Page 141 of Burning Bridges Duet

“I’m a backpack,” I retort before shrugging and following Chase as I hear Ryder laugh.

I stand in the doorway, holding the door open for her. I already put on my own leather jacket and grabbed my helmet. She walks out the door with a small “Thank you,” and I take a minute to admire her ass in the tight black jeans she’s wearing. That woman is pure perfection.

We reach her car and I wait, feeling a little curious about what she’s bought for herself. I can’t help but regret my earlier reaction towards her. It caught me off guard, and I didn’t know how to handle her wishing me a happy birthday. I never leave the house on the day and prefer to ignore it completely, so I haven’t had to deal with people celebrating it in years. When she surprised me, all I could do was flee the scene and leave her standing there, feeling foolish. She put in the time and effort to make me feel special on my birthday, and I’m ashamed that I didn’t even thank her or try one of her cupcakes. I feel like such a jerk, but the truth is this day is tough for me, and I’m happy if I can make it through without breaking down.

She pulls a black leather jacket out of her trunk and struggles a bit to put it on. When she’s finally got the zipper up, it fits her like a glove. Holy mother of tits. Next, she retrieves a helmet from her trunk and walks over to where I’m standing by my bike. I can’t help but feel a little uneasy about her choice of helmet. Half helmets aren’t as safe, and without a visor, the wind could easily hurt her eyes, but I’m willing to give it a try. If it doesn’t fit properly or she finds it uncomfortable, she can always wear my second helmet, or we can purchase a new one together, even a green one if she prefers. I’d be willing to make a lot of compromises just to have her curves cling to me as we ride through the streets.

She places the helmet on her head and turns to me with a smile.

“How do I look?” she asks, twirling around with her arms outstretched. I try to maintain eye contact, but my gaze inevitably flicks down to her ass.

“Like a pro,” I reply, smirking as I clip her helmet’s chin strap in place.

“I was aiming for expert,” she quips, making me laugh.

I climb onto the bike and help her get settled behind me. Unlike last time, she scoots closer and wraps her arms tightly around my waist.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Yes!” she answers, and I can hear the excitement in her voice.

I turn on the engine, and the bike roars to life beneath us. With a deep breath, I slowly release the clutch, and we begin to move forward.

The wind whips past us, and I feel her grip tighten around me as we pick up speed. We navigate the streets smoothly, weaving in and out of traffic, with her laughter ringing in my ears. I can’t help but smile as I feel her body pressed up against mine, her breath warm on my neck. It feels like we’re the only two people in the world, and nothing else matters except the rush of the ride and the connection between us.

As we race down a long, straight road, she releases one hand from my stomach and thrusts it out in front of us, fist clenched. I steal a glance back at her.

“I am fucking Superwoman!” she yells, laughing loudly. I can’t help but chuckle. This girl is crazy, and I love it.

As we come to a halt at a red light, she begins to rub my thighs. I place my hands on hers and reciprocate the gesture. Her hands feel cold, and I make a mental note to get her some gloves.

“Are you cold?” I yell back to her.

She just slides her hands under my jacket and shirt, her chilly fingers now pressing against my stomach, making me shudder.

“That’s not fair,” I yell over my shoulder, and she giggles mischievously.

I guide us to an Italian restaurant located on a more secluded side of the beach and park the bike in front of it.

“I’m hungry, and pizza sounds great. Can I take you to an early dinner?” I ask once I get my helmet off, shaking out my curls before turning to her. She hops off the bike and bounces up and down on her toes, still buzzing from the thrill of the ride.

“I don’t know if I can eat. I’m still full of adrenaline,” she says.

“Let’s try, at least,” I say, patting her hair and trying to smooth it down a bit.

We step into the cozy restaurant and settle into a table, ordering a pizza and two Cokes. As we wait for our food, we chat about the ride and laugh, Liv still high on the rush. When the pizza arrives, I dig in, savoring each delicious bite. The combination of the warm, gooey cheese and tangy tomato sauce is the perfect comfort food, and I feel my mood lift with every slice.

Liv gazes out at the beach, her expression dreamy.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask her before taking a sip of my Coke.

“It’s stupid,” she says on a sigh.

“Try me,” I say, smirking.

“You know all those vacation pictures from people in Bali, driving motorcycles on the beach?” she says, and I nod, having seen a few of them myself. “I think I’d like to do that someday.”

“What’s the selling point here?” I ask with a frown. “Bali, or driving a motorcycle on the beach?” She laughs.