He dips his head, lacing our fingers together at his stomach. “Good girl.”
Oh fuck.
“Ride with me, London?”
“Isn’t that what we’re about to do?”
A soft smile flicks up on his face. “For a little while?”
His gaze searches mine.
How can I say no to him?
“Yes sir.”
He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing. “That mouth of yours will see you in trouble, one day.”
“I don’t mind if you’re the trouble I land myself in.”
“Christ, London.”
He revs the bike, and we fly out of the basement garage and I squeal. His back jostles with a chuckle. We burst into the street as the traffic streams past. Picking up the pace, we weave through the lanes, the many colors of the lit-up city racing past.
I tip my head back and release one hand from my hold. Curling my fingers around Miles’s shirt I hold my arm out, letting the breeze whip past.
This is what freedom feels like.
This is what happiness feels like.
“Hold on, baby.”
I snap my hand back to his front and reaffirm my grip as we lean right and take the next block. The Queensboro bridge lies ahead, a few blocks away.
“Where are you taking me?” I lean forward, resting my chin on his shoulder.
“Anywhere you want,” he says.
“Somewhere where there’s less people, please.”
With a nod he sends the bike faster, and we slip onto the Queensboro bridge, the grand arched structure lit and reflecting on the water beneath as we speed over it.
I haul in a lungful.
I take it in. The stars overhead, faint but still there. The city that seems to float beyond the river behind us. The warmth of Miles. The whooshing sound of the structure as we pass every towering section of it. The hum of the bike’s tires over the elevated road.
Tears prickle the back of my eyes.
This is the first time since Mama and I started to build our life here that I’ve felt light.
Weightless.
With the bridge behind us, we head southeast, and the traffic thins out. After a myriad of turns I’m never going to remember leaves me completely turned around, we zip into the parking lot of Forest Park.
I’ve seen the brochures. Mama and I have been meaning to visit since we arrived here. But life, it never stops.
We haven’t made the time.
The night air is chilly when Miles kills the engine. I step off the bike and pull the helmet from my head. My hair is a total mess, and I don’t even care.
