Page 105 of Guitars and Cages

He froze, eyes going wide.

“Unless you don’t want to. I’ll ride with you if you really want to drive,” I threw in, not wanting him to change his mind about hanging out with me.

“No, uhh, no...it’s fine,” he said, looking a little pale.

“I’ll take it easy. Besides, it’s city driving, couldn’t go too fast even if I wanted to. You, uhh, might want to put some boots on, though, if you have them.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” he said, heading back to his bedroom. He came back with a pair of hiking boots, which would do fine. He locked up, and we headed downstairs to the bike. He gave a low whistle when he saw it, walking around it for a moment.

“This is an old one,” he commented, taking in the low-rider design.

“Not exactly,” I said. “Morgan and I built it when I was in high school, started with a junker frame and worked our way up. She’s a complete hodgepodge, so it’s a bitch to get parts, but I couldn’t imagine driving anything else.”

He looked at me, astonished. “What the hell do you do in the winter?”

I chuckled. “Wear layers and freeze.”

He laughed at that, and then stopped, looking down at the side of the bike. “There’s, uhh, only one helmet.”

“That’s fine, you wear it. I don’t usually wear one anyway. Most cops won’t stop you just for that. I’ve never been stopped, anyway.”

He picked it up, frowning at me before putting it on. I had to help him adjust it.

“What?” I asked, as he continued to frown.

“You don’t give much thought to your safety, do you?”

I grinned. “Nah. I figure if it’s my time to go, then that ain’t gonna help me none.”

He rolled his eyes and stood there as I straddled the bike.

I pointed down at the long chrome pipe running along the side of the bike. “Okay, so, that’s the exhaust pipe. You’ll want to keep your leg away from it or you’ll end up with a nice burn.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Keep your feet on the pegs, and hold on to me. Unless, uhh, you don’t wanna; then you can hold on to the bar behind you, but that’s kind of a bad position if you ain’t used to riding.”

He stared at me.

I scowled at him, wondering what the problem was now. “What?”

“That’s not gonna bother you?”

I frowned, confused. “Why would it bother me? I’ve had people on the back of my bike plenty of times.”

“Guys, too?”

I laughed. “I’ve had as many guys on the back of the bike as I’ve had chicks. It’s no big deal. Hell, my brothers and I have ridden with each other plenty of times, and Gage and I...” I stopped then, my gut twisting a bit as I thought about how easily the memory had come. I shivered, reminded of the feel of his arms wrapped around my middle.

“Okay,” he said as he finally got on, putting his feet on the pegs like I’d shown him, and then hesitantly grabbing hold of my shoulders.

I reached up and moved his hands to my waist. “Hold on, and when I turn, look over my shoulder in the direction we’re turning. I don’t need you to lean, just relax and enjoy the ride.”

He laughed nervously at that as I fired up the bike, and soon we were making our way to the laser-tag place. He grabbed tighter as soon as we started moving, and once or twice I could have sworn I heard him praying when a car got particularly close. I kept my word, maneuvering carefully and keeping the speed to the flow of traffic, and that seemed to help, because he eased up on the death grip by the time we arrived. I was right, though; having him clinging to me on the back of that bike was hell on the concentration as well as other parts of my body that decided they really, really liked having him so close. I took a minute after we’d parked to clear my head and think of mucking out stalls again.

He had a huge smile as he pulled off the helmet, and his eyes were so bright I nearly got lost in them for a moment. “Holy shit, that was awesome!”

I chuckled. “Yup. Much, much different than a rolling cage, ain’t it?”

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