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“I’m sure the bike can carry both of us.”
I stopped.
“I’m sorry, what?”
He laughed. “We’re taking the moped.”
I stared at him. “The what? Since when do you know how to drive a moped?”
“Since four days ago.”
“Oh, great.”
He led me out the front of the house to a carport at the side where a freaking moped sat. He looked at me, at the bewildered look on my face, and grinned. He stepped on, fixing the stand thingy and turned the key. It sounded like a lawnmower, but his grin was spectacular, the way the sunlight caught his sandy hair and blue eyes, and he patted the seat behind him.
“Get on.”
I wasn’t gonna say no to sitting that close with him between my legs, pressed against his back with my arms around his waist. “Don’t go too fast,” I yelled so he could hear.
Luke laughed and pushed us forward... and off we went.
Down a narrow dirt road by the sea in Mexico. The sun, the breeze in our hair, being with Luke—it was all perfect.
The freedom.
He barely went over ten miles per hour. Granted, the road was bad, there were two of us on the bike, and neither of us had any protective wear on.
It was so freaking cool.
Like we were kids again, without a care in the world.
The market was basically a small open stall a few miles upthe road in a small village, and a tiny convenience store a bit further inland. I got a toothbrush and some soap, some souvenir tank tops—Mexican flag, Cruz Azul, and Corona—two pairs of shorts, and a pack of underwear that I’m sure would feel like sandpaper, but I was happy with my purchases.
I was happy with everything.
Luke bought things like fruit and yogurt, tortillas and rice, and a six-pack of beer. He managed to speak a whole lot more Spanish than me, and we somehow got everything home on the moped.
He put stuff in the fridge while I pulled tags off clothes, then he bumped his hip to mine. “Happy looks good on you.”
I grinned at him. “That was so cool. The bike, the sun, you.” I laughed when he got all shy. “We could just go to the store. No one knew who we were. No one cared. No one looked twice.”
“Pretty sure they don’t expect world-famous singers to turn up on a ten-year-old moped.”
I sighed happily, looking out at the ocean. “I think we might have a problem though.”
He put his hand on my arm, concerned. “What’s that?”
I chuckled, leaned down, and kissed the spot right above his eyebrow. “The problem is, I don’t think I’ll ever wanna go home.”
THIRTEEN
Lukeand I went for a swim in the ocean, we had some fresh fruit for lunch, and then we spent the afternoon on the patio in the shade, lazing on the lounge chairs while Luke strummed his guitar.
Perfect didn’t begin to cover it.
Pretty sure he thought I was joking when I said I didn’t ever wanna go home.
I wasn’t joking.
