Page 46 of Surprisingly Us

“Fine,” I relent, pulling his gym shorts over my shoes and up to my waist under my dress. Rhys helps me get on the back of the bike, then he joins me.

Because my dress is slim through the hips, I had to bunch it up at the waist and pool the material between me and Rhys.

“Wrap your arms around me.”

I snake my arms around Rhys’s waist. After yesterday’s lap straddling, this feels easy. Either his theory about doing more challenging stuff so other things feel easy was right or holding onto him is far less scary than the idea of falling off the back of this motorcycle.

He’s warm and solid and okay, I see why this has appeal.

He lifts his phone up to take a photo of us. I lean into him and let my chin rest on his shoulder.

We look cute. A surge of pride rushes through me.

Look! I can do this.

Then, Rhys starts the engine and my stomach lurches. With my arms wrapped around him, I’d forgotten that we need to drive this thing somewhere.

“Hold on tight.”

“Like my life depends on it?” I ask, because that’s what this moment feels like.

“Come on, Princess, I’d never let anything happen to you.”

“Did you get reassurance from every driver in the city? Because that’s who I’m worried about.”

I wince as we take off onto the city street, nervous that we’ll be clipped by a car speeding by.

We take the side streets south to Chelsea and I gain confidence in Rhys as a driver. He doesn’t take off at top speeds like I’ve seen some motorcyclists do. The only thing hotter than a bad boy on a motorcycle is the fact that he obeys traffic laws.

We’re stopped at a light and I think I’m going to make it and everything is going to be okay, but then his hand drops from the handlebar to his side and grazes my knee.

Okay, it was only his pinky finger, yet that one simple touch is sensory overload.

“Hands on the handlebars!” I yell.

“You okay back there?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Just don’t crash.”

“We’re already here,” he says, dismounting. The light we were stopped at is really a parking spot near the restaurant.

I bend forward to pull the shorts off, then straighten to hand them to Rhys.

Rhys puts the shorts back in the storage compartment along with our helmets.

“Maybe don’t lean forward like that again.” He eyes the top of my dress.

My mouth drops open and I automatically press a hand to my sternum where the dress was gaping. “I don’t have a bra on.”

“I’m highly aware now.”

“So, you saw my breasts?”

“Only the tops of them. It’s cool. I’m your boyfriend, remember?”

I nod, still trying to get into my role as Rhys’s girlfriend.

As we approach the restaurant, I notice several men with cameras. At first, I think they’re tourists, excited to capture their time in the Big Apple on their fancy cameras, but then they raise their cameras at us.

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