Page 36 of Handful

“Good.” I swung my leg over and settled. “Up.”

She mounted from the left. Hand on my shoulder, leg over clean, hands flat on my stomach, feet on the pegs. The whole sequence in one motion now, no hesitation, the way she’d been doing it for two weeks.

“Okay,” she said against my shoulder. “Go.”

I started the bike.

We pulled out of the lot and two bikes fell in around us — Glitch on the left flank, Smoke a length off the rear. No signal, no discussion. My brothers had been doing it since the first ride, one or two brothers materializing whenever I took her out. Nobody made it a thing. Nobody needed to.

I pulled over at the gas station on the edge of Willowbrook and cut the engine. Glitch and Smoke pulled in behind us. Austen’s grip loosened but she didn’t let go right away.

I pulled my helmet off. She did the same.

“How are you doing?” I asked over my shoulder.

“My thighs are vibrating in a way they didn’t on the short loops.”

“Highway vibration’s different. Frequency picks up at speed. Shift your weight gently, side to side — small movements, gets the blood moving. Don’t do it on a curve.”

“Now?”

“When we’re moving. Straight road only.” I pulled off my gloves and stretched my fingers. “How’s the rest of you?”

“Cold around the wrists.”

“Gear sold us a balaclava. Should’ve got you wrist gaiters too. I’ll get you a pair.” I looked at her. “What else?”

“My back’s fine. The lean’s easy now. I’m—” she paused, looking past me at the gas pumps. “I’m not scared.”

I looked at her. The bright eyes, flushed face. Exhilarated. She meant it — no performance, no asking for reassurance. Just the truth. I wanted to throw my head back and whoop right there in the lot. She was on my bike. Six hours round trip, my road, and she wasn’t scared — she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

I looked away before I made it weird.

We got coffee. Stood at the edge of the lot, me with a black drip and her with something that had too much milk in it.

“Do you usually stop here?” she asked.

“No.”

She looked at me. “Then why today?”

“Wanted to get you off the bike a while. Walk around, shake it out, a proper break.” True enough. The rest of it — that I wanted my eyes on her, not just her weight against my back — I kept to myself.

She caught it anyway. The glint gave her away before she said a word. “So you engineered a stop just so you could eye-fuck me at a gas station.”

“You complaining?”

“Just noting it.”

“Seems fair. You’ve had your hands all over me for the last half hour. A man’s owed.”

“That was safety.”

“That was you copping a feel at sixty. Don’t dress it up.”

She laughed and didn’t argue it. The way she stood there — coffee in both hands, color high in her face, loose and in no hurry to get back on — told me she was loving this. The ride, the road, all of it. She just wasn’t going to hand me the win by saying so.

“How much further?” she asked.