When I feel her body relax and her cheek press up against my back, I know the ride is doing its job. Whenever I need to escape my problems, hopping on a bike has always done the trick for me. The wind, the rush, the vibrations of the motor between my legs…it’s intoxicating.

Her fingers start to graze my stomach, and I can’t decide if I don’t ever want to get off this bike or if I want to stop it immediately and let her fingers graze as much as she wants.

No. That’s a fucking dickhead thing to even think. After what this girl has been through tonight, she doesn’t need a “piece of shit local” like me trying to lay the moves on too.

But I do know of a perfect place to stop. There’s a quiet corner of the beach that is reserved only for the locals, but I happen to know all of the old hippies that live permanently here on the island, and they let me hang out on the beach anytime I want. It’s the only place to escape the crowds during the busy season. And even better, most of them are out of town this week. If they don’t own a business on the island, it’s just better for them to avoid spring break altogether. Can’t say I blame them.

When I pull into the quiet cul-de-sac, I park my bike and kick out the stand to lean it up near the old wooden rails.

“Where are we?” she asks, looking around at the old homes and trailers grouped together on the street.

“It’s a local neighborhood. A lot quieter over here. Is this okay?”

She looks around, and I see a smile creep onto her face. “It’s so cute.”

“I figured you might want something quiet.” And it is quiet, completely silent, in fact. There are subtle streetlights and giant trees with hanging moss coating the street in a light warmth.

“I’m actually house-sitting for this guy here,” I say, pointing to one of the small craftsmen at the corner. “Want me to run in and grab you a drink?”

“Do you live here?” she asks.

“I wish. Don’t move. I’ll be right back,” I say as I run into the house. It doesn’t take me long to find a couple beers and a few beach blankets resting on the chairs by the back door. Beach dwellers always have the good stuff.

As I run back outside, I notice that my arms are shaking. Nothing obvious, but coming from deep within my muscles. I haven’t had a cigarette since I was at the shop. That must be it. I could have one now, but I can wait.

“Here you go,” I say as I hand her a cold beer and toss the blanket over my shoulder. “I just realized I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Sierra,” she says with a smile. “And thank you.” She holds up the drink, but her smile fades as she clutches the bottle to her chest.