s slowing the bike down and we’re pulling off the highway onto a gravel road. Or at least I thought it was a road. He’s driving slowly on a long, curvy lane surrounded by trees. When I see lights up ahead, I realize it’s a driveway. Past the last grove of trees, a sprawling house comes into view. It’s big. The roofline is tall and there are four dormer windows along the top telling me there’s an upper level. I count four garages.
Keeton pauses as one of the doors opens in front of us. Pulling in, he parks the motorcycle in the same bay as a few other bikes. When he turns off the motor, it’s quiet enough that I can finally speak. “This is your house, Keeton?”
“Yep. All mine.”
“It’s amazing,” I say breathlessly. “Seriously amazing.”
Keeton squeezes my hands that are still holding tight to his stomach. “I’m glad you like it, Lainie. That’s important to me.” He pats my hands again. “Okay, now hop off the same way you got on. Hold onto my shoulder, place your foot on the peg, and swing your leg back over.
“Oh, geesh, Keeton.” I put my hands on his shoulders and try to stand up, but I can’t seem to do it. “What if I fall and pull you along with me?”
“You won’t, honey. Do you trust me?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Okay, then hang on. Put your hands behind you. Hold on to the seatback.”
Uh oh, I don’t like the sound of that, but I watch as he swings his leg over the front of the bike stepping off like it’s the easiest thing in the world. The next thing I know, his left arm is beneath my legs and his other is around my waist and he’s lifting me up. “No!” I yelp. “Your back.”
“Shh.”
Before I know it I’m on my feet, standing in front of him with my hands on my hips, “Keeton Gustafson. You cannot pick me up like that. I’m too heavy.”
“You’re not.”
“I am. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if you injured yourself doing that.” Or speak to him or show my face at the shop ever again. Not without everyone knowing the fat girl broke Keeton. No. Thank. You. I half-expect him to argue with me, but he just laughs, grabbing my hand as he does, and pulls me toward a door that presumably leads into his house. He’s so frustrating. When the door opens I gasp. “Oh, my gosh.”
“You like it?”
I’m speechless. We’ve walked into a kitchen that belongs on the cover of a home decorating magazine. It’s all metal and natural stone, a cook’s dream.
“Do you like to cook, Lainie?” Keeton says close to my ear. I’m not sure when he came up behind me.
