“Hold on, Schatz.”

He repeats, as he speeds off from a green light. You met this guy at a bar, a drunken mistake, even. You had drunkenly agreed to go on a date with this 6 foot, almost 7 foot tall giant of a man. Now, you were holding on for dear life as he weaves in and out of traffic on his motorcycle.

Your hands curl around the fabric of his jacket, and your arms instinctively hold on around his back. He noticed this and grinned, speeding up more. It was a midnight ride, one you were enjoying.

“Getting a little handsy there, aren’t you, libeling?” He snickered. He had planned this all along — go so fast that you had no choice but to hold on to him. A Handsy Backpack.