Page 20 of Detour

Coty lurches forward, grabbing my front pocket, making me yelp. “Not a chance. You’re comin’.”

“That’s what she said!”

Now Coty’s the one flipping Beckett off. They’re more like brothers with their easy-going, comfortable bond. Even Marc, with his severe stare and aloof demeanor. He let loose a little during dinner but he’s back to his reserved side now, watching everything in earnest.

Coty tugs one of my braids. “These are perfect. It’ll save you from getting helmet hair.”

My eyebrows dip. “Helmet hair?” Normally I’d be embarrassed by my lack of knowledge on a topic and fake my way through until I figured it out on my own. With Coty though, his composed approach puts me at ease even as he lowers a black and white helmet over my head, careful not to catch my cartilage piercing in the process. Deft fingers fasten the chin strap before I even have to ask.

“For guys, it’s similar to bed head, but for girls, it’s more like sex hair,” Beckett explains, using his hands flinging wildly around his head to demonstrate.

All at once Coty stops his hands, meeting my eyes. The fire I see there matches the one stirring in my belly. He lightly brushes the side of my neck and I, unfortunately, gasp. The feather light stroke feels different than a simple touch. More significant. A reunion between two old friends desperate to meet again.

“A few things.” Coty clears his throat, giving me some space. “I’ll get on first, then you get on after me wrapping your arms around my chest or stomach. You don’t want to let go at any time. If you have an itch or something, feel free to scratch it quickly, otherwise keep ahold of me.” He slips his own helmet on, lifting the visor to continue. “Every move you make, I feel and vice versa. We’ll be connected so just be mindful of your movements. Don’t lean. I’ll do all the leaning but where I go, you go, yeah?” I nod stiffly. “I’ve been riding for years and aside from a few minor wipe-outs on my dirt bike when I was younger, I’ve never had an accident. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

I fill my lungs watching Coty situate himself on his bike before he reaches a hand out to me. He helps me aboard then shows me the pegs to place my feet. Once secure, I wrap my arms around his torso like a monkey clinging to a tree making him chuckle.

“Don’t worry about gripping me too tight. I can take it, plus it makes things easier if we’re close.” He doesn’t bother loosening my hold but he does readjust my arms to rest lower on his stomach as he sticks the key in the ignition. “If at any time you feel uncomfortable, squeeze my thigh and I’ll pull over.”

A thigh squeeze? That’s my exit strategy?

“Are you sure you’ll feel it?”

Head cranked over his shoulder, he says, “Trust me, I’ll notice.” Still sensing my reluctance, he grabs my helmet with his now gloved hand. “If you want to stop, I’ll stop. Simple. I’m not going to force you into anything you don’t want to do. I promised to keep you safe and I will. Okay?”

The sincerity in his eyes pulls the assent straight from my mouth. “Okay.”

He closes our visors then twists back around. As he does, I notice a small device attached to the side of his helmet. Reaching up, I feel mine has one, too.

Beckett sees, saying, “Bluetooth speakers.”

Coty grabs my hand, putting it back where it was then leans forward starting the bike up. The 45-degree angle makes my stomach lurch. With nothing other than another person to rely on, I shoot my hands out, bracing them on the gas tank in front of Coty’s seat. My arms still fully around Coty on each side, just holding my weight independently rather than fixed on him, I immediately feel better.

Coty’s head rotates to the side again. “What’s wrong?”

I give a humorless laugh. Where do I start? “I can’t do it. I just can’t sit that way.” Not only is the unnatural angle discombobulating, it feels like I’m literally handing Coty my mind, body, and soul to maneuver as he sees fit. I’m keeping some semblance of control whether he likes it or not. Either we go like this, or I don’t go at all.

“Are you gonna fight me on everything?”

I pop a shoulder. Probably.

“Alright. We’ll try it your way but your arms will burn out fast like that.” I let that comment slide since he’s never seen me work a busy Saturday shift. “If you get tired, just grab onto me. I got you.”

I see Beckett shake his head out of the corner of my eye. “Dude, you got a live one there.”

I bristle at the insinuation as Marc barks out, “We ridin’ or what?”

All at once the motorcycles start up creating a whining buzz I’ve become accustomed to. From upstairs. Indoors. Out here though, it’s a whole different experience. The roaring hum isn’t just audible, I can feel it—everywhere. The vibration penetrates my skin, sinking its pulse into mine, until I can barely register it over my own shudders.

Coty revs his engine a few times then reaches back to squeeze my thigh. Given his earlier instructions on a quick exit, I assume this is his way of telling me my time is up—that I’m now free to curl up in a ball at home and count carpet fibers while him and his friends have a terrifying night of fun—so I move to disembark when Coty, chuckling, brings both hands back to stop me. Shaking with laughter he points toward the street, indicating where we’re going. I drop my head against his shoulder blade as it continues to bob.

Coty’s hands still on my thighs, he reaches under to grip the bottoms of both then drags me forward until water couldn’t slide between us. Plastered to him, my legs are forced to spread wider to accommodate our intimate position. I squeeze tight, tighter than before, scared my grip was lost along with my sanity the second my crotch touched him. I mean the man’s wearing jeans but she doesn’t care about an insignificant detail such as clothing. Blood pumps to the rhythm of the pulsating machine below, heading straight for where our bodies meet, making the connection that much more pronounced.

Shit.

Through muffled ears, I hear a collective shout of “Ride it!” I’m not exactly sure what ‘it’ is but before I can volunteer as tribute, we’re already moving, every part of my body closing around every part of Coty’s like a Venus fly trap. Coty tenses beneath my touch but doesn’t complain, letting me get comfortable. As comfortable as one can be riding on a hunk of metal with no seat belts, or general safety precautions, anyway. Fused together as one, we trail after Marc’s bike with Beckett’s vivid green monster bringing up the rear.

Stopped at the first light, Coty flips his visor, turning his head slightly. “All good?”