He’d ride erratically, showing off his speed on the curves and revving to bring the whole world’s attention to us.
I prepared for the onslaught of wind, using him as my shield against the breeze he’d relish in and would freeze my legs to the bike.
He didn’t drive fast. He was steady, smooth. Like he was one with the bike. The same way Dad used to take me on the back.
He rode like someone who knew speed had a cost.
My arms didn’t loosen around him as my trust grew. At the lights, he squeezed my bare thigh as if to reassure me. He didn’t react to any of my movements. He was confident in every turn.
We drove out of the town, past the traffic and lights, into the hills and countryside. The hum of the bike beneath us added to the calm, serene picture of beauty around us, the sun starting to set, casting the sky in a hue of orange and yellow.
He could be taking me anywhere. We’d said a drink.
This wasn’t a drink.
And I hadn’t shared my location with Everly.
Shewould spite me for it.
But each of those thoughts passed me as quickly as the villas we flew by, without a hint of that usual anxiety that pulsed in my chest whenever I considered a date.
This was simply research for university.
For my placement.
The woodsy scent of his leather jacket must have had calming effects, like I was being unknotted from the inside. The rush of being on my bike always had a similar effect.
We slowed as we reached a high point, back to the coast, and what seemed like a cliff edge.
He stopped between two trees, tapped on his shoulders again for me to hold on, and alighted us from his vehicle. He pulled off his helmet, lifted my visor, and unclasped my helmet strap before pulling it off my head.
Patting my crazed helmet-hair, he smiled and opened his mouth to talk.
He shut it.
His eyes narrowed, deep in thought, before he went again and stopped.
Zoltán Farkas was speechless. In English, anyway.
“The words you’re looking for are ‘I’m so sorry I ruined your lovely hair when I said we were going for a drink and forgot to disclose a ride.’”
“No ruin.”
Oh, this was not the seduction routine I had been betting on. He didn’t pause to see me swallow; instead, he went to the tail box at the back of the bike and pulled out apicnic blanket.
Then a bottle of champagne.
He laid it out and told me to sit before popping the cork. Then he retrieved two plastic champagne flutes.
Okay. Boy had game.
HR would love this.
To not watch his arms flex as he poured the drinks, I took off my strappy heels and did as I was told, watching the sun set along the horizon.
“How did you find this place?”
He shrugged and passed me one of the drinks.
