“He was an amateur then, I’ll do your helmet, and when we ride, make sure you hold on tight to me,” he adds, taking the helmet back.
“Where are we going?” I ask before he plops the helmet down and tips my head back to fasten it.
He makes sure it’s secure, then snaps the visor down so he can’t see my face. “A ride.”
There are a lot of things I could say, but I ignore the urge and keep my lips closed. Despite having some experience, I’m not graceful getting on the bike, but fake it till you make it. At least Rebel doesn’t laugh.
I clasp my fingers together over his abdomen and press my thighs against his as the engine rumbles beneath us. He twists the throttle, revving it up before clasping my hands tighter, then he takes off, making me jolt and squeeze myself around him.
He did it on purpose, but I don’t care, I’m enjoying the feel of his stomach muscles flexing beneath my palms, his muscular arms guiding the bike and thick thighs tight up against mine. It keeps me from thinking about how he saw my distress and got me out of the situation. I wasn’t about to spiral or anything. I don’t think.
Shutting off my mind, I enjoy the ride. He’s going faster than the speed limit, but I expect nothing less from Rebel. At one point I think he’s talking to me, but when I tap his hand, he shakes his head. I guess that means he is talking to himself, or singing? Probably asking himself what the hell he is doing.
I’m stupidly tempted to throw my arms out and tip my head back, but not only would I fall off, if it killed me, Rebel would follow me into the afterlife to give me hell for being sostupid.
He takes us all the way to Fell’s Point and pulls up outside a Mexican restaurant.
The dismount is more graceful, thankfully, and I get the helmet off before Rebel has to do it for me. He takes it and stows both.
“Food?” I ask. This was the last place I expected him to take me.
“One thing I’ve learned, food is always better than alcohol.”
“Not sure about that,” I scoff.
My lips slam shut and my brain loses the ability to think of anything else to say when he grabs my hand and leads me inside. There is a takeout collection window before you enter the actual restaurant where he heads and gives his name.
“You ordered for us? When?”
“On the way here.”
“I thought you were talking to yourself.”
He gives me a funny look, then hands over his card when the food comes out. I’d offer to pay, but he brought me here, and I’m not even hungry.
Until I get a sniff of the food as he guides me back outside. Not sure how he knows I love Mexican food.
Instead of going back to the bike, he walks down to the water’s edge and finds a bench. It’s been forever since I was in this neighborhood. Since coming home, I’ve stayed in Locust Point. I forgot what a vibrant city it is. I didn’t get to experience the nightlife, legally anyway, when I lived here.
Rebel sets a box of fries between us and offers a vegetarian or meat quesadilla.
“You can take the meat.”
“Do you want the meat, Kinsley?”
“Why does everything you say sound like an innuendo?”
“That’s your filthy mind,” he holds up both packets. “Meat or vegetables.”
“Vegetable. Yes, I mean it,” I take it out of his hands when he gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe me. “I rarely eat meat anyway.”
He chuckles and unwraps his food. "That can be changed."
Thoughts of sucking him off make my underwear grow damp. Damn him. We eat in silence for a while until I can’t stand it any longer.
“Why did you do this?”
“You won’t find peace at the bottom of a tequila bottle.”
