She imagined catching him as he climbed off his bike in front of the restaurant. Keyed and buzzing from the ride, running her fingers through his hair would be all it would take to set him off.

In the alcove around the corner from the restaurant, away from the street, she’d brace herself against the walls as his knee supported her from behind, his hand down the front of her pants, fingers rolling in slippery rhythm. She’d grind down frantically, riding his fingers, hearing his growls as he slapped his other hand over her mouth to muffle her ragged panting.