Dalton had never ridden a BMW Tomahawk before. He usually preferred cars. He lifted one leg over the motorcycle, looking a little perplexed.
Wynter noticed how unfamiliar he was with getting on the motorcycle. She reached her hand out and pulled him up. Then, she put his hand around her waist.
âHold on tight. I go fast.â
Wynterâs hair smelled nice. Dalton smiled. @@novelbin@@