Wes trying to make you ride a motorcycle because were scared to go on it.
“Come on, babe, we have one chance to ride this,” Wes whined like a kid.
“You’re a celebrity, Wes, you could ride one of these whenever you want,” I argued.
“Not really, because I’m always busy with tour and music stuff,” he rolled his eyes. “And I really want to do this.”
“And this is one of the best motorcycles of this nation,” Wes continued as he pointed to a red motorcycle. “We gotta ride them, (Y/N).”
“Wes, I’m scared to get on,” you say, getting closer to him as you pressed your hands on his chest. ‘What if I get hurt?“
"That’s impossible, I’m not letting anything hurt you,” he said, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing both of your foreheads together. “Because I’m going to ride with you and hold you very tight.”
“Very tight?” you asked with a smile on your face, a flirty one.
“Very, very tight,” he grinned.
“Then let’s get to it,” you smirked, pecking his lips before putting on a helmet.