He follows me easily, picking up quickly enough that he ends up getting Hatley’s bike off the truck mostly on his own.
“I’ve never done this before,” he mutters as he stares at me with those eyes, his grip stiff on the handlebars. He’s just standing beside the machine, holding it up, but it’s a fucking sight.
“Grab the kickstand, bub.”
He jolts and dips, fucking around the other side, making the bike teeter dangerously. It starts to tip, and I scramble off mine. I barely snag the seat with my fingertips before it can crash on top of him when he pops up, corners of his lips curled.
“Got it—what are you doing?”
I huff out a breath and swallow. “Use your foot next time, yeah? You almost dumped it on your head.” It comes out rough, too rough, through the dryness in my throat.
“Oh.” His cheeks pinken and his sight darts downward.Fuck, I hate that. “Sorry.”
“Hey.” When he refuses to look up, I pinch his chin. Lift his gaze to mine. “It’s okay. You just gotta be careful.”
I can feel his swallow. His nod.
And yet it still takes me a moment to pull back.
His skin is so soft.
Would the rest of him feel like this? Is he this smooth all the way down?
Jesus Christ, Tristen.
Blinking myself out of my stupor, I offer a smile to Emmett and turn away. Fuck with shit on my bike. Mount the seat and plop my helmet on.
I take several long breaths as I work one hand into a set of gloves. Then the other. Focusing on the way the material sits between my fingers, how it lays over my palm.
And when my dick stops trying to chub up, I gesture for Emmett to come closer.
I go over the clutch and the brakes. The throttle. How to kick it to get it started.
He nods along from behind his hood, his hair spilling out the front, framing his face in a way that make him look like the angel at the end of the tunnel.
“You already said that.”
“Huh?” I tear my gaze away from the way he’s chewing on the cuff of his sleeve and blink at the gas tank.
“Lean when you turn, but not too far or it’ll dump the bike. Wrecking isn’t much fun.” The fresh scars on my side tingle like he’s talking directly to them, and I nod.
“Shit, okay. Yeah.” I gesture to the truck with my chin. “Grab Hatley’s helmet.”
Emmett eyes me for a beat before stepping into the bed of the truck and rooting around the toolbox chained inside it.
He’s bent over, drawing my gaze once again to the light that reflects off the bits of his exposed skin. There’s not much but it’s porcelain and smooth and—
The hoodie rides up his back, showing off a thin stripe of pale just above his waistband and my eyes flare.
I look away.
And then right back.
“Hey, fool.”
I jerk when my field of vision fills with Hatley’s grinning features.
“Shut up,” I mutter instantly, a burning taking over my neck and a thickness I can’t explain filling in behind my zipper.
