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“It’s not a horse, Grumpy.”

“Figured that out.”

“There’s a clutch. And gears.”

“Nora.”

“And Italians drive like they have nine lives, so…”

“Get on the damn Vespa.”

I laugh. “Fine.”

He starts it, and the engine comes to life beneath him.

I climb on behind him.

And pause.

Oh.

Right.

I have to hold on to him.

For some reason that feels significantly more complicated than it did when I came up with this brilliant plan.

“You planning on staying there all day?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Shut up.” I slide closer and wrap my arms around his middle.

My palms settle against his stomach.

His entire body goes strangely still.

“Grumpy?”

“Yep.”

“You okay?”

“Perfect.”

He absolutely does not sound perfect.

I smile against his back.

“Go.”

The Vespa shoots forward.

“JUDE!”

His laugh gets stolen by the wind.

Asshole.

I tighten my arms around him and press closer as we pull onto the road.