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Jacqueline nudged my hands out of her way and struggled with the strap again. After watching her for about ten seconds, I shook my head and replaced her hands with mine. She tried to fight me, but I gripped the jaw of her helmet and pulled her close. Making eye contact with her through the visors, silently telling her to stop. She made a frustrated, muffled noise under her helmet before her hands dropped, crossing them over her chest. I immediately tightened the strap under her chin. Once we confirmed that the mics in the helmets worked and we could hear each other, I apologized for not having spare gloves for her.

She said it was fine and listened to my careful instructions on where to place her feet and how to hold onto me.

With her arms snug around my waist.

So not only did I suffer with the feeling of her warm thighs wrapped around mine, but her entire front also pressed against my back. Now, her hands were slowly trying to sneak under my leather jacket without me noticing. Her hands were cold from the breeze riding my motorcycle created.

“Jacqueline,” I spoke into my headset, “What are you doing?” I checked over my shoulder to ensure no vehicles were in my blind spot, before taking the exit into Irvine.

“Please?” Her voice was so small, so desperate, that I immediately gave in. We pulled to a stop light at the end of the off-ramp, and as I loitered with the bike by placing one of my feet on the pavement to balance us, I helped her tuck her hands under my jacket and shirt. The feel of her cold fingers on my bare skin made me twitch.

“I’m sorry,” Jacqueline whispered, as she placed as much of her cold hands on my stomach as possible.

“You’re fine,” I tried to sound soothing, and not like I was trying to figure out how to hide my hard-on as soon as we arrived at work and stepped off of this thing, “I should have just given you my gloves.”

“No, you’re driving. It makes more sense for you to wear them.” Jacqueline countered.

“Perhaps,” I shrugged, glancing over my shoulder. My helmet didn’t allow me to see a lot, all I could see was her leg pressed up against mine, her arm wrapped around my waist, and the hint of her shoulder under my spare jacket, “But now we get to go through the day pretending that you didn’t spend the entire ride feeling me up.”

Jacqueline stiffened behind me, and I felt a sick thrill race through me when her hands under my shirt tightened so that her nails teased my skin, “I’m not feeling you up.”

“Sure,” I nodded, watching the light turn green, “Tracing my abs is a very normal way to warm up your hands.” At that, her thumb stopped its casual, passing movement on my stomach, and I couldn’t hold back the chuckle I released.

God, I loved messing with her.

“That’s not—” Jacqueline sighed, “Never mind.”

“What?” I pressed.

She released another irritated sigh before trying again, “I mean, sure, you have nice abs—”

“You knew that already.” I didn’t try to hide the smile on my face as we wove through suburban Irvine traffic on the less busy streets.

“The point is,” Jacqueline sounded like she was speaking through clenched teeth, “I’m anxious. It’s loud. It’s scary. I’m one wrong turn from being smushed into a pancake on the road.” I frowned, silently scolding myself for not taking her anxiety as seriously as I probably should have, “I’m…fidgeting. Please don’t be concerned about me making a pass at you. I promise I’m not trying to.”

Why not, though?I wanted to ask.Isn’t it painfully obvious that it would be reciprocated?

“I’m not worried, Jacqueline,” I removed one of my hands from the handlebars and placed it over my jacket, right where her hands were slowly warming up under my clothes. I pressed against hers through the material, “I’m just tossing you some banter.”

“I don’t always understand when that’s happening,” Jacqueline replied. It was a quiet reply, I probably wouldn’t have heard it had I not been focused on every hitch in her breath, on every sound that escaped her lips.

“How about this,” I asked, as I turned onto the quiet road that led to our office building, “If you are ever unsure whether I’m taking the piss with you,” I lifted a shoulder, the movement making her fingers flex on my stomach once, as if she was afraid that I would shrug her off, “Just ask me.”

She was quiet as we turned left one last time into the longer drive that led to the car park. The office building wasn’t huge. It was only five stories tall, and there were three other buildings in the same complex. The only indication that Sun Steer headquarters set up shop here was the giant block letters on the top of the building that Brandon ordered, facing the nearby motorway.

“Okay,” Jacqueline finally replied. I wasn’t sure she would. I patted her hand on my stomach once, before pulling into a spot near the front. Other employees were filtering in through the lot, doing double takes when they realized who was on the back of my bike this morning.

I flicked the kickstand open and propped the bike up, before pulling my helmet off and doing a quick pass through my hair with my fingers, attempting to tame the helmet hair as quickly as possible.

It wasn’t until I rested the helmet on my lap that I glanced down and noticed something with a smile on my face.

Jacqueline was still clinging to me, her hands stuck against my stomach. Her front plastered to my back as if we were on the road and not parked.

“Jacqueline?” I called, glancing over my shoulder.

“Hmm?” came her reply from under her helmet.

“We’re here.” I placed my hand on her forearm, my thumb pushing the sleeve of the oversized jacket back so I could swipe gentle strokes against the inside of her wrist.