"The shop," he says without hesitation, his eyes bright with interest. "I want to see where you work. I want to see this Triumph you've been working on."
"Okay. The shop first. Then maybe we can ride around a little, if you want. I can show you some of the roads I like."
"I definitely want to." He grins at me, and I smile back.
We reach the motel and I lead him around back to where my bike is parked in the corner of the lot. The Shadow gleams in the morning light with the chrome catching the sun. I washed her a few days ago, and she looks good. I'm proud of the work I did bringing her back from scrap metal to this.
"God, she's even more beautiful in person," Ivan says, walking slowly around the bike. "The photos didn't do her justice. This is amazing."
"Thanks. She's not perfect. There's still some pitting on the chrome I haven't been able to get out completely, and the seat leather is a replacement, not original. But she runs smooth. Purrs like a kitten."
"She's perfect." He runs his hand lightly over the gas tank. "Stop selling yourself short. Stop looking at the flaws. This is beautiful work."
I don't know what to say to that, so I just grab the spare helmet from the saddlebag. Mick gave me his old one when he upgraded to something newer, said everyone should have a backup in case someone wanted to ride with them. I never thought I'd actually use it. Never thought I'd have someone to offer it to.
"Here." I hand the helmet to Ivan. "It might be a little big, but it'll work. It's safe."
Ivan takes the helmet and turns it over in his hands, examining it. "I've never been on a motorcycle before," he admits.
"Never? Really?"
"No, never. Is it scary?"
"It can be, if you're not careful. If you don't know what you're doing." I put on my own helmet, then swing my leg over the bike, settling onto the seat. "But I'll go easy. I'll be careful with you. Just get on behind me, hold on tight, and lean when I lean. Don't fight it. Let your body move with the bike."
"Okay." Ivan climbs on behind me, and suddenly he's there—pressed against my back, his thighs bracketing mine, his hands searching for somewhere to hold. "Where do I—where should I—"
"Around my waist," I tell him. "Just wrap your arms around my waist and hold on. Don't be afraid to hold tight. Scoot up closer if you want to. Don't fall off."
His arms wrap around me, his hands settling on my stomach. I have to close my eyes for a second to keep from leaning back into him. He's so close. So warm. I can feel the solid weight of him against my back, the strength in his arms, and the heat of his body even through both our jackets. I can even feel his heartbeat—or maybe that's my own, pounding so hard I can't tell.
Shit!I need to focus.
I'm about to operate a moving vehicle with Ivan pressed against me, and if I don't get my head together, I'm going to get us both killed.
I start the engine, and the bike rumbles to life beneath us. Ivan's arms tighten around my waist, his grip going from gentle to firm.
"You good?" I ask over my shoulder, turning my head just enough to see his face behind the helmet's visor.
"Yeah." His mouth is close to my ear, and I feel his breath on my neck even through the helmet. "Yeah, I'm good. Let's go. Show me."
I pull out of the parking lot slowly, giving him time to get used to the feel of the bike. His grip on my waist is tight, almost painfully so, his body tense against mine. But as we turn onto the main road and pick up speed, I feel him start to relax. His chest settles more fully against my back. His hands loosen slightly, though they don't let go. His body starts to move with the bike instead of fighting it.
The shop is only about ten minutes away, but I take the long route. I tell myself it's so Ivan can see more of the area. But really, it's because I don't want this to end—the wind in my face, the road stretching out ahead, and Ivan holding onto me like I'm the only solid thing in the world.
This is what I wanted.
All those nights alone in my motel room, drinking whiskey until the world went fuzzy and quiet, I dreamed about this. Not this exactly—I never let myself imagine Ivan on the back of my bike, his body pressed against mine—but something like it. Someone who actually wanted to be with me.
And now he's here.
And I don't know how to handle it without wanting more than I have any right to want.
I pull into the parking lot of Mick's Cycles and cut the engine. The sudden silence feels loud after the rumble of the bike. Ivan doesn't let go of me right away, and we just sit there, neither of us moving.
"That was fun," Ivan says. "I get why you love it. The freedom. The speed. Everything."
"Yeah?" I turn my head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of his face. He's grinning behind the visor, his cheeks flushed from the wind, his eyes bright and alive.
