Annie took his look, and responded with a very pointed puppy-dog frown. Wither under her pout, Daryl. C'mon.

Still, Annie cast a glance over her shoulder, then slid the helmet on, listening to Daryl's instructions. "Why not your waist?" Is what she asks as she slides on, placing her hands carefully on his hips, looking to find purchase in his belt.

The rest, she can understand that. Lean with him, ignore what the bike was doing. It seemed simple enough.

She gave him a pointed look through the helmet. "I'm only 7 stones, I'm not going to break your legs with my feet."