Page 49 of Beg, Borrow, or Steal

It’s not my prettiest choreography, but a minute later, I’m on the back of the bike with hands primly on Jack’s shoulders. I am a two-by-four sitting straight up behind him. “Oh god, oh god, oh god,” I say as he adjusts our weight, and the bike leans a little. “I’m going to fall off! There’s no way this is safe. Why would you get one of these? This is the stupidest decision you’ve ever made. And my stupidest decision for getting on here with you!”

“Are you done hollering at me? Put your arms around me and lean in.”

“Excuse me? I will not be leaning anywhere.”

He laughs. “You think I’m going to drive on the road with your ass dangling off the back like that? Scoot in, hug the bike with your thighs, and wrap your arms around my torso here,” he says, taking my hands and pulling them around his body and tugging them together until I lean my chest against his back.And was it strictly necessary to saythighsso erotically like that?“Better, right?”

I can only make amm-hm-type sound because yes, this is definitely much better. Oh yes, being pressed against Jack’s body is worlds better.

“Good,” he continues. “Now if you can’t tell already, I have helmet coms that let us talk easily to each other. I can turn on music too when you get more comfortable. Only rules are to brace your core when we get ready to stop so you don’t slam your helmet into the back of mine, and don’t fight me around turns. I know you’ll want to lead, but I need you to follow me on this one, okay? Where I lean, you go with me. Don’t try to counterbalance the bike yourself or it’ll throw my weight off. I lean, you lean, got it, Goldie?”

“Why do you say it like I can’t follow directions?”

“Because you don’t follow directions. You invent them—but never follow them.”

I tickle him and he flinches with a laugh. It stops me dead in my tracks. Are Jack and I playing? Yes. We are…and Iloveit. I’m scared of it—this joyous, reckless feeling—but I love it.

“All right, you ready?”

“Quit babying me. I’m fine. If I weren’t fine, I wouldn’t be on this bike. I’m not scared in the—eep!” I scream, squeeze the life out of his abdomen, and tuck my head against his back when he gives it gas and we start rolling.

He’s laughing his head off. “You were saying?”

“Shut up and pay attention to the road!”

“Are you scared?”

“No.”

“Liar. Open your eyes,” he says in that taunting voice of his.

“My eyes are open!”

“Emily…open your eyes.”

Son of a mind-reading bitch.I crack my eyes open and miraculously, we’re not dead.

“Did you see that?” he says. “A snail just passed us.”

“And he was going way too fast.”

Eventually we roll to a stop at the front of the parking lot (we haven’t even left yet?) and Jack looks both ways before telling me to hold on tight again and to lean with him as we take the turn. I think my soul is going to leave my body at these directions, but somehow, we make it. Jack keeps us off the pavement and before I know it, we’re cruising down the road, emerald-green fields on both sides of us, sun bright and happy overseeing the entire adventure. Jack keeps the bike at a nice cruising pace that doesn’t feel quite as scary as I imagined it would. He does not attempt anything lawbreaking with me on board.

“How ya doing back there?” he asks, and the joyful tone in his voice has my cheeks aching.

“Happy not to be dead.”

“Admit it,” he says through the helmet coms. “You’re having fun as my backpack.”

“I’m uncomfortable,” I say snootily.

“You’re in love with this thrill.”

“I hate adrenaline.”

“You’re a junkie now,” he replies.

“I’m impressed, I’ll admit it. But I’m not impressed enough to want to do this again.”

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