“You’re…” She steps out onto the porch, the screen door banging shut behind her. “You’re a biker?”
The way she says it, not quite scared, not quite excited, just stunned, makes my chest tighten.
“Yeah.” I shove my hands into my pockets because if I don’t, I might reach for her, and I need to know how she’s going to react first. “This is me, Small Town. Therealme. I need you to know before we get any deeper into this.”
She walks closer, each step deliberate, and I feel exposed in a way I haven’t felt in years. Not since I was eighteen when my parents died, and the entire fucking world found out Damon Blackwell was heir to a billion-dollar empire.
But this—this feels different.
This feels like it matters.
“You ride a Harley,” she says, stopping a few feet away. Her gaze drops to the bike, then back to me. “You’re in a motorcycle club.”
“Las Vegas Defiance MC.” I pull my hands from my pockets, spread them in a gesture that feels too vulnerable. “It’s my family. My brotherhood. Has been for years.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, and I can practically hear the wheels turning in her head. Probably thinking about every biker stereotype she’s ever seen in movies. Probably wondering what the hell she’s gotten herself into.
Probably about to tell me this fake-dating thing was a mistake.
“Derek will absolutelyhatethis,” she says finally.
I blink in confusion. “What?”
A slow smile spreads across her face, and something in my chest unfurls like a fist unclenching. “Derek’s all about image, propriety, and what people think. A biker boyfriend?” Shelaughs, and it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve heard all week. “He will lose his damn mind.”
“So… you’re not freaked out?”
“Oh, I’m definitely a little freaked out.” She moves closer, close enough that I catch a hint of her perfume, something floral and sweet that’s been haunting me since that first night. “But also intrigued. And maybe…” She tilts her head, studying me. “Maybe a little exhilarated?”
Thank fuck.
“You ever been on a bike before?” I ask.
She shakes her head, and her hair catches the afternoon sunlight, all those shades of red and copper shifting like fire. “Never.”
“You want to?”
Her eyes drop to my Harley again, and I see it, that flicker of nervousness mixing with curiosity. “Where will we go?”
“Wherever you want.” I move to the bike, running my hand over the seat. “Strip. Desert. Wherever feels right. This is a practice date, yeah? We should get comfortable with each other.”
“On a motorcycle,” she says it as if she’s testing the words.
“Onmymotorcycle.” I grab the spare helmet from the saddlebag, the one I kept there just in case, and hold it out to her. “I promise I’ll keep you safe, Small Town. Won’t let anything happen to you.”
She takes the helmet, turns it over in her hands. When she looks up at me, there’s something raw in her expression, something that makes my throat tighten.
“Why do I believe you?” she asks softly.
“Because I mean it.” I step closer, and she has to crane her neck to maintain eye contact. The height difference between us has never been more obvious, and I love it. Love that I could wrap her up in my arms and shield her from the whole damnworld if she’d let me. “Every word, Marley. I’d never letanythinghappen to you.”
She holds my gaze for another heartbeat, then nods. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
I help her with the helmet, leaning down slightly, my fingers brushing against her jaw as I adjust the strap. She’s warm, soft, and so close I can count the freckles across her nose. When I’m satisfied the helmet is secure, I swing my leg over the bike and settle into the seat, then reach back to pat the space behind me.
“Come on, Small Town. Time for your first ride.”
She hesitates for only a second before climbing on behind me, and when her arms wrap around my waist, when her body presses against my back, every nerve ending I have lights up like the Strip at midnight.
