“Why are you being so contrary?” he asks. “I’m offering to help you.”
“Right, and I’m supposed to trust you after you’ve told so many about what we did on the cruise ship, after you made me out to be like a whore.”
“I never—”
“You did. You can just go. I’m fine.”
“I want to help you.”
“Why?”
He gives me a small, sheepish smile. “To grovel?”
“Why does that sound like a question?”
“Maybe because I doubt you’ll let me help you or accept my groveling.”
“If this is groveling, then you need to do a better job.” I cross my arms.
“Do you want me on my knees?”
“Sure.” My lips quirk, and I have to fight back a smile. There’s no way—
He not only gets onto his knees, but he wraps his arms around my knees, hugging my legs. “Allow me to help you, kind lady, good lady, so that I might show you that I mean you no harm.”
“Fancy words, but your tongue has already cut me,” I say, struggling not to laugh. He’s taken to a faux serious tone, like an actor taking on a knight’s role, so I’m trying to sound as regal as he is. I’m no actress, though, but it is kind of fun.
“Forgive me, please, if you can, but if not, at the very least, allow me to rescue you. You foul beast has run aground, has it not?”
I burst out laughing and shake my head. “What are you doing?”
“Groveling. Isn’t this how it’s done?”
“If by making a proper fool of yourself, then yes.”
He grins, and right when I think he might do something inappropriate, he releases me and stands. “Seriously, did you run out of gas?”
“There’s something screwy with the gas gauge so I didn’t realize that I was running low,” I explain.
“I would never judge you,” he says, but he takes my hand and drags me over to his bike.
“Rob, I don’t want to accept a ride,” I protest, but he’s pointing at his own gas gauge, which is on empty.
“My gauge doesn’t work either,” he says. “I have to pay attention to how many miles I’ve been riding around for before I fill up again. Not fun, but I trust you that there’s plenty of gas. We’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know. I really don’t want to leave my car behind.”
“It’ll be fine,” he assures me.
“Fine,” I mumble.
“Just to the gas station,” he promises.
I lock up my car and climb onto the back of his bike. He doesn’t bother to wear his helmet, leaving it hooked around his handlebar. We’re off, and it doesn’t take long at all for us to get going. It also doesn’t take me long to realize we aren’t going to a gas station.
“Rob!” I shout.
“We’re going to my place since it’s closer,” he says, turning his head toward the side. “I forgot something.”