“Put this on,” he laughs as he hands me a helmet. “Safety first.”
I eye the helmet dubiously before shoving it on. “Helmet head, my favorite.”
“If you want, I can mess it up even more when we get back,” he promises with a wink, sending a flash of liquid heat to my core.
“I found this in the closet, too,” he says, handing me a small leather jacket.
“This was in your closet?”
He nods at me with a small smile as he puts on his helmet.
I shrug on the jacket. The leather is soft and it fits me perfectly.
“Ready?” he asks, patting the seat behind him.
I take a deep breath and climb on, wrapping my arms around his waist.
“Hold tight,” he orders and kick-starts the engine. The bike roars to life, vibrating between my thighs in a way that’s not at all unpleasant.
“I’m going to die,” I mutter into his back.
Not only can I hear his chuckle, I can feel it vibrate deliciously against my breasts and it makes my nipples hard. “Trust me.”
Before I can protest any further, we’re on the move. The wind rushes past as he navigates the winding roads and after a few minutes, the initial terror fades, replaced by an exhilarating sense of freedom I’ve never felt before.
My world blurs as forests give way to rolling hills, then farmland, and finally, the first glimpse of the ocean in the distance.
I tighten my grip around Ryder’s waist, pressing my cheek against his back.
When we finally pull into a small coastal town, my legs are numb and my lips are wind-chapped, but I’m grinning like an idiot.
“You good?” Ryder asks as he helps me off the bike, steadying me with his hands firmly on my waist.
“Surprisingly,” I laugh, legs wobbly as I remove my helmet. “That was actually kind of amazing.”
His answering smile is so bright it makes my heart skip. “I knew you’d love it.”
We’re parked in front of a weathered building with fadedblue paint. Letters peeling in the salty air, the large sign over the door reads:The Salty Dog.
The scent of fried seafood and ocean air makes my stomach growl.
“Best seafood in the Pacific Northwest,” Ryder says, taking my hand as he leads me toward the entrance. “You’re going to love their lobster roll.”
Inside the restaurant is exactly what you’d expect—rustic wooden tables covered in brown paper, fishing nets hanging from the ceiling, and the smell of garlic and butter thick in the air. It’s packed, almost every seat taken.
The hostess has sun-bleached hair and freckles scattered across her nose. “Two?”
Ryder nods, and she leads us over to a corner table by a window overlooking the water. Waves crash against the rocks below, sending sprays of white foam into the air.
After we order a lobster roll for myself and a massive seafood platter for Ryder, he leans back in his chair and studies me.
“So,” he says, taking a sip of his beer. “We’ve known each other for a few days now, and I still don’t know much about your family.”
I fiddle with my napkin. “Not much to tell. It’s just me and my mom.”
“What about your dad?” he asks softly.
Something in his tone tells me he already knows the answer.
