"Hey, eyes on the road, Evel Knievel!" he shouts back without the slightest hitch of hesitation. Because her concern is taking a backseat to his right now, some primeval mixture of adrenaline and testosterone convincing his brain he's fine while he knows exactly how precarious her balance is going to be in that position at that speed.
Maybe later tonight when he's all ice packed-up and no longer distracted he'll think back to this moment, and realize she was worried about him. How about that?
For the time being, the only thing he's thinking about is the simulated pavement under his feet until his fingers brush the back of her seat and her thigh, resisting the urge to go for the handlebars. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he yells, more to himself than anything, until he's got her more upright than tilted. And all of a sudden, he just lets out a burst of laughter. Because damn, baby.
"Line your front wheel up with your nose, straight ahead," he exhales, until he knows whether she's going to stop or keep going. "Keep your handlebars straight and your knees tucked in. I've got you."
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Maybe later tonight when he's all ice packed-up and no longer distracted he'll think back to this moment, and realize she was worried about him. How about that?
For the time being, the only thing he's thinking about is the simulated pavement under his feet until his fingers brush the back of her seat and her thigh, resisting the urge to go for the handlebars. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he yells, more to himself than anything, until he's got her more upright than tilted. And all of a sudden, he just lets out a burst of laughter. Because damn, baby.
"Line your front wheel up with your nose, straight ahead," he exhales, until he knows whether she's going to stop or keep going. "Keep your handlebars straight and your knees tucked in. I've got you."