I just stare at him. His frown deepens. “I thought you were ready to go?”
“I am,” I huff, staring at him like he wasn’t the one delaying us.
He motions for the door, stalking toward it himself when I don’t move. He’s already annoyed with me as it is, so why not go ahead and really rip off the band-aid?
“One quick thing,” I call out, keeping my feet planted in the studio.
Koen stops on a dime, turning around slowly, looking like he’s just about ready to strangle me.
My gaze drops to my feet. “So, part of this showcase I’m doing for dance, there’s a requirement for participants to attend this gala. It’s a charity event raising money for the Conservatory,” I explain, peeking up to check on his reaction, but his face is unreadable. “It helps fund the scholarships, equipment, and facilities,” I ramble on—over-explaining.
“When is it?” His tone gives nothing away of his opinion on the gala, but he pulls out his phone as if he’s actually going to check his calendar.
Stop it, Briar. He’s probably just texting Mac to come and get me himself because I’m annoying him.
“It’s this upcoming weekend but—” I trail off, my nerves getting the better of me.
Koen’s eyes flicker up at my sudden silence, his growing irritation coming out in his tone. “But what?”
“Only dancers are given tickets. I asked, but—” I look up at him. “I can’t get an extra ticket. So, I’ll have to go alone.”
Koen’s expression turns stormy at that, his attention dropping back to his phone. “I’ll go with you. Not a problem.”
I tilt my head, unsure I heard him correctly.“What do you meannot a problem? What, are you going to drop in double-oh-seven style? Wearing that mask of yours?”
He looks up at me. “Would you like that, Ballerina?”
I huff out a breath, not knowing how to respond to that.
Koen’s phone chimes and he checks the incoming text. “It’s not a problem because I just bought a table.” He holds up the phone like he just placed an Amazon order or something. “Come on. I’m going to be late.” He turns and strides out of the studio, and I have to run to keep up with him. He’s quick on the stairs, too, and I don’t fully catch up to him until we’re both on the street outside.
He points to the bike parked up against the curb, his attention back on his phone.
“Get on the bike.”
I stop, staring at the bike while shaking my head in confusion.
“You just—you just bought atable?”
“Yes.” I think I see him roll his eyes. “Now get on the bike. You’re testing my patience.” He shoots me a warning look.
I don’t move, in fact, I’m cemented to the sidewalk until we figure this out.
“A table? You’re sure?”
His brow furrows sharply, jaw tightening as his eyes darken, exasperation breaking through his cold, emotionless mask. “Quite sure, Briar Rose. Now will you get your pretty little defiant ass on the fucking bike?”
“A table costs one hundred thousand dollars,” I continue.
“I know.”
I just stare at him and he steps closer, forcing me to tilt my chin to keep his gaze. “I’d be quite happy to discuss this further little Rose, but right now I need you to get on that bike.” His words come out carefully controlled, and I realize that I’m actually getting to him.
Koen grabs hold of the handlebars while swinging his leg over the motorcycle with ease. Settled into his seat, he looks at home on the massive bike. Even though there’s a bite of frost in the evening air, Koen’s only wearing a tight black t-shirt. The muscles in his arms ripple as his finger feathers the throttle, his abs tightening when he kicks away the kickstand, supporting the weight of the bike to keep it upright. It’s attractive as fucking hell, and my pulse betrays me, quickening at the sight. A familiar warm heat flares to life deep in my core.
I’m overwhelmed with the need to either wrap myself around him, or slap him for making me feel this way.
Just as Koen goes to start the bike, his hand freezes on the throttle, looking up to find me still standing on the sidewalk, feet from the door, hand wrapped around my bag strap. The nylon strap’s rough edges cut into my palm.
