City of London SHAW “This is a terrible idea.” Lucas doesn’t even turn around. The asshole is already sitting on his Ducati with both hands resting lazily on the handlebars like he’s posing for a magazine. “It’s actually,” he says through the comms device in my helmet, “an excellent idea.” “It’s a motorcycle.” “Yes, Shaw. Congratulations on identifying vehicles.” “For a city tour.” “That’s generally where roads are.” I stare at him. Or rather, at the back of him, because he’s wearing an all-black outfit today like he’s preparing either for a fashion shoot. Black hoodie, gloves, and jeans. Even the damn helmet is matte black. Meanwhile I’m still wearing his rainbow sweatshirt. How humiliating. I tighten my grip on the helmet under my arm. “There are buses for this, y’know?” I argue. “There are diseases on those buses.” “There are also seats.” Lucas finally turns slightly, enough for me to catch the smirk in his voice. “With a motorcycle,” he says,
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