Sasha, Not Aleks

seven - Cora not Lina

She shakes her head, "he doesn't need to know, truly."

"Mhmm, alright," fuck.

"So what do I do? I assume I pick up my feet."

"There's pegs out for you to put them on," I point my hand back and she puts her feet up, wiggling her boots to get them to fit just right on the pegs. "Now keep them there, even at stops, I know you'll want to put them down but you're alright to keep them up."

"Um, okay," she's got her hands down right behind my back, holding herself up. "And then I hold onto you, right?"

"Right," I breathe out, letting her arms wrap around my stomach and pull tight, pressing the greater half of her chest to my back.

"You sound flustered," she teases without a moment of hesitation.

"Just going over a checklist," I try to excuse it but while I don't know Coraline Laurier that well, I'd be willing to bet my tongue she saw through it.

"I assume I let go if something happens?"

"Right."

"And jump, maybe?"

"Right."

"And I don't let go of you unless something happens? At all? Not even at stops?"

I swallow, "right." I need a cold shower. ASAP.

"So we're good to go?"

"Good to go," I pick up my feet and kick the engine, eager to be focusing on the bike and not on her arms around my ribs, hugging her chest to me. It's not like I can feel anything in the slightest, we've got a thick layer of canvas and kevlar separating us, but it's my imagination that's killing me. Sometimes an imagination is a good thing, other times, when it's picturing this as anything other than what it is, it's very much not a good thing.

"Listen," I call over the engine, "it's about a twenty minute drive to get from here to Revere and I have to take the highway, are you comfortable with that for a first time?" Getting on the highway the first time on a motorcycle is like trying anal at fifteen.

"Nah, go for it, this might be my only time on a motorcycle and I'm not doing it the newbie way."

I breathe out. Fuck it, I guess.

Getting out onto Broadway street in Cambridge is easy for me. Cora stays quiet for the first few turns but when I hit the engine to get up to speed on Broadway, she teases me with another slight gasp.

"Shit this thing is loud," she mumbles, hands gripped just a little tighter around my stomach. "And fast feels faster."

"Kinda fun, right?" I check my mirrors and then shift over, getting out of a turn lane.

"Absolutely," but I don't miss the way her fingers are digging into my jacket.

"How long does your commute take normally?"

"About an hour," she's looking around like she's never seen this stretch of road before, though I know she has.

"An hour?" I manage, "why the hell does a twenty minute drive take an hour?"

"The T is a mess and I have to walk some of it."

I shift again, avoiding a car that's weaving in the slightest bit. Sure enough, when we pass the driver's seat, they have their phone out.

"May I ask why you don't have a car?"

"Did you miss the part where I said the shop is going under?"