His grin deepened, the kind that curled low in my stomach. “What’s the matter, Malibu? Scared?”
I hesitated just long enough for Jackson’s smirk to sharpen. He swung a leg over the bike, held the helmet out like a dare, and raised a brow.
“Last chance, Malibu. You in or out?”
“Ugh,” I muttered, snatching it from him. “If I die, I’m blaming you in the afterlife.”
He just grinned, like the thought of me haunting him was a perk.
The engine roared to life, loud enough to rattle my bones, and when he revved it, the sudden jolt slammed me against his back. Reflex had my arms clamping around his waist, and that’s when it hit me—solid muscle under my palms, abs like carved stone flexing with the throttle. My face was buried against the broad line of his shoulders, and his scent—clean soap and something darker, somethinghim—wrapped around me.
Fantastic. Just fantastic. At least the wind would whip away the drool.
“Hold on,” he called over his shoulder, and if the cocky tilt of his head was anything to go by, he knew exactly what he was doing to me.
The bike surged forward, eating the road, and my heart forgot how to beat in any sort of normal rhythm. Fear bled into exhilaration, into something hotter, sharper, tangled up with the way every bump in the road pushed me closer to him. The night was alive with cicadas and possibility, and I clung tighter—not just to keep from falling off, but because for once, I didn’t want to let go. As the engine’s growl swallowed every second thought I had, Jackson leaned into the curve of the road, confident and reckless, and I held on like my life depended on it.
I told myself it was only adrenaline making my pulse misfire. Definitely not the fact that I could feel every line of his body through my fingertips. Definitely not the fact that when hetipped his head back and laughed into the wind, it sounded like freedom itself.
The highway slipped behind us, Athens giving way to backroads lined with pines that whispered in the dark. The wind tangled my hair, whipped it across my cheeks, but it couldn’t cool the fire thrumming under my skin. He leaned into another curve, deliberately sharp, and I swore I felt him grin when I yelped and dug my fingers harder into his side.
“Relax,” he shouted over the roar.
“Relax?” I yelled back. “You’re trying to kill me!”
He just laughed again, low and rich, and revved the engine until the vibrations shuddered through both of us. My heart was a mess of panic and exhilaration, and underneath it all, the tiniest spark of something I didn’t want to name.
When he finally slowed, we coasted into a clearing by the river just outside town. The rising moon spilled silver across the water, cicadas buzzing like static in the air. Jackson cut the engine, and the silence that followed felt louder than the ride itself.
I slid off the bike, legs shaky, lungs fighting to catch up. My helmet hit the seat with a thunk. “Well,” I said, voice a little breathless. “That was…horrifying.”
Jackson swung off too, tugging his helmet free, hair mussed from the wind. His grin softened, though, the edges curling into something gentler. He stepped closer, close enough that the warmth of him chased the night air away.
“You loved it,” he murmured. “Didn’t even scream that much.”
I scoffed. “Only because I was too busy praying.”
His chuckle was low, rolling through me like the rumble of the bike. “You’re tougher than you think, Malibu. Always have been.”
I blinked, trying to find a response. He turned away and started pulling things out of his saddlebag. First came a pack of Oreos. Then a family-sized bag of Doritos and a six-pack of Coke.
I blinked. “Wow. Real nutritious, Marine. You trying to give me a heart attackanda sugar crash in the same night?”
He shot me a look as he popped a soda tab. “Yeah, because your diet is the gold standard of health. You basically lived on junk food through finals week. And don’t get me started on your caffeine addiction.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Dalton is such a snitch.”
He just shook his head, settled onto the grass like he had all the time in the world, and leaned back on his hands, watching the water. He didn’t push, didn’t fill the silence. Just sat there, steady as the moonlight.
I sat cross-legged in the grass beside him, staring at the soda in my hands as the condensation slid down the side. Jackson leaned back on his elbows, casual as ever, like the entire world wasn’t tilting on its axis around him.
The question burned a hole in my chest until I couldn’t keep it in. “What changed?”
His head turned, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”
I laughed, sharp and shaky, eyes on the water. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like you don’t know. It’s been a year since that night after prom. You told me not to look at you like that.” My voice cracked, the memory still a raw scrape in my chest. “I thought it was because you didn’t want me. But all this—” I waved my hand in the air like I was trying to get rid of a fly, “This back and forth. All the little touches and the flirting. I want you, I don’t. Oh, wait, maybe I do. It’s driving me nuts.”
He sat up, elbows on his knees, jaw tight. “Holly…” His voice was rough, careful, like he was picking his way through broken glass. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want you. Hell, that was the problem—I wanted you too much.”
