“Found your notes,” I say with a raised eyebrow. He reaches out and takes the book back, setting it on the desk, a little pink tinging his cheeks. It’s then that I realize he’s cleaned the grease from his face. His hands are clean, and he’s changed into fresh clothes too. The white t-shirt is stretched over his chest and arms, and it’s all I can do to keep my hands to myself.
“Forgot about those,” he says, offering a hand to help me up. He keeps doing that. I almost don’t dare touch his hand. The way his touch affects me is… intense. But I suck it up and take his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. He holds my hand in his big calloused one as he leads me out of the office. He stops at a closet by the front door and grabs a leather jacket, putting it over my shoulders.
“I’m not cold,” I say, baffled.
“I know,” he says with a little smile. “Trust me.” I shrug but put my arms in the sleeves, trying to ignore the fact that it smells like him. A hint of cologne and engine oil and leather. Lukas zips me up and grabs a helmet from the closet. A motorcycle helmet.
“Wait, are you driving me home on your motorcycle?” I ask. I guess the answer is obvious, but I’m more than a little panicked at the thought. “I’ve never even sat on one. What if I fall off?”
Lukas chuckles. “You won’t fall off. Just hold on tight and lean with me,” he says, putting the helmet on my head and adjusting the strap under my chin. I feel like a child, a parent buckling me in to go play on a bike. Not that my parents did that kind of stuff. They bought me a helmet and told me to figure it out.
He grabs a helmet and puts it on before leading me outside. His motorcycle is parked right out front and it is huge up close; all black and shiny chrome. He grabs the handles and kicks a leg over the seat, effortlessly settling in. He pats the black leather seat behind him. It’s tiny. I can’t sit there. I’ll be plastered to his back the entire way home. I look at it, then back at Lukas and I’m sure the alarm is written all over my face.
“I- I should just call for a ride,” I tell him.
Lukas’ mouth pulls to the side, his green eyes serious as he holds out his hand. “Come on, Freckles. Just trust me.”
I eye his hand and weigh my options. Chicken out and pay for a ride or grow a pair and wrap myself around Lukas like a baby monkey.
“I’m not sure I want to ride in the bitch seat,” I say.
His serious expression cracks and he shakes his head at me. “No one calls it that outside of Sons of Anarchy.”
“Oh, yes, they do!” I argue. “And I’m not getting on there if it’s going to make me club sweetbutt.”
Lukas leans over the handlebars, laughing so hard he’s shaking the bike.
“Sweetbutt? You’re hilarious, but you might need to take a break on the motorcycle romances. Get on. I promise not to pass you around or let anyone say you’re riding bitch.”
I wanted to be more spontaneous, right? What’s more spontaneous than hopping on the back of a hot man’s motorcycle? And as terrifying as the motorcycle looks, New Parker isn’t a pussy.
I can do this.
I put my hand in his and throw my right leg over the back of the seat. I’m nowhere nearly as graceful as Lukas was, but I get up behind him and wiggle until I’m centered on the seat. My hands are on his shoulders, my grip light as I lean backward, trying to create a little space between us. His muscles bunch under my fingertips as he chuckles and reaches back, grabbing my wrists one by one, and wrapping my arms around his middle.
“Hold on tight,” he says, his voice muffled by the helmet. His thumb strokes the back of my hand before he lets go and grips the handle. “Keep your feet up on the pegs and don’t put your leg against the exhaust,” he says. I glance down to check the position of the big chrome exhaust pipe.
“Okay,” I reply shakily.
“Just tap my shoulder if you hate it. I’ll pull over and we’ll get you a car. Ready?”
I nod before I realize he can’t see me. “Yes?” I answer. I feel the chuckle in his chest and I’m pressed so close that it vibrates through me. My nipples tighten in response to him and I’m insanely grateful for his big leather jacket, even if it is miserably hot because it’s the only thing hiding the way he’s affecting me.
Lukas’ muscles flex as the bike roars to life, vibrating underneath us as he revs the engine. A thrilling tingle runs through me as we roll forward. Lukas speeds up gently and we pull out of the parking lot, hitting the main road. We pick up speed and the wind blows over us and even in the leather, it feels amazing. I’m still clutching my arms around him, but I relax a little as I realize how easy it is to just hang on. It’s not as wobbly as I expected, and Lukas is so confident and solid. I can’t say that I mind being wrapped around him like this.
“How are you doing back there, Freckles?” Lukas asks as we stop at a red light.
“Good!” I tell him honestly. “This is fun!” He puts a hand over mine for just a second. It feels like a tiny acknowledgment that he likes this too.
“You’re from Minnesota, right?” he asks.
“Yeah, all the way up North.” There’s no point in telling him the name of my town. I guarantee he’s never heard of Middle River. At last count, we had a population of 312. I guess 311 now that I’m gone. I wonder if Daniel Jones got up on his ladder and painted over the “2” with a “1,” or if they decided to just leave it. “Downtown” Middle River takes up a grand total of two blocks. We have one bar, one diner, one school building, and zero stoplights.
“That’s a big change.” He chuckles. “How do you like being so near to the beach?” he asks. We’ve reached the other side of town and the wind picks up as our speed increases.
“I’ve never been,” I yell back.
He tosses a look over his shoulder at me as the light turns green. We only ride a couple hundred feet before he pulls over on the side of the road.