I couldn’t care less. Right now, I’m focused on surviving the ride and getting off this death trap as soon as possible. Honestly, I don’t understand how other women can find this sexy. Okay, I get the intimacy—physical, for how close the bodies touch, and emotional, for the trust one has to put in the driver to give away all control. And some women might like not being in control, or find the drop in their stomach at every acceleration thrilling, but I’m not one of them.

For the whole journey, I’m so pumped up with adrenaline I don’t notice the chill. I’m sure riding a bike in December should feel colder than this, but right now my universe is made only of Diego’s body and how hard I can cling to him. My chest is pressed so close to his back we might’ve been fused.

Every turn, incline, and acceleration makes my heart pound faster. If this is what flying feels like, I’m glad humans were born without wings.

When we finally stop, I still hold onto him and keep my eyelids closed. It could be only a traffic light, and if I open my eyes now, I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle the rest of the ride.

“Boss.” Diego tries to turn back to look at me, but I’m holding on too tight. “We’re here.”

I’m still too scared to move.

“Nikki?” Diego calls again. “You can let go now.”

Slowly, I release my koala grip on him and get off. I unhook my helmet and hand it to him, saying, “Let’s never do this again.”

“Don’t say never, boss.” Diego grins at me from underneath the helmet. I can tell he’s smiling from the crinkles around his eyes. “It might grow on you…”

And with that he winks at me, pushes down on a pedal to revive the engine, opens the clutches, and disappears among the Manhattan traffic, leaving me standing on the curb in front of my building with legs still shaky from the sheer effort of pressing my thighs against his.

***

“I should buy you something for the bike,” I say.

It’s Sunday morning, and Diego and I are braving the holiday crowds to complete our Christmas shopping. I’ve already settled Julia with the fanciest wedding planner I could find in the mall’s bookstore, Mom with a new recipe book, and Dad with the latest Ken Follett bestseller. Not the most original or thought-out presents, I’m aware, but I despise gift shopping.

I may or may not have also bought a novel for Paul a while ago. At the time, I wasn’t even sure if I’d ever give it to him. But if he’s going to spend the holidays at our house… I sort of have to. And, I mean, it’s not like a thriller book—hardcover, special edition, signed by his favorite author—will send the message, “I’m in love with you. Dump my sister and marry me instead.” Right?

“You need any new accessories?” I continue. “Gloves?” I couldn’t help but notice his are a little worn out.