He groans. “Don’t try to get me hard while I’m driving, Lila. I don’t want to die tonight.”
Of all things, his flirting is what gets me to relax.
A tiny, itsy bitsy, little bit.
The breathy sound of his voice pouring directly into my ears through the helmet speaker isn’t hurting either.
But what really does it... whatreallybrings me comfort is when he lightly grips the top of my thigh.
One hand on the wheel or handles or whatever they’re called, and the other gently rubbing my leg. The occasional pulse of his fingertips, followed by a soothing caress.
I flutter my eyes open, gaze tracking the streaks of lights from the businesses as we pass. At a reasonable speed.
He kept his promise.
So far.
But my guard is still up.
“You’re feeling better, aren’t you?” he asks.
“How can you tell?”
“You’re no longer cutting off blood flow to my lower body.”
Why does that make me think of an erection?Hiserection, specifically?
“It’s not so bad,” I confess, peeking around his shoulder.
In truth, I’m starting to enjoy it. And no, we won’t be telling him that. He’s already far too cocky. No further inflation is needed for his ego.
“This is my joy, Lila.”
His words sound like a confession. A secret he’s only told me.
As we drive through the streets of Tampa, my thoughts gradually move from crippling fear to something deeper.
What’s my joy?
It’s not cookies and burgers, although those are forbidden delights. And sure, it’s hard to be unhappy while eating a cookie. Yet it isn’t joy.
By the time we get to my apartment, I still haven’t figured out what brings me true happiness.
Reed has a career that brings him satisfaction and this. As terrifying as it may be, riding a motorcycle brings him happiness.
There’s nothing like that for me. Inside, I’m just... empty.
Thirty-one years old, and I’m not living. I’m existing.
And now I’m a criminal, aiming to seduce an FBI agent to save myself from a life sentence.
If she were still here, my sister would want better for me. I need to stop living in this constant state of paralysis, afraid to chase joy because half of me died when she did.
She wouldn’t want me to be broken.
The purr of the engine suddenly disappears as Reed turns off the motorcycle. Or powers it down. Pulls the plug? I don’t know how it works. Never cared to learn.
He pats my leg once. “You did it, cookie. Hop off. Careful of the metal pipe. It’s hot.”
