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“What is happening here?” I asked, shaking my head as he pedaled up, looking absolutely ridiculous and kind of adorable.
“Get in the basket, Steinbeck.” His eyes were very nearly dancing as he said, “I’ve seen your ass and I’ve seen this basket, so I know it’s a fit.”
“I’m not sure how to take that,” I said, trying not to laugh but failing miserably as I looked at the oversize basket. “And I’m definitelynotgoing to do that.”
“Why not?” he asked. “Afraid you’re too clumsy to be able to get in?”
“No, and stop trying to use reverse psychology against me.”
“Think about what an amazing photo we can get for our followers of your knight in shining armor, rescuing your sore feet.”
“Thatwouldbe cute,” I said, and looked at the basket again.
There was something about Max that always made me want to throw caution to the wind. When I was with him, I almost felt like a different person.
Like the kind of person who would ride home in a bicycle basket.
“I’m not sure how to do it in a dress,” I said, thinking logistically as I stepped out of my heels. “Without flashing something. Or spilling our malts.”
“One leg on each side of the wheel, dress tucked into the basket with you.” He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “Boom.”
I gave him an eye roll as I put my phone and keys into my blazer’s pockets. “Hold the handlebars still while I get in, you jackass.”
“Your wish is my command.”
After a few awkward tries, I successfully mounted the bike with my legs splayed around the front wheel, my shoes and our cups in my lap. “I’m fairly certain my backside will remain stuck in this tiny basket forever.”
“I’ll be happy to apply the oil that sets it free, then.”
“Pervert,” I teased.
“Best friend,” he corrected.
“Interchangeable titles.” I pulled out my phone and held it up, capturing Max grinning behind me on the bicycle. “Well, damn, this is adorable. I hate us for being so cute.”
“Are you ready?” he asked, his deep voice rich with amusement as I put the phone back in my pocket. “Hold on tight because I’m pretty sure the handlebars are going to get a little wonky when I first get going.”
“What do I hold on to?” I squealed, laughing even though I had a very high chance of dying. I looked at him over my shoulder and said, “There’s nothing for me to hold on to, Max!”
“Put your hands on top of mine, honey,” he said calmly, hisface so mischievous that it was a freakingturn-on, pushing the bike forward with his foot. “And trust me.”
He started pedaling, and I couldn’t believe it was working.
Somehow I was balanced with my ass in the basket and my legs straddling the front tire, so he didn’t have any real problems aside from not being able to see well around me.
“Person on the left,” I called out when we approached a pedestrian, and “Look out!” when a group of women exited the tattoo shop to our right without warning.
I couldn’t see his face, but the sound of Max’s deep voice barking directions and laughing at my squeals had me cackling all the way home.
When we finally reached my building, my stomach hurt, and my mascara was destroyed. I clumsily climbed out of the basket and grinned at Max, who was standing with his long legs straightened around the bike.
I handed him his malt. “That was, um,quitethe interesting ride home.”
“But how do your feet feel?” he asked, setting the cup in the basket while looking down at my legs in a way that made them feel slightly wobbly.
“Wonderful,” I said, holding my malt in one hand while holding my pumps in the other. “They’re ecstatic to be free of these and eternally grateful for your rescue.”
“Iama hero, aren’t I?”
