The surreal dance, a fleeting moment of unexpected connection, had faded with the last note of the song. As we stepped out of the bar and hit the road once again, something was profoundly different. The moment Kris hit the first real burst of speed, the rush of wind hit me like a physical blow. It wasn't the gentle breeze from a bus window; this was a force that clawed at my hair and tugged at my clothes, whipping my thoughts into a dizzying whirl.
I clung instinctively to the black fabric of Kris's jacket, my fingers tightening almost painfully into his shoulders. Below, the familiar campus streets blurred into streaks of color—the skeletal forms of buildings, the sparse early evening traffic, the streetlights flickering on one by one. The engine's rumble was a deep, vibrating bass note against the small of my back, thrumming up through my bones.
A potent mix of pure exhilaration and a raw, gnawing fear warred within me. The fear was primal: the speed, the leaning turns, the sheer recklessness of it all. This was Kris, after all. The boy who'd tripped me in class, who'd (indirectly) ruined James's moment, who radiated an aura of untamed energy that usually ended with someone else getting hurt. Riding on his bike felt like stepping into the eye of his personal storm. Yet, intertwined with that fear was an undeniable thrill, a reckless surge of adrenaline that shot through my veins. It felt forbidden, dangerous, and undeniably, outrageously us—even if 'us' was just me and this terrifying, thrilling ride.
I could feel Kris's warmth through the thin fabric between us, the solid line of his back, the subtle shift in his shoulders as he navigated each turn with infuriating ease. We were ridiculously close, closer than we'd ever been, sandwiched together in this small, speeding capsule of metal and leather. I could smell the faint scent of gasoline, something vaguely like expensive cologne, and the crisp, metallic tang of the open night air.
It was an invasive intimacy that made my cheeks flush. Was he doing this just to scare me? A final act of playful cruelty, perhaps? Or was there something else behind the impulsive gesture? That look he'd given me just before we hopped on the bike, after the thrift store, had held a flicker of something I couldn't quite name, mixed in with his usual smirk.
He wove through traffic with a practiced grace that belied his often chaotic behavior in school. I braced myself for another stop near the university, for him to dump me unceremoniously near the gates and disappear back into his mysterious world.
But he didn't. Instead, he took a sharp turn onto a road I didn't recognize, heading away from the familiar campus lights and towards the darker, quieter streets that bordered the city park. The buildings gave way to fewer structures, the streetlights became more sporadic. We were heading out, not in.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat. "Where are we going?!" I finally managed to shout over the wind, my voice sounding thin and shaky even to my own ears. Kris didn't answer immediately, just grinned that infuriating, infuriating grin visible in his rearview mirror.
He took one hand off the handlebars, reaching back. His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from my face, a fleeting touch against my cheek. The casual, almost possessive gesture sent a jolt—a confusing mix of indignation and a traitorous warmth—right down my spine. "Surprise," he called back, his voice a low rumble in the wind. It wasn't an answer, but it was enough to silence my questions, leaving me to wonder, with a mix of dread and anticipation, what night awaited.