Friendly Dating - Kira

Chapter 24 - Travelling Home

"Take off your pants."

Though I do think that we should probably talk about that kiss he'd just given me, breaking a large number of our rules, I don't think the discussion should start with those words.

We were not greeting each other, and it definitely lasted longer than three seconds... and yes, there was some tongue involved. Not a lot, but it was there. I noticed it. I usually notice when foreign objects enter my mouth. I did not imagine it either!

The only thing I imagined was my heart skipping enough beats to render me unconscious for a moment.

I blink at Ethan, the shock and horror his instruction inspires probably showing on my face. He arches his eyebrows and cocks his head, indicating my muddy shorts to clarify his order.

"You're dirty; you're not getting on my baby in that state," he smirks, and now I know he's messing with me. "You can keep on your undies unless they're dirty too."

I narrow my eyes at him and scoff very unfemininely. "You look worse," I inform him, and when his grin broadens into a full 1000-megawatt smile, calling his dimples out to play, I hastily add, "If you take off your pants, you're dead!"

Glaring at him, I step closer to the motorcycle and, turning, I wipe my bottom against it and then, facing it again, press muddy handprints at artistic intervals and finally, leaning over onto the seat, I wiggle my torso all over it, transferring as much wet mud as I can. I'm making it nice and dirty while Ethan presses his lips together, giving me a narrow-eyed, long-suffering look, watching my creativity with folded arms.

"It's a dirt bike, Ethy; it literally has the word dirt in its name."

He doesn't acknowledge my cleverness; he just turns away from me and snatches up the shirt I'd hung from the bike's handlebar earlier.

"Thanks for the show," he grins, turning to look at me. "That was pretty hot. Here, put this on," he surprises me before I can comment, handing me the clean, dry t-shirt. To be honest, I am dreading the windy ride home wearing the wet t-shirt, currently clinging to me like a second skin.

"It will just get dirty too," I say, looking down at my smeared, wet top and holding his out to him to take back.

"Take that one off first, obviously," he says, and when I just gape at him, he gives a dramatic sigh and turns his back to me. "Go ahead," he says, and after making sure that he is not somehow watching me in one of the bike's rear-view mirrors, I quickly change tops. It feels good to have the sun-warmed material against my skin, and it smells surprisingly good too. I smile when I recognise the fragrance of the cologne I'd given him for his birthday earlier this year. It suits him so well.

"Thanks," I say, and when he turns to face me again, I run my eyes over his mud-streaked chest and abdomen, hastily averting my gaze when a cocky grin sneaks onto his face.

I'm not admiring him!

'Wh-what about you? You're going to be c-cold," I point out, and now it is clear to him too that I wasn't just enjoying the view; I was making a medical assessment. The only reason he is still giving me that knowing grin is because he's a moron.

"Nah, I'm hot-blooded," he shrugs, taking my wet top from the motorcycle seat where I'd draped it. That is true; Ethan is seldom, if ever, cold, even in winter; he rarely bundles up, while I often have to wear layers in summer. I watch with growing confusion when he wrings out the worst of the water and pulls the t-shirt on over his head.

"What are you doing?!" I giggle, shaking my head.

It's a really old t-shirt with a Barbie fairy on the front, it is faded, and the fairy has lost most of her sparkle, but she is still there, waving her wand and grinning a little dementedly now, probably as confused as I am to find herself plastered on Ethan's chest.