"Because you should know how to ride. That's it."
It was. It had to be.
"Okay." Something shifted in his expression—not quite a smile, but close. "Okay. When do we start?"
I stood, stretched the kinks out of my back, and nodded toward the lot. "Now. Go find a helmet. Second cabinet in the equipment room, bottom shelf. Should be one that fits."
He went. I watched him cross the lot, moving with that careful deliberation that seemed permanently wired into his body, and then I went to prep my bike.
The morning had warmed by the time we rolled out, the sun climbing toward a sky so blue it looked painted. I'd chosen a route that wound through the foothills—good curves, light traffic, enough variation to give Tyler a real sense of how a bike handled different terrain.
He'd found a helmet that fit, matte black, unadorned. He looked different with it on—anonymous, almost. Like anyone else who might climb onto the back of a Harley.
"Rules." I turned to face him before we mounted. "You hold on to me, not the bike. When I lean, you lean with me—don't fight it, don't try to stay upright. Keep your feet on the pegs, your knees against my thighs. And if something goes wrong, you do exactly what I tell you, no questions. Clear?"
"Clear."
"Good. Get on."
He swung his leg over the seat behind me, settling into position with more grace than I'd expected from someone who'd never ridden. His hands found my waist, fingers curling into the leather of my cut, and I felt the heat of his body against my back even through the layers between us.
"Relax. You're stiff as a board. The bike's going to move—you need to move with it."
I felt him exhale, felt some of the tension drain from his grip. Not all of it, but enough.
"Better. Hold on."
I kicked the engine to life.
The Harley rumbled beneath us, a deep, rolling growl that vibrated up through the frame and into our bodies. I felt Tyler's hands tighten involuntarily, then relax again as he adjusted to the sensation. Good instincts. Faster learner than I'd expected.
I eased us out of the lot and onto the access road, keeping it slow, letting him acclimate to the movement. The bike swayed gently beneath us as we navigated the first gentle curves, and I felt Tyler shifting his weight, trying to find the rhythm.
"Don't think about it," I called back over my shoulder. "Just feel. Let your body follow mine."
We hit the main road and I opened the throttle, smooth and steady. The acceleration pressed Tyler against my back, his chest flush with my shoulders, his thighs tightening against mine as the wind began to build around us.
The foothills rose ahead, golden-brown and studded with scrub oak, the road winding through them like a gray ribbon unspooled across the landscape. I took the first curve at an easy angle, feeling Tyler lean with me, his body responding to the shift in balance without resistance.
Good. Very good.
The road climbed. The curves tightened. I pushed the speed higher, not dangerous, not reckless, but enough to feel the engine working beneath us, enough to let the wind become a presence rather than a whisper.
Tyler's grip had steadied now, his hands no longer clutching but simply holding, trusting thebike, trusting me. I could feel his breathing against my back—deep, measured, the rhythm of someone who'd trained themselves to stay calm under pressure.
We crested a ridge and the valley opened below us, a patchwork of farms and orchards and the distant glitter of the reservoir. The road dropped in a long, sweeping descent, curves banking left and right in lazy switchbacks that begged to be taken fast.
I gave in to the invitation.
The throttle opened under my hand and the Harley surged forward, engine roaring, the world narrowing to asphalt and motion and the rush of air that tore at our clothes and screamed past our helmets. I leaned into the first curve and felt Tyler follow—perfectly synced now, his body an extension of mine, both of us tilting toward the pavement as the bike carved its arc through space.
The second curve came fast, banking the opposite direction, and we swung through it like a pendulum finding its center. Tyler's arms had tightened around my waist, not with fear but with exhilaration—I could feel it in the way he pressed closer, the way his whole body had come alive against mine.
The descent leveled into a straightaway and I opened the throttle wide.
The world became a blur. Fence posts strobed past like a film running too fast. The engine howled beneath us, a sound that lived in the chest rather than the ears, primal and hungry. The wind was asolid thing now, a wall of pressure that we punched through with every heartbeat.
I heard Tyler laugh.
