Page 55 of Heavy

I look back at his bike, then to him again.

Realization washes over me.

“Why would it make a difference if I’d rode on one?” I sound nervous, but internally I’m screaming because I’m going tohaveto hold him.

“I’d have you ride pillion with the rear grips,” he says as he steps forward, tapping on the back of the seat where what looks like railings reside.

“Fucking shit.” He doesn’t even attempt to hide his disapproval.

Alright well, now I feel like total crap. I’m well aware it isn’t just me he doesn’t want touching him, but damn, he couldn’t look more upset by the prospect. I drop my chin to my shoulder, looking away as he comes to terms with what we are going to do.

“I can order an Uber…” I mumble, not truly wanting him to hear me, but feeling I should at least give that out as an option.

“Speak up,” he barks, and I immediately wrap my arms around my waist. “I—damn it, sorry.” A thunderous growl comes just before he grabs my chin and directs me to look at him.

“Why…” I ask softly. “Why can’t I—”

“It’s not you.” He swallows roughly and releases a heavy, weighted sigh. In a much gentler tone, he asks, “What did you say just a moment ago?”

I roll my lips together, reluctant to repeat myself, but his eyes are commanding, and I know if I keep hesitating he’ll demand it with his words. “I said I can order an Uber.”

“No.” He immediately dismisses the idea. “That’s unnecessary.” He glances back at the house, but I keep my gaze fixed on him. The hard set of his jaw tightens, and I’m pretty sure I hear him mutter “Sort it out” though I can’t be entirely sure.

He turns back to me. “Cal, riding a bike is dangerous. Trust is so important, and I can’t lose control because you don’t listen to me.”

I stay silent, pressing my lips together as I stare into his stunning blue eyes. They sharpen, and I watch his pupils contract, as if adjusting from darkness to light.

“You will sit on the back of the bike, give me your hands, and I will put them where they will stay the entire ride. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I say while nodding. “I promise.”

He takes a deep breath, his nostrils flaring.

“I’ll take things slow…” I’m such a slut, because the urge to tell him I don’t need it slow has me swallowing down the words before they spill out. “And I’ll take the backroads, since this will be your first time.”

He sets the helmet down on the seat of the bike before shrugging off his jacket. I take in his frame; strong and undeniably masculine. He’s lean and toned at every visible place, and even the simple motion of removing a piece of clothing has his arms flexing, veins visibly pulsing beneath his skin. The black shirt he’s wearing is slightly oversized, not tight by any means, but god, I wish it were.

He steps closer and drapes his jacket—which is far too big for me—around my shoulders. “Rocks can fly up and cut you,” he says. I slip my arms in, letting the warmth of the leather settle against my skin. The moment it envelops me, I’m hit with his scent, and despite myself, I sigh in relief.

After zipping it up, he grabs his helmet and gently slides it onto my head. It’s warm, infused with the familiar scent of amber that I now associate with him. Though it’s already dark outside, the visor makes everything nearly impossible to see. It’s only when he flips it up, adjusts it, and secures the strap under my chin, that my vision clears.

I lift my gaze to his. “Thank you,” I say as he moves to situate himself on his bike, kicking up the stand and gestures for me to sit behind him. “Aren’t you worried? You know, no helmet, and the rocks?”

There’s no hesitation to my movements, and I swing one leg over, sliding right up against his back. I can see his shoulders tense for a moment, then relax.

“I’ll be fine.” I don’t entirely believe him, and it has nothing to do with the lack of safety for himself.

When his hands come down by his hips and gesture for mine, I place my wrists into his grasp. He pulls me forward, and my chest squishes against his back. God, he is so warm even through his jacket I’m wearing, and if it weren’t for this fucking helmet, I would be having a hard time not nuzzling against him.

He places one hand across his chest. “Grab onto my shirt.” I do as he commands, and as my other is guided to the opposite side, crossing my arms at the wrists, I grab on.

“I’m going to lean forward, do your best to stay close without moving your hands. However…” He pauses, as though fighting with himself on even saying the words. “If you feel like you're going to fall, grab onto whatever you need to stay with me. You understand?”

I don’t say anything, just nod.

“I hate when you do that,” he says while revving the bike to life.

“What?” I shout, the sound reverberating around in the helmet.