9. October 28 - Wilder

"You owe me."

"I know I do," she says, staring at my motorcycle. "It's just they're so unsafe."

"Life is unsafe, princess. That's half the fun," I say, patting the back part of the seat. I hand her my helmet, and she turns it in her hands like she's never seen a helmet before. "Besides, you promised. A deal is a deal."

Damn, I'd love to reach over and kiss her again. That kiss the other night was way more interesting than any other kiss I've had in a long time, and it's not because I tongued my fake girlfriend in front of her mother, her mother's boyfriend, and a waiter. It was more interesting because I've never had a spark like that with a first kiss.

Electricity moved like fire through my entire body, and I couldn't have cared less that I was at a restaurant. In fact, I felt disconnected from the entire world. No sound. No other people. No jobs to go to. No bills to pay. It was just Savannah and me.

It scared me. I've never felt like that with a kiss. Sure, I brushed it off as just a guy kissing his girlfriend, but I can't remember anything about dinner. I have no idea what I ordered, and I can't remember the conversation. I only thought about her and how much I wanted to come back to our apartment and run my tongue over those lips one more time.

Unfortunately, I chickened out. This is just a girl. Just 2023. Sure, she's nice, and I'd love to bend her over the dining room table a couple of times, but she's just a girl that I won't see again after February.

That's the way it's supposed to be, so I went straight to my room when I got home, jerked off all over the floral comforter without a care in the world, and locked the door, not necessarily in that order. I may have locked the door first. I can't even remember that.

I probably hurt her feelings, and for that, I am sorry. She's tried to catch my eye all week. It's like the tables have turned from days prior to our dinner with her mom. We've smiled over the coffee maker, exchanged pleasantries coming out of the bathroom when the other was going in, and I've saved leftovers for her since she's worked late this week. She utters a simple thank you to me when she opens the Tupperware containers and inhales the casseroles I'm a pro at making.

But good conversation and more kiss sessions? Nope.

"Put it on, and let's go." I nod to the seat and put the small picnic lunch I packed in the attached rucksack on the back of my bike.

Every other woman I've cuffed with has been fine with the bike, salivating over it even. I've had more than a few sex sessions on it, but something tells me Savannah isn't the type to ride with me to a lake, let me turn to face her, and…

"Is this right?" she asks, pulling the helmet over her head and fumbling with the chin strap.

I reach forward and help her, my fingers grazing her neck as I help with the helmet. "Work is having a Halloween party tomorrow night. Will you go with me? It's nothing big. Just at a bar with darts and beer." I click the helmet in place and push down on the top of it to make sure it's secure. "I know it's last minute, but we can find you an easy costume or something."

"We could do a matching costume." There's uncertainty in her voice, like she's not sure she should suggest something so couple-like.

I straddle the bike and nod to the seat behind me. "What did you have in mind? Float me some ideas."

"Are you trying to distract me from getting on this death trap?" she asks.

I start the engine and twist my hands over the throttle, revving the engine. "What? I can't hear you. Did you make a costume suggestion?" Laughing, I cup my hand over my ear like I can't hear.

I walk the bike out of the parking space and turn it around. "You ready?"

"Ready to die?"

"Are you ready to have the ride of your life?" I don't mention I personally want to give her the ride of her life on my dick, but my bike will do for now until these weird feelings go away. "Wrap your legs around my waist."

Shit. My error hits me when her knees lift. Is she really wrapping her legs around me? Has she never seen someone ride on a motorcycle? "Arms! I meant arms. Fuck," I stammer, shaking my head that I said legs.

She lowers her legs and wraps her arms around me, pushing her face into my back. Her head feels good there, and I roll my neck, trying not to think about her lips kissing my back or how her hair whispers at the nape of my neck. I chuckle and lean my head to see her face. "I meant arms. I don't know where that legs comment came from."

"Sure, Wilder," she mutters, and I don't joke further. Her eyes are squeezed shut, and she takes deep breaths through her nose.

