You were trouble.

Amanda let you hold her tightly on her motorcycle, thanking god that she’d worn full gear this time; the heat that spread across her skin was like fire when your arms wrapped around her.

“Ready?” She murmured, and exhaled to calm her nerves. “Hold tight, got it?” The engine growled softly, and soon the two of you were off.

Nighttime rides with you were her favorite. Her parents disapproved— always disapproved when you were with her, but that was just part of the thrill, wasn’t it?

Your grip on her waist was like her own little heaven; thick gloved fingers curling against the leather of her jacket. “Don’t suffocate me– I swear on my life you won’t fall.” Amanda teased, and leaned her head back to tap her helmet with yours.

She wished you were a dude. She really, really, really, wished you were. It would make things ten times easier.

And yet.