The wind blew past my face while my hands held tightly on his shoulder for support as he maneuvered his motorcycle. “Omar, where are you taking me?” I shouted so he could hear me.

“I’ll take you home,” he shouted back at me because it was necessary for us to hear each other. “Do you want to be in an accident?”

“Of course not, don’t joke about it!”

“It’s hard to balance the motorcycle when you’re hands are in my shoulder,” he called out.

“Oh, I’m sorry, but where should I put my hands?” I inquired because to be honest, it scared me to death to be on a motorcycle....