I inch forward on the bike, and her grip tightens. "You're fine, Savannah. I'll keep you safe. I promise."

We take off from the stop sign, only moving at twenty-five miles per hour, but she whimpers. A quick glance in the side mirror shows me she's safe. She's flushed and biting her lip until I'm worried it'll bleed, but she hasn't passed out from terror.

"It's only a few miles and no interstates. I'll show you my favorite place to camp. Think of Halloween costumes while we ride."

"You want me to think of costumes instead of death?"

"Yes."

"You and I have very different priorities in life. I don't think we can be more opposite."

It's hard to hear over the bike engine, so I tilt my head until her hair touches my jaw. "I don't know. I think we have a lot in common."

"Like what?" She sounds genuinely interested.

I speed up and notice that my plan to distract her is working. "We both hang our toilet paper the same way, and you love my casseroles."

"I do like a man who knows his way around a can of tuna and a package of egg noodles." She loosens her grip on my waist, perhaps realizing we aren't dead yet. We're moving out of town traffic, and I speed up a little, still not going the speed limit. "The breadcrumbs on top are a nice touch."

"Glad you like it. Want more?"

"Yes. Hit me. What do you think we have in common?"

"Hard work."

"Pardon?"

"I've noticed we have similar work ethics. You work hard at your job, sometimes coming home late. I never call in sick and give my all to whatever job I have."

"I guess I didn't think of that," she says, finally moving her head so it's not buried in my back. I can feel the eyes on the back of my head as she looks up at me.

"Peanut butter and jelly," I say, leaning my cheek against her head.

"I didn't know you also liked it."

I chuckle. "No. That should be our costume. Peanut butter and jelly."

A laugh bubbles out of her throat, and I like it. It's a light laugh, and her thoughts of dying on my bike are gone. She sounds her age and not so mature. She sounds free. "How are we going to do that?"

"Do you have cardboard, markers, yarn, and a printer?"

"Well, yes."

"We can color the cardboard, print out peanut butter and jelly jar labels and hang them over us. Done."

"Why are you so creative and brilliant?"

I pull into the gravel drive of the state park and pull into a parking spot. Savannah raises her head, looking around like she's been magically transported here. She pulls the helmet off and hands it to me, getting off the bike as fast as she can. Her knees wobble a bit, and I put my hand out to steady her.

"Whoa, sweetheart. Don't fall over on me."

"On you?" she asks.

Why do I keep saying suggestive shit to her? "I meant that as a figure of speech, not literally on me," I chuckle, swinging my legs off the bike and getting the food out of the rucksack.

Not that I wouldn't mind her falling on me. At least for ten minutes or so.

We walk to the overlook, and I spread out a blanket I keep in the rucksack. I'm surprised there aren't other people here on the weekend, but I'm thankful we get this view without families with children or long-haul hikers to interrupt us.

"This good?" I ask, and she nods.

We make quick work of unpacking the sandwiches, and I hand her salt and pepper packets and a sandwich bag of pickle slices. "I thought we could get to know each other better and clear the air," I say, biting into my roast beef sandwich.

She freezes with her sandwich halfway to her mouth. "It's been weird, right? It started out so well."

"Does the contract make all of this feel fake and wrong?" I ask. It wouldn't be the first time I heard it.

She chews, swallows, and nods. "A little. I went into this thinking it would be like a normal dating situation. Well, it's not that I've had much experience with that either." She rifles around for a packet of pickle relish and squirts it on her sandwich. "I guess I was hoping you'd be the dating expert and this would be a normal dating situation."

"I don't think normalcy is what people think it is."

"That's true," she mutters. Her face seems lighter out here. Less worried. I can get used to her like this.

I slap my thigh. "Let's make a pact to get to know each other better now. We can pretend that we just had our first date at the Chinese place and there was no contract. No weirdness. Maybe we can pretend that I'm a sexy roommate that you have a desperate crush on. We can pretend this is our second date."

She smiles and opens her bag of chips. "Deal. Now what about this Halloween costume?"