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"But—"
"I promise to be careful."
"That's not what I was going to say." My hands automatically go to my hips when I realize he thinks I'm scared of his ride. I'm not. In fact, I'm excited at the thought of the wind in my hair. The vibrations from the engine between my legs. The feel of his body pressed against mine again. The idea of my arms wrapped around him.
Brady lifts his brow, his eyes traveling the length of my body from my head down to my toes and back up again before he speaks. "What's the problem then?"
"I have all these books, Brady. It's not like you have a trunk."
"That doesn't mean I don't have a way to carry stuff," he states, reaching out and taking one of my hands in his, tugging me across the parking lot. I expect him to let go when I fall in step with him, but he only holds on tighter, lacing our fingers together. I'm staring at our linked hands when we come to a stop. I quickly glance away, realizing we're standing next to his bike.
Brady releases me and places my books on the seat of his bike. He removes a backpack he has strapped to the rear seat of his bike, removing a helmet he hands to me, then slips my books inside the bag.
"You'll have to put the bag on your back so you have somewhere to sit, but it's better than walking back to the Zeta house."
"I think I can manage that." Slipping the backpack on, Brady clasps the straps around my waist and chest before helping me adjust the helmet, ensuring the strap is tight.
He helps me on his bike. It's clear I've never ridden one before, my movements awkward and unsure. Making it look easy, Brady stretches his leg over the beast, taking the seat in front of me. Releasing the kickstand, he turns the key over, releases the clutch and hits the start button. The bike fires to life beneath me, and I instantly reach out and place my hands on Brady's shoulders.
I feel his shoulders bounce as he chuckles. Taking my hands in his, he moves mine lower, tugging my body tightly against his, and wrapping my arms around his waist. Before he puts his helmet on, he looks over his shoulder and mouths the words, "Hold on tight."
My grip immediately tightens around him.
As the bike slowly creeps forward, I close my eyes and rest my head against his back. He gives my hand a little squeeze, and the bike picks up speed. It feels like the ride takes forever yet it isn’t long enough. I have to keep my hands from molesting his abs the entire ride, repeating my new mantra over and over again in my head.
They're just abs. Rock-hard, defined, lickable abs. No big deal.
Not the best mantra, but it is all I can come up with. I try to focus on the part where it isno big deal,but the word lickable is really where my attention is drawn. I want to know if I’m right. If they are, in fact, lickable.
Brady cuts the engine, and I release the death-grip I have on him and open my eyes. Instead of seeing the pristine white columns of the Zeta house, I'm staring at the front window of the coffee shop Brady and I used to meet at twice a week our sophomore year.
Memories attempt to flood my mind, but they don't have a chance to manifest before Brady is helping me off his bike, taking my hand, and escorting me into the cafe.
