He checked his phone. “Terrance wants to know what I’m up to today. Is it okay to tell him I’m with you?”
She checked her watch. “It’s almost noon, but I wouldn’t want it to seem… you know.”
“Like you spent the night? Shit. Guess I shouldn’t have sent him those pics of you in my bathrobe.” When her eyes widened, he lifted a hand. “Joking. I wouldn’t do that. No pics without your consent.”
She exhaled. “Thank you. And I guess I’m being silly, worrying about anyone thinking I slept over. That’s kind of the point. I wouldn’t want any pics of me in your condo, but if we posted shots of today to our personal accounts—with mutual consent—and someone drew the conclusion that we spent the night together, that’s on them.”
“Yep. So can I say…?”
“We’ll tell them that we’re going for a motorcycle ride. Just let me see any pics before you send or post them.”
“Of course.”
They both tapped messages into their phones, and he rolled the bike into an empty spot in the garage.
“Full confession,” Gemma said. “I’ve never ridden on the back of a motorcycle.”
He grinned, and he was about to say something about her liking the driver’s seat. Then he stopped. No double entendres. Nothing that would make her think today was about seduction.
Well, yeah, it was totally about seduction, but the sort that proved he was someone she wanted to get to know better. Get to knowbetter ineveryway, obviously, but as a whole package. Because hecouldbe the whole package. Right?
Right?
The smallest bead of sweat formed at his temple, but he swiped it away. Just warm in here when they were dressed for a November ride.
“No problem,” he said. “As you may be able to tell by that shiny helmet, I’ve never had anyone on the back either.”
She paused. “If you’d rather not, just say so.”
“What? No. I meant no one wanted…”
He was about to say no one wanted a ride, but that sounded a little double entendre–y. Also, definitely not true. At least, not in the other sense.
“Women usually prefer my truck,” he said instead.
She frowned. “Really? Weird.”
“I thought so.” He patted the motorcycle seat. “However, just in case that changed, I know the passenger basics. I’m going to get on first and let you climb up.”
This wasallgoing to sound double entendre–y, wasn’t it?
He continued, “Now, it’ll be a tight squeeze.”
Two-minute penalty for misconduct. Also bragging.
“The seat,” he said, motioning quickly. “There’s not a lot of room between me and the back post.”
“Got it. I know there are usually grip bars, but I don’t see those. So where do I hang on?”
Anywhere you like.
He cleared his throat. “With the tight squeeze, you don’t really need grip bars.”
Was he actually discouraging her from hanging on to him? That went too far.
He continued, “But once we’re on the open road, youwillwant something to hold on to,” he said. “Just wrap your arms around me.”
Did she blush as she nodded?
