Shit.
I didn’t think this through all the way.
It’s been years since I rode on the back of a bike instead of driving it myself, and having to press my entire body to his is a very bad idea.
But it’s too late to chicken out now.
If I did, Gage would know why, and I refuse to give him that satisfaction.
I shift forward until the cradle of my hips presses against his ass, my thighs alongside his, and wrap my arms around him. Flattening my palms on his chest, I have to fight the urge to dig my nails into him. Hard, taut muscle lives beneath the leather, and images of him sweat-slickened in the ring with Atlas flash through my head so vividly that I instantly regret my decision to accept this invitation.
The way he moved…
How those corded muscles bunched and flexed so fluidly…
Each swing and jab perfectly timed and accentuating his perfect physique…
Heat pools where my hips press against him, and when he fires up the engine, the low rumbling vibration beneath us does nothing to help convince me that getting on this man’s bike was anything but a very big mistake.
He tears out of the parking lot and onto the street, the roar of his acceleration filling the early evening air.
The powerful, deep, resonant growl of the motor somehow soothes some of the regret I’m feeling about my current position.
It’s far better than the alternative.
Silence always makes me nervous.
Like the whole world is holding a collective breath and waiting for something.
As we weave through the streets, making our way across town, the sound and vibration help relax away some of the tension I had when I arrived at the club.
But a new source of it sits directly in front of me.
Where is he taking us?
A thousand different possibilities float through my head the farther and farther we move from the club, but when we turn onto City Park Avenue, my breath catches.
City Park?
With the sun going down and darkness starting to descend, people are filing out, done utilizing one of the best public spaces in all of New Orleans.
Somewhere I haven’t been in ages.
Mom and Dad used to bring us out here to feed the ducks and walk the trails, but it’s been years since I’ve set foot in the park. Since I’ve taken any time to enjoy anything, really.
That regret tightens my chest as Gage pulls the bike into a parking spot and shuts off the engine, holding out a hand for me to grab to climb off.
The same shiver of awareness ripples through me at the skin contact, and his grip lingers a few extra seconds after my feet are on solid ground, making it impossible to look at him without heat spreading across my cheeks and between my legs.
What is it about this man that puts me so on edge?
That question rattles around my head as he removes his helmet and shakes out his hair, the blond locks flying around his face, then holds out his hand for mine. I unbuckle it and pass it over to him, and he opens his saddle bag on one side, puts mine back in, then sets his on the seat.
“What are we doing at the park?”
He fights a grin as he climbs easily from the bike and opens his other saddle bag. “You’ll see…”
God, I really hate surprises…
