“Too tight?” he asks.
“No.” I shake my head. “Perfect.”
He mounts the bike smoothly, like it’s second nature, then gestures for me to climb on behind him. I hesitate only a second before swinging my leg over and settling onto the seat. It’s higher than I expected, and I instinctively grip his jacket again.
“Comfortable?” he asks over his shoulder.
“I think so,” I say. “Ask me again in thirty seconds.”
He laughs, the sound deep and warm. “You can hold on tighter if you want.”
“I’m already planning to.”
The engine rumbles to life beneath us, low and powerful, and the vibration travels straight through my body. I take a deep breath, then another, reminding myself that I wanted this. That Ichosethis.
Then we’re moving.
The first few blocks are cautious.
Jesse keeps the speed low, steady. The wind presses gently against me instead of slapping, and I slowly unclench muscles I didn’t realize were tight.
This doesn’t feel like losing control.
It feels like borrowing it.
By the time we hit the next long stretch of road, I’m leaning into him naturally instead of bracing. My helmet bumps lightly against his shoulder blade, and I adjust, resting closer.
His back is warm through the leather. Solid. Steady.
I hadn’t realized how much I needed steady.
We pass the glowing curve of the High Roller in the distance, then veer away from the Strip entirely.
He taps my knee lightly.
“Comfortable?”
I nod, then realize he can’t see that.
“Yes!” I call out.
He gives me a thumbs up.
And then, gradually, he speeds up.
Not recklessly. Just enough to make the wind turn exhilarating.
A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it.
I don’t even care that he probably heard it.
The desert air smells different at night. Warmer. Cleaner. Less like exhaust and more like open space. My ponytail flutterswildly behind me, and for the first time since moving here, I feel something unclench in my chest.
I moved to Las Vegas for a job.
For opportunity.
For reinvention.
