Page 7 of Straight to Me

He shakes his head as if to wake himself from a daydream and moves to slide a jet-black helmet on top of his perfectly unkempt hair. He fumbles with it, not clicking the straps together under his chin before yanking it off his head and abruptly sliding it over mine. I straighten and lift the helmet up slightly, readying myself to jump down.

Soft eyes watch me again. “I’ll drop you home,” he says calmly.

His voice forces me to stay put, but I indicate my less-than-practical riding attire, “I can’t ride on the back like this.”

“You look fine babe.” There he goes again, calling me babe.

“People can see my bum.” His eyes quickly glance to check. “It’s fine, I’ll take more care and not start anymore fights,” I say, suddenly desperate to get down off his bike.

He chuckles, flicking his cigarette to the ground and steps forward to clip the helmet together. His eyes don’t leave mine as the tips of his fingers lightly stroke against my chin.

He winks then swings his leg over the bike, careful not to hit me. “Hold on,” he tells me.

Now’s the moment to get down if that’s what I want to do. I consider what might happen if I do get down. Would he follow and stop me? Would I just walk away, get in a taxi and our encounter be forgotten? Unable to decide quick enough, he turns his head back to look at me, his eyes soft. “Just wrap your arms around me or hold my cut.”

We don't break eye contact as I decide to trust him, slowly wrapping my freezing cold arms around his huge chest, linking my hands together, and shimmy my exposed nether regions towards him.

I’m snuggled in as he puts on a pair of clear glasses, then nods to signal he’s ready before clicking the engine into life. The noise is deafening. I shrink down, squeezing him tighter. The vibrations between my legs feel fantastic.

Minutes later and I’ve forgotten that my bum is exposed to anyone driving behind us. Truth be told, I don’t even care. It's pure madness that I've allowed a stranger to take me home, but the contact with him is like a drug to me, and I’m determined to get my fill. I hungrily breathe in his scent as he makes his way out of town.

We stop at a red light, and I suddenly realise he doesn’t even know where Bex’s house is. He looks over his shoulder at me, clearly thinking the same thing. I point straight ahead as he revs the engine. The light’s still red but the road’s clear so he moves forward not bothering to wait for them to turn green.

I continue pointing directions for him to follow and consider adding extra turns to prolong this time together. I give him a squeeze, double tapping his shoulder when he turns onto Sydney Road. I point to Bex’s house and he pulls up outside, cutting the engine.

We straighten and his warm body no longer against mine leaves me feeling lost. Unclipping the helmet, I notice my body’s buzzing from the effects of the bike. My ears are ringing. The adrenaline running through my veins is making my whole body shiver.

He removes his glasses and jumps off the bike, before holding his hand out to help me down. Bracing for an influx of heat I’ve come to expect at his touch, I gently place my hand in his. I shift my weight, push up and swing my leg over the bike, pulling my dress down as I go.

Pain emanates through my foot as my toe touches the ground, causing me to falter slightly. He catches me, but our bodies crash closely together again. Feeling giddy from all this excitement and the sudden rush of heat, I quickly stand and feel my cheeks turn red.

Bex’s house stands shrouded in darkness behind me. For once it doesn’t look like the Blackpool illuminations, which tells me I’m the first one home.

Attempting to tame my windswept hair, I tuck it behind my ears, then cross my arms over my chest, aware that something’s missing. “Shit! My shoes!”

He laughs, putting his hands in his pockets. “You dropped them when I caught you following me,” he says with a smile.

Blushing harder, I pointlessly re-tuck my hair just to busy myself. After an awkward silence, he climbs back on the bike and replaces his glasses. Just as his thumb moves to start the engine again, I realise I don’t want him to leave.

I don’t know who this man is but before I can think properly I blurt out, “Wait, I don’t know your name. I can’t thank you properly if I don’t know your name.”

I cringe for being so...suggestive. He smiles holding out his hand in my direction. “Give me your phone,” he says.

I rummage in my bag when the bloody thing starts flashing at me to tell me I have a message.That can wait. He takes it from my grasp, then flips it back to face me, needing face ID to unlock it.

As he adds his number, I consider him for a moment. I’ve never given my phone number to a stranger, nor have I ever taken a man’s number on a first encounter. What is it about him that leaves me acting like a wanton woman?

Maybe the fact he's from part of the country where I'm moving to soon?I eye roll myself for even thinking that. “There,” he hands it back regaining my attention, “I’ve put my number in. Just text me so I get yours.”

“Will do,” I say, as I captain salute him.

What the hell am I doing?

He laughs, then turns on his lights and starts the engine. The noise is again deafening. He walks the bike backwards, slightly mounting the pavement in order to be able to turn on such a tight road. With a roar from the engine, he pulls away quickly, taillights fading as he leaves. My phone vibrates again, pinging up a text from Bex saying she’ll be home soon.

I grab my keys and start walking to the front door, hobbling slightly, compensating for my poorly feet.

With my phone still in my hand, I quickly scroll through my contacts to find his name. Working my way through the alphabet nothing new or untoward is standing out. Approaching the R’s, then the S’s, I begin to wonder if he’s messing with me.

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