Because damn. You’re freezing, man.
I toss him the second helmet. He catches it and starts putting it on. That’s when I see it, just as he lifts his arms to adjust the strap.
Ink.
On the back of his arm, peeking out just enough for me to see it. "…Wait. Is that a tattoo?"
"Yeah."
"You?Youhave a tattoo??"
He clips the helmet, shrugs. "That’s not the only one."
I actually take a step closer. "You’re shitting me."
He just raises an eyebrow.
I let out a short laugh. "Unbelievable."
"Guess we’re both full of surprises," he says coolly, then adds, "you know, like the fact that youstilldress like a villain in a low-budget biker movie."
I smile so hard my cheek twitches. I reach for the chin strap and tighten his helmet for him.
We’re close. Too close. His eyes meet mine.
Jesus. They’re super green and super big.
"You remember," I say with a low voice, "when you were like seven, and you wouldn’t shut up about how much you wanted to ride my tiny motorcycle at that amusement park?"
He stares at me. "I remember," he says. "Screw you."
"Just saying. Look at you now, all grown up and finally getting your dream. Weston on wheels."
"How fast is that thing?"
"Fast fast."
"What does that mean—"
"It means you’ll scream before we even hit the good part."
I laugh, step back, and open my storage compartment. I pull out my jacket and hold it out to him.
He eyes it like it’s covered in snakes.
I sigh. "Take it. I can’t afford to pay compensation to the great Weston estate if you fly off and get road burn." He rolls his eyes but takes it. Slips it on without a word.
I swing my leg over the bike. "Get on."
He hesitates.
"What, scared?"
"No."
"Then stop staring at it like it’s a wild animal."
He climbs on behind me, awkwardly. So I turn my head slightly. "You ever been on a bike?"
