Not tomorrow.
Not after the ride.
Not when things got quiet again.
I was all in.
Chapter Thirteen
Juliet
Morning came early.
Ride day.
I rolled onto my side and stared at the empty space beside me, the sheets still warm where Asher had been not long ago. He’d left before dawn, whispering that Maze would be outside waiting for me. He had been quiet and deliberate as he pressed a kiss to my hair before pulling on his boots like he didn’t want to wake me but also didn’t want to leave without being felt.
I’d lain there afterward, listening to his footsteps fade, replaying the night we’d shared in fragments that still made my stomach flip.
Then reality had nudged its way back in.
Flowers. Bikes. People. A hundred moving parts that didn’t care how little sleep I’d gotten or how warm my body still felt remembering his hands. Maze outside waiting for me.
I dressed quickly, pulling on layers and tying my hair back with practiced ease. Coffee barely registered as it went down. By the time I stepped outside, the air was crisp and sharp, the kind that made everything feel clearer and more important.
Maze stood by the van.
“Are you my escort?” I called to him.
He was a rougher version of Asher. Same cut and worn jeans, but not my Asher.
That stopped me for a second.
Asher was mine. My Asher. Wow.
“Here to get you and these flowers to the ride,” he said. He opened the passenger door of the van, and I climbed in.
Maze wasn’t much of a talker, but I was okay with that. We made it to the staging area for the ride, and it was already alive and filling up with bikes.
Engines idled. Voices carried. Bikes lined up in neat rows that stretched far. Black and chrome and steel catching the early light.
Asher was already there.
I spotted him immediately, moving through the crowd with that steady authority that didn’t demand attention but always commanded it. He was checking riders in, scanning names against lists, eyes flicking from face to bike and back again.
He looked… good.
Too good.
Leather jacket zipped, shoulders squared, hair pulled back. I felt heat bloom low in my stomach, unhelpful and insistent, and forced myself to look away before my thoughts wandered too far into last night.
Focus, Juliet.
I rolled the van doors open and got to work.
The first few bikes went smoothly. Muscle memory took over. Wrap, secure, adjust, step back, check balance. Red and white blooms softened steel without hiding it, exactly the way I’d envisioned. Riders watched curiously at first, then with growing pride as they saw how it looked on their bikes.
I stole glances when I could.
