“I already did.” I turned, took two steps, and locked eyes with the guy who wanted my girl. I walked out of the darkened interior of the garage and into the bright sunlight. “I’m leaving because she asked me to, but don’t fucking touch her. She’s mine.”
I lied to her again. I didn’t leave. I couldn’t. I felt as if I’d run my Harley into a brick wall. I’d grown numb, and at the same time, everything fucking hurt.
I could still taste her kiss. My throat thickened, fighting the emotions choking me. I couldn’t lose her.
I grabbed a soda and a bag of chips from the snack shack then made my way up to the spectator seats. No doubt she’d see me in the stands. I sat up front, my cut and patch causing people to keep their distance.
From my position, I could see the opening of the hot pit. Ryatt—I wanted to hate him—stood next to McKelle and her dad. She had changed into her leathers, but the suit was folded down at her waist. A thin white base layer clung to her torso. Every other dickhead on the track could see the sports bra molded to her tits. Gesturing with her hands, she pointed to the track, clearly giving Ryatt instructions.
I braced for the pain of seeing her kiss him for good luck. With a big smile on her face, she bumped his fist with hers, then stepped aside with her dad.
A lead bike took the group of riders onto the track. This wasn’t my first track day. Not that I hatedsportbikes or their riders. It wasn’t my scene. But I hated the atmosphere. Like a neighborhood block party of thrill seekers. Dozer had it right. Family was a foul fucking F-word. McKelle couldn’t understand.
I couldn’t relate. Not that her family hadn’t been through some bad times. I cast a quick glance at McKelle. Her dad had his arm around her as they watched Ryatt ride onto the track.
For two laps, the lead bike set the pace. And then the bikers were brought back through the pit. For the first session, a few bikes at a time were allowed onto the track to stagger the riders.
Ryatt looked good. Body positioning was pretty good. He was shifting his position on the seat, leaning into the curves. He blasted down the front straightaway. He was flying. I snapped my gaze at McKelle.
She jumped onto a chair to get a higher vantage point. It also put her directly in my line of sight. As if she felt my stare, she turned in my direction. The smile on her face softened. I waved, but she turned away, shifting her focus back to the guy on the bike. The guy that would take her away from me if I didn’t figure my shit out. I had a lot of work to do to get us back.
Two sessions later, McKelle’s group took the track. Ryatt and her dad were in the pit with her. My girl was badass. Her pearl-white bike shimmered in the sun. Her white leathers fit her body like a glove, and her racing helmet was covered with white roses and skulls. Her long braid draped the center of her back.
A surge of adrenaline hit my bloodstream as she came around the backside of the track. Her knee kissed the ground, and her body practically hung off the side of the bike.
Her dad stood on the sideline behind the barricades recording her session. Ryatt stood next to him, but his gaze shifted between me and the track.
“I like your patch.”
I turned to my left and the small voice beside me. “Hey, beautiful.” I might not be into moms and dads, but McKelle’s little sis was awesome. She’d been riding dirt bikes since before she could read.
Cece traced the Heller Raider patch on the back of my vest. “It’s scary. I like it.” She sucked a blue slushie through a straw.
“Thanks.” I tugged on her braid. “You look like your sister with your hair like this.”
“I know.” She slurped more of her drink. “How come she’s mad at you?” She smiled. The drink had turned her teeth and tongue blue.
McKelle rounded the track again. I squinted against the bright sunshine. But that wasn’t the reason for the hard line of my mouth and the pressure behind my eyes. “I hurt her feelings.”
“Did you say sorry?” She tapped her riding boots against the bleacher in front of us.
“I did.” But this time it wasn’t going to be enough. I glared at Ryatt again.
“He’s nice,” she said, leaning forward and waving at Ryatt.
“I’m sure.”
Cece pointed to McKelle as she streaked through the straightaway. Now that McKelle was in her groove, she cornered tight and pushed the limits of her bike.
“Did you tell her I was here?”
Cece hummed a positive. “Yep.” She popped the p. “And I told her you’d be mad if Ryatt kept staring at her. I can tell he likes her,” she said with a conspiratorialtone. “She says they’re just friends. But Bobby Joe said he just wanted to be friends, then he trapped me in the library at school and tried to kiss me.”
I smiled at Cece. “Want me to beat him up?”
“You could pick me up from school. I’ll tell him you’re my sister’s boyfriend. He’ll be scared.”
“I doubt your mom and dad would be happy with you on the back of my Harley.”
