Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
——— The street is busy with young people in heavy makeup and couples in dates.
Camila's black leather jacket is just settling on her shoulders as she runs a hand through her hair. She looks into Lauren's eyes, standing in her personal space. Her perfume intertwines with the smell of worn leather.
Lauren looks back, licking her own lips.
Her free hand rests on Camila's chest on its own will. "I'll call the driver," she says, tracing Camila's lapel with the tips of her fingers.
"No need," Camila says, pointing to her right. "I've got a ride."
Lauren looks to her side.
It's a fucking Harley Davidson .
Camila's look finally clicks – the boots, white v neck shirt, vintage biker jacket.
Camila takes fucking riding gloves out of her back pocket.
Lauren kisses her right there, in the middle of the street, just outside the restaurant.
--
Camila bites her lip to hide a smile, but the girl has no poker face.
Lauren runs the tip of her index finger on the corner of her own mouth, cleaning the smudged lipstick.
Well.
Camila takes her jacket off. "You should take this," she says, stepping behind Lauren to help her put it on. "For protection."
The jacket is obviously too big for Lauren, but it feels comfortable. It smells like Camila.
Could be worse.
"Safety first," Lauren answers, snuggling against the fabric.
--
She hasn't gotten on a bike since before Dylan was born.
"Ready?" Camila looks back one last time.
Lauren nods and puts her helmet on. She trusts Camila.
