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“Get on.” I motion with the tilt of my chin and then push my sunglasses down.
My words break whatever trance she was in and I feel the change in weight as she positions herself behind me. Her hands grip my shoulders as she steadies her balance.
I motion to the foot pegs. “Put your feet there, but watch your legs on the pipe, it gets hot.”
She doesn’t seem to know what to do with her hands so I reach back and grab onto both, placing them at my waist. Her fingers burrow under my jacket and grip my shirt.
When I kick the bike into gear, I feel her fingers gather my shirt into her hands. I lean back against her, feeling the heat from her body, and turn my head so she can hear me. “Just remember, when I move, you move.”
She nods.
“Where do you live?” I ask as I pull out of the parking lot and onto the street.
“Pacific Palisades.” Her voice vibrates close to my ear, making the hairs on my neck stand up.
Pacific Palisades? I never would have pegged her for a rich chick, especially not with that piece of shit Jeep she drives.
I take Ocean Avenue because there’s more traffic, and it’ll give her a chance to get used to the bike before we hit the canyon. The ocean comes into view with its rich shades of aqua and dark blues that are broken up by white caps crashing into the sand. The cliffs in the distance are dotted with large homes, each with spectacular views. Every time we stop, I feel her fingers relax a bit until I change gears, causing her to gather my shirt up again.
When we turn onto Temescal Canyon, the bike leans with the sharp turn, but she moves with it just like I told her to. As the traffic thins and the road narrows, I smoothly shift into 4thgear, feeling the cool air of the canyon wrap around me.
Her grip loosens, finally relaxing enough to explore my midsection with her fingers, testing the limits. They skim under my shirt, dancing across the soft skin of my stomach. I suck in a breath, trying to control my body from reacting to her touch. Each finger leaves a trail of heat in their wake. My stomach tightens, and I shift the bike into 5thgear eliciting an excited squeal from Sasha.
Large estates come into view, secured behind long driveways and security gates. Sasha points for me to turn left and we take the road into the older part of Pacific Palisades. The houses become farther apart, with long stretches of green grass and white picket fences lining the road.
We take another turn into a heavily forested area, and she motions for me to take a dirt driveway that leads up to a modest mid-century ranch-style home. She motions for me to go around the side of the house, and as I do, a huge pasture with an old wooden fence comes into view. At the back of the property is a tall red barn with a work shed attached to it.
I pull up next to the fence, shut the bike off and push the kickstand down with my foot, resting the weight of the bike on it. When I get off, I hold my hand out to help Sasha. She takes the helmet off, shaking out her blonde hair that’s come undone from her bun, and I’m transfixed by the sight of her.
She stands there looking at me, the helmet the only barrier between us. I should be taking in the beautiful view of her property, but I can’t seem to take my eyes off her.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I ask, breaking the silence.
She hands me the helmet. “Boys and their bikes.” She shakes her head, the snark coming back, and for once I’m glad for it.
I look down at her a little darkly and say, “I’m not a boy.”
She peers up at me, her eyes anything but innocent, and foolishly I wonder if she tastes the same way she smells.
Like peppermint.
Those pouty lips of hers pull at the corners into a smirk. “Thanks for the ride.”
Before I can respond, a truck pulls into the driveway.
“Oh, just in time.” She leaves me and jogs over to the men as they begin to pull out tables and chairs. She instructs them to start setting them up on the patio behind the house.
I should leave.
I should get on my bike and hightail it back down to Santa Monica, but I can’t seem to get my feet to move unless it’s in the same direction as her. There’s nothing waiting for me except an empty shop, a dark loft, and an old bass that mocks me from the corner of my bedroom.
It looks like she still has a lot left to set up before the party, so I follow her into the house.
“Do you need help?” The words come out before I can stop myself.
“I couldn’t ask you to do that.” She turns to face me, her brows knitted together.
“I really don’t mind. Besides, I already closed up the shop for the night.”
