The door opened.
Sean walked in, bike helmet in hand, wind tousled and flushed from the ride. I caught myself staring before my brain caughtup. His car had been in the driveway when we got back. So, he’d parked his sensible car, then pulled out the bad boy, and still managed to be annoyingly attractive.
He took one look at the couch and got it instantly: Cassy asleep, the house quiet. He met my eyes, then tipped his head toward the back porch. A silent request:Come here, Cutie, I have more charming, dangerous plans.
I slipped off the couch and followed.
The door clicked softly behind us as we stepped outside. The breeze was warm, the sun cutting across the yard. He set his helmet on an outdoor rocking chair and leaned against the railing.
“Hey,” he said, voice rough from the wind.
“Hey. You have a motorcycle. That’s so dangerous.”
He grinned wider than I’d ever seen him. “That sounded suspiciously like concern, Cutie.”
Caught red-handed. My inner mom had chosen this moment to make an appearance.
“I am,” I said, crossing my arms. “You got four hours of sleep, then took a death machine out for a joyride?”
“That’s how I decompress,” he said, combing a hand through his hair. “I keep it under eighty.”
I narrowed my eyes, and that only made him smile wider and my heart quivered. He was risk and steadiness all in one, and the way my body reacted didn’t leave much doubt which kind of thrill it was. The classic bad-boy starter pack, and here I was, drawn to it.
“I should’ve known.” I shook my head. “Tattoos and motorcycles are basically a package deal.”
“Ha. You saw the tattoo.”
“Hard to miss when you’re shirtless and smug in a hotel suite. And don’t even think about changing the subject to discuss your biceps.”
He laughed. “That’s a damn shame. We could have, for a solid hour. Maybe two.”
“This is about you and your bike.”
“Yeah, so I was thinking… since I have two weeks until the puck drops, I’ll take you for afternoon rides and see some sunsets—”
“Not a damn chance.”
“—and you can wear the photo shoot outfit.”
My eyes widened. “Oh Lord.” A laugh escaped me. “You’ve lost your freaking mind.”
“A long time ago. You, in that outfit, sitting on my shoulder…” He looked out across the yard, eyes unfocussed, as if he was replaying it in his head. “I was actually at a shop, getting a frame made for it. Big one.”
My jaw dropped. “You’re framingthatpicture?!” Warmth bloomed in my chest. There was no clearer way for a man to tell you how much he liked you than this. “Does your family know how far gone you are?”
That earned a soft laugh. “Abby’s seen it. My dad…” He trailed off, fingers tapping the railing. “He doesn’t have social media, and he’s in blackout—no contact outside rehab right now, part of the program.”
That must be quite a program. A sudden seriousness settled over him and tugged at me. This was the vulnerable part of Sean I didn’t see often. I reached out, laying a hand over his.
He kept his eyes forward. “You’re the only one I wanted to show it to anyway.”
That was achingly sweet. “Thanks.”
After a moment, he added, “So, about tonight. How about you don’t go home to come back again?”
“Oh,” I said, a beat behind, my brain stuck on the very tiny possibility of me in a boatneck top and retro pattern skirt, ridingbehind him on his motorcycle, wind in my hair, arms wrapped tight around him.
His eyes roamed me, tracing me from head to toe, slowly, appreciative, making my heart pitch forward. My face flushed, and I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. The Cup trophy itself didn’t glow as much as I did at this very moment in my babysitting-casual outfit.
