It's a good thing, relatively speaking, that Harley and I came across each other so early in my hunt. It means we won't have to go far to find my bike; I parked her about a block away, with enough locks and alterations made that unless someone really understands how the mechanics of a motorcycle work down to every last bolt, chances of her getting stolen are slim. My head races, trying to sketch out a plan while Harley seems to be taking me to task, pulling me so close that I can feel his every movement down to the rise and fall of breath.

He probably feels as much from me, as well.

I don't know what it is that makes me suddenly want him. I mean, maybe it's the desperation that I'm misreading right now. The way that he's clinging onto me like I matter, and more than that, like I'm precious. Not delicate, fortunately — I think he's got the hint that I can handle myself, and far better than most people in this sorry city can. But even though we hardly know one another, it feels like our bodies are making up the difference. Like we're both quickly learning what makes the other tick.

"C'mon, my bike's around the corner," I murmur once we finally pull away, reaching up for his hand and lacing our fingers together, squeezing it in reassurance. I'm committed for tonight. "You ever ride a motorcycle before?"