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“And your name?” he grinned, looking down at his phone.

“Oh, sorry. That might help, right?” I extended my hand nervously. “I’m Holly.”

My classmate leaned in and wrapped his strong arms around me instead. He gave me the biggest, most satisfying hug.

“Text me your address, Holly,” he smiled, before walking away. He left the scent of leather and a delicious hint of cologne in his wake. “I’m picking you up at seven.”

Five

BRODY

She looked absolutely adorable, standing on the corner in a pair of pre-ripped jeans and a tight white sweater. Not to mention her little lace-up black boots, which looked unfortunately new.

I could tell by the look of surprise on her face that she hadn’t expected me this way. I figured that much as I pulled up. I hadn’t really told her.

“A motorcycle?”

I smiled through my open visor and handed her a helmet. She was wearing her hair straight, so I didn’t think it would be an issue.

“Ever been on one?”

“I’m from Texas,” Holly chuckled, throwing one leg over the back with practiced ease. “What do you think?”

A minute later we were speeding uptown, her boots on the footpegs, her arms wrapped pleasantly around my waist. Her coat was thankfully short, and buttoned up tight. Though it was dark, it was still unseasonably warm.

“Where are we going?” she shouted over my shoulder.

“For a ride,” I called back.

It was incredible, being out on my bike this late in the year. Even so, I knew it was probably my last ride until spring. My last chance to get out before the snows came and everything iced over, and the dirt trucks spread enough sand over the roads to make them virtually unrideable.

Damn, she feels good!

I zipped up 5th Ave, feeling Holly lean tight with me on the lane changes. She definitely had ridden before. She was a great passenger, and one who didn’t fight the turns.

Saving her in the park today had been thrilling. Not only did it give me an excuse to talk to her, but it made me a temporary hero in her eyes. The cute little brunette in my psych class was no longer just someone I saw on campus or studying in the park. She was on my bike now. Her legs spread, hugging tight against my body.

We skirted the Park, continuing north through Harlem. Christmas decorations flew by — colorful lights and wreaths, dangling from streetlights and doorways, all the way up Amsterdam Avenue. It was beautiful. Always was. Maybe even more so that I could enjoy it without freezing my hands off.

“I’ve never been up this far,” Holly said, as we turned onto Broadway. She laughed musically. “Where the hell are you taking me?”

“Connecticut!”

I felt her thighs squeeze deliciously against mine. It gave her enough leverage to punch me playfully in the r

ibs.

“Alright, alright,” I laughed. “Hang tight. We’re almost there.”

It was another half mile before Fort Tyron Park came into view. We parked and continued on foot, me pulling Holly along excitedly by her warm, feminine hand.

“Wow, this place is gorgeous!” she marveled. Her head moved like it was on a swivel. “I never even knew it was here.”

“Not many people do,” I said. “It’s so far out of the way, it’s almost not even in the City.”

Cobblestone paths lead us deeper into the heart of the wooded preserve. The sounds of traffic and car horns seemed to fade with every step we took.

We walked the paths for a while, still holding hands. The two of us enjoying the silence, marred only by the steady sounds of our booted feet.