“What’s wrong?” I ask. I don’t think I can handle two breakdowns in one day.
Lukas takes off his helmet, turning so he can look at me fully, his bright green eyes searching mine. “What do you mean you’ve never been?”
“To the beach? I mean I’ve never been. I drove straight to Sonoma when I moved here and haven’t been any farther West than that.” That’s pretty self-explanatory, right?
“But you never went as a kid? Even out East?”
I shake my head. “We went to a lake once, but my dad is a pastor and my mom is a librarian. They didn’t exactly have the funds to run off on beach vacations anytime they wanted.”
Not that they would have, even if we’d had the money, I add silently because I’ve already admitted enough.
Lukas’ eyes are piercing as he looks at me. They narrow slightly and he scowls before putting his helmet back on. I tighten my grip around him as we move again, but Lukas checks the traffic and does a U-turn, heading back through town.
“What are you doing now?” I ask, poking his side gently.
“We’re going to the beach,” he replies, his voice firm.
“I can’t. I have work to do at home!” I argue.
“It can’t wait until tomorrow?” he asks. I want to argue, even open my mouth to tell him that no, it can’t wait, but that’s not true. I was just going to put on pajamas and go to bed early like a grandma.
“That’s what I thought,” he chuckles. “I’m kidnapping you.”
I’m not sure how we’ve gone from taunting and yelling at each other in a bar to this in 24 hours. We hit the highway, and it’s too loud to talk, but I love the feel of the wind rushing around us. I relax into Lukas’ back, adjusting my grip so that my palms are flat on his chest instead of clutching my own forearms. There’s an inch of tattoo peeking out the back of his shirt and climbing up his neck. The tip of a bird’s wing, I think. The feathers are exquisitely detailed and I have the strongest urge to press my lips to it.
I love the way he feels. He’s warm and solid, and I’m hyper-aware of my thighs straddling his hips. I scold myself for being turned on by it. He’s being nice to me, but that doesn’t mean anything. He’s just unwittingly fulfilling my favorite fantasy, and my vivid imagination is happy to fill in the rest.