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against his back and it occurred to me that I never put my bra back on once I was finished working. He was completely solid all over, there was nothing but my thin tank and his jacket separating my skin from his, and… he was now sitting between my thighs.
     
    The bike came to life beneath us, rumbling and vibrating my legs all the way up into the center of my crotch. Cam reached behind him, taking my arms and looping them around his waist, where the sensitive skin of my wrists brushed against his middle. When I thought he would pull away, he didn’t, instead he flattened his palm against my hands, sandwiching them between the smooth skin that pulled taut over his ribs. His skin was warm, like it never lost the heat it soaked in during all his time in the sun.
     
    “Hold on,” he yelled over his shoulder, still pressing my hands against him before letting go and grabbing the handles.
     
    The bike began to glide over the pavement, and I found my arms tightening around him just a little bit more. We moved slowly at first. He was very good at maneuvering the bike through the parking lot, and I began to relax a little. The nerves I initially felt when climbing on this bike dissolved a little with every passing second.
     
    And then he turned onto the main road.
     
    The bike quickly picked up speed. I squeezed my eyes shut against the blurry scenery around us. I wasn’t sure I was meant to travel at this speed. All the tension in my body came back plus some, and I held myself rigidly, afraid if I even shifted once it would throw the bike sideways and we would barrel into oncoming traffic, or worse, fall over.
     
    I didn’t notice the way his body shook at first because everything on this bike was shaking—vibrating from the hum of the engine—but this was different. He was laughing.
     
    “What?” I screamed and then squeezed my eyes shut, sure that just my talking was going to make us crash.
     
    His shoulders shook more. “You’re scared!” he yelled over his shoulder.
     
    “Am not!” I yelled like a petulant five-year-old.
     
    His hand, large and warm, covered mine where I was gripping at his chest and he gave it a light squeeze. I was about to yell at him for only driving with one hand when he spoke again. “I got you.”
     
    Three words.
     
    How could three little words cause something inside me to bottom out and then swell with emotion?
     
    I got you.
     
    They weren’t even particularly exciting words. But there was something about the way he yelled it while he covered my hand with his. It was like instead of asking me to trust him, instead of telling me not to be scared, he was showing me.
     
    And I believed him.
     
    My muscles relaxed; they quivered slightly from the exertion of being so tense. Suddenly, I realized I was plastered up against him. It seemed every part of my body touched him. I practically wrapped myself around his body in a giant bear hug. Even my ankles had hooked themselves around his calves.
     
    If I hadn’t been wearing such a massive helmet, I had no doubt that my cheek would be pressed against his back and my hair would be trailing behind us as he drove.
     
    It was just one more reason to hate this helmet.
     
    I opened my eyes and looked around, really looked.
     
    Because of the late hour, the roads weren’t filled with traffic like they usually were. All the shops, the tattoo parlors, the bars, and restaurants were lit up with bright neon lights and large signs. As we moved, the lights whipped by us, creating a blur of color in my line of sight.
     
    The air outside was hot, but traveling like this, the wind pulled at my clothes and body. It brushed over my skin, creating goose bumps in its wake, and I huddled just a little bit closer to his warmth.
     
    Just as I was starting to enjoy the ride, the bike downshifted beneath me and slowed as he turned off the main road and drove a short distance to an apartment building that rose up out of the concrete like some