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His brow furrows. He senses something is up.
“Uh, because it’s a big deal to let someone drive your bike who has no idea what they’re doing?”
“Not drive. Ride.”
The grooves in his forehead deepen. “What?”
I finally shine my full grin at him. “I said you could ride my bike. Not drive it.”
Understanding dawns. “You want me to ride bitch?”
“You said you wanted to experience a motorcycle,” I correct. “I’m just giving you my rules for making it happen.”
“Why would I want—” He shakes his head, trying to make sense of my offer. “Is this another test to see if my masculinity is fragile?”
I haven’t wondered if Lucas’s masculinity is fragile since the night we met and he grinned as I paid for his coffee. “No. I just think it’s funny to picture you riding on the back of a girl’s motorcycle.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “It would be ridiculous, not funny. I’m like, twice your size. It probably won’t even work.”
I glance down the street, where I know my bike is parked in a garage. The more I think about it, the more I want him to say yes to this. Maybe it’s imagining his arms around me, or his big body pressed against mine…
“Just a quick spin around the block,” I beg. “Please? You’ll have a helmet so no one will know it’s you.”
He barks a laugh. “No!”
Nibbling on my bottom lip, I try to think of a way to get him to say yes. “What if I let you do anything you want to me afterwards?”
That gets his attention.
“Anything?” he asks, eyes wide and a little breathless. “What does that mean?”
Feeling emboldened—from this day, this week, this time with Lucas—I step closer to him and slide my hand down his palm and into his pocket. Then I lean close enough that my lips are beside his ear as I say, “It means after we take my bike around the block, I’ll follow you into your bedroom and let you do anything you want to me.”
His chest collapses with a big exhale, and I know I’ve got him. “As if I could ever say no to that. Alright, let’s go.”
Excitement bubbles in my veins, my grin stretching from ear to ear. My steps toward the garage quicken.
“I am actually eager for you to experience a ride,” I tell him. “I’m not lying about it feeling like freedom.”
It occurs to me that my hand is still in Lucas’s pocket, our palms flat against each other. The realization hits when I feel his fingers tighten around mine.
“I’m sure it does,” he says, his voice a little deeper than it was a minute ago. “Do I need to know anything before we do this?”
I hum distractedly as I pull him the rest of the way. “I don’t think so. Just keep your feet on the pedals and follow where I lean.”
When we make it to the garage, I glance at Lucas, expecting to see nerves or doubt. But he looks…excited.
“You probably have to get on first,” I say with a chuckle when we finally reach my bike. I take hold of the handlebars to hold it steady. “Your size is going to be an issue, in that sense.”
He sucks a breath in, holds it, then exhales and walks over to my motorcycle. Then with one smooth motion, he throws his leg over and settles in the driver’s seat.
His eyes light up with delight as he takes in the sensation of having a bike between his legs. As his hands go to the handlebars, his eyes travel over the Ducati.
“It feels good,” he comments.
My hand travels over the engine. “Yeah, she’s a good one.”
“Did you give her a name?” Lucas asks with a grin.
