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He stares at me staring at the hand.
“Come on,” he says.
“Come on where?” I question, and a laugh jumps from his lungs.
“On the bike, Holley. I’ll give you a ride over to the best spot in the stands so you’ll have a good view.”
I’m shaking my head before he even gets the whole sentence out. “Why don’t you just point to the spot, and I’ll walk there on my legs? They’re pretty trustworthy. I’ve been using them for, oh, thirty-two years or so.”
“You’re thirty-two?” he asks.
“Three. Thirty-three. I didn’t walk until I was one. Does that ruin my run for Goldilocks?”
“Nope.” He grins, and he brushes his eyes over the top of my head. “Although, your hair isn’t really the right color.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I’ve been blond before, and honestly—”
“Come on, Holley.” He cuts off my ramble. “Don’t you trust me? I kept you nice and safe in the ocean this morning.”
“That’s debatable. I mean, I almost got eaten by a freaking fish monster,” I sass, and he cracks another smile.
“You and I both know I made up the fish monster bullshit to get you moving.”
“I’m not so sure,” I singsong. “I recall seeing true fear in your eyes out there in the ocean…”
“Come on, Holley,” he encourages, completely ignoring my sarcasm. “Trust me. I won’t do anything to hurt you. Ever.”
I purse my lips. “That’s a really big promise to make to someone you hardly even know.”
“I know enough,” he says simply.
Butterflies flutter inside my stomach as I consider actually climbing on this thing with him. Not only does it look dangerous as hell, it’s also quite clearly designed to accommodate only one body. Where am I even going to sit? In his lap?
I start to shake my head again, but he reaches out and takes my hand. “Come on,” he cajoles. “Just put your left leg on this side and your right over here. Sit right in front of me like you’re riding a regular bike. As soon as we’re moving, I’ll stand behind you on the pegs.”
My nerves are fired up, but I ignore them. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and the truth is, if Jake says he’ll keep me safe, I believe him.
He likes to tease and joke, but he’s never given any indication that he’s not a man of his word. In fact, from watching him interact with other people, I’d surmise that he’s the kind of guy who never goes back on what he promises.
“Okay,” I finally agree, stepping up to the bike and trying to figure out how to best contort myself to get my leg over the seat. Man, I’m really going to have to start stretching more if I keep spending time with this guy.
Jake reaches down and assists without having to be asked. Apparently, I take a long time to do everything, and he’s decided he’s not going to wait for any of it.
Secretly, the thought that he might manhandle me around for the rest of our time together gives me a little thrill. It’s kind of like when a man loads the dishwasher really badly on purpose so he never gets asked to do it again, but reversed to give the female gender all the power. I like it. I really like it. What else can I take my sweet-ass time doing?
Suddenly astride the bike, I take a deep breath as he leans the warmth of his chest into my back and revs the throttle twice.
I try not to be too girlie about it, but I’d be lying if I tried to pretend there isn’t a distinct squealing sound coming from me that I am in no way in control of.
“Relax, Holley.” Jake chuckles huskily into my ear, and a shiver runs down my spine. “I’m going to take care of you, I promise. Nice and easy all the way there.”
Slowly, he starts to roll forward, and the panic of what’s to come makes me cover my eyes. His body shakes behind me again, but he reaches forward with a hand to move mine.
Frankly, that’s enough incentive to get my shit together because I really think this is the kind of thing where it’d be optimal if he had the use of both hands.
Apparently confident that I’ve come back from the land of breakdowns, I feel him shift behind me—while we’re still rolling—and climb into a standing position on whatever he referred to as pegs.
With nothing to hold on to, I find purchase on his upper arms and hope that doesn’t affect his ability to steer. And it must not because as we approach a crowd of people that makes me crow like a bird in fear, he weaves our way through like it’s no problem at all.
“Wow,” I say when he revs the throttle just enough to beat a group of pedestrians to the path to the stands. Eyes are on me—on us—as we approach the wooden bleachers and slow to a stop. Jake jumps off with ease, somehow both holding the bike standing and offering me a hand of assistance as I climb off. I try not to blush as the group—largely made up of men and boys—stares at me, but I don’t think I’m entirely successful.
