“I don’t think we need to do this,” I tell him, trying to be strong and ballsy like the woman tidying my kitchen.
He starts walking back toward me. He's a vision, honestly. Crew is wearing a pair of jeans and a navy T-shirt that tugs and pulls in all the right places, and he's got a camel-colored corduroy jacket in his hand. "What don't we have to do? Talk?"
“Yeah. I mean I know why you’re here." I shrug and force my eyes to stay on his face, even though the afternoon sun is catching the golden strands of his hair and between that and the darker stubble on his jaw, it's making his eyes look brighter and lighter than I have ever seen them. His face is just flat-out devastatingly handsome.
“Okay, I’ll play. Why do you think I’m here?”
His voice is light but the look on his face says he is not, in fact, amused. He folds his arms over that lovely chest of his. "You know what I heard last night," I say square my shoulders and clench my fists so I don’t fidget or shake. “You are interested in dating my cousin, Shelby. You’re here to talk about whether or not I’m going to tell her about what we did. Because I, unfortunately, have the power to mess up your shot.”
“Really?”
I can’t read him right now. He looks equal parts smug and annoyed and I don’t know exactly what to do with that. I wish I dated more complex men… or had more complex relationships. I’m once again a fish out of water.
“As I recall you’re the one who doesn’t want anyone to know that we hooked up,” Crew reminds me as the wind picks up and slaps me in the face with a warm gust.
“You have a teammate rule you didn’t want to get caught breaking too, remember?” I wait for a response. All I get is a half-nod. “Can you just tell me one thing? Why would you break the rule for Shelby and not me?”
“I did break the rule for you.”
“You didn’t know you broke it.”
“And then I did know. And then I broke it again.”
Palm fronds above us rustle their discontent as the wind picks up again. I brush my hair back as it hits my cheek. “I’m bad at this.”
“At what? Going for a drive. Yeah, you kinda suck at it because you’re rooted to the ground like the cement dried around your feet,” Crew says. “Can you walk to my bike already?”
“Bike?”
"Yeah. I'm on my motorcycle today. It was easier to cut through Sunday traffic." Of course, the hot, tatted hockey star who looks like he could have been Charlie Hunnam's stunt double inSons of Anarchyhas a motorcycle. Of course.
He starts walking backward, his eyes still on me, his hand stretched out toward me. "Come on, Fireball. Your mom told you to go for a ride with me and you are not the type of girl to disobey a parent."
“I can be,” I counter but I’m already walking, following him.
He grins. “Oh I’ve seen the glimmer of the bad girl in you and I approve.”
Now I’m the color of the fire hydrant across the street. Crew comes to a halt one building down in front of an intimidatingly large matte black Honda Shadow. He unclips two helmets and hands me one. “Do you know how to buckle this up correctly?”
I take the helmet and drop it on my head. “Nope. Not a clue. You’re my first biker dude.”
He chuckles and starts doing up the strap under my chin. His fingers keep brushing my skin and I force myself to ignore how much I like it. He’s not mine. Never was and isn’t going to be. Stop with your nonsense, heart.
“I like being your first in things, Olivia,” he says in a raspy whisper and he gives the strap a final tug and steps back to put on his own helmet.
It feels weird standing here with the giant heavy thing encasing my head. It’s way heavier than a bicycle helmet, which is the only other kind I've worn. He straddles the motorcycle, grabbing handles, pulling it upright, and kicking the stand back with the heel of his boot. "Okay, hop on."
I look at the sliver of seat left behind that sculpted bubble butt of his. I cock my head in hesitation. “There isn’t enough room.”
“There is,” he promises. “You’re going to have to get real close, wedge yourself right up against me. You’re good at that, Fireball.”
Helmets are hot. I'm hot. I fight the urge to fan myself. Instead, I slam down the tinted visor grab his shoulders, and, as gracefully as possible, haul myself up and onto the back of the motorcycle. He's right, I have to squish right up against him. My crotch is pressed up to the back of that hard firm ass of his like I'm trying to become one with it. Every inch of his back is touching every inch of my front. My hands are gripping his sides lightly, but he reaches back and tugs them forward until my hands meet between his pecs.
“Hold tight,” he says and the bike roars to life, and before I can blink we’re gliding down my street.
I'm slightly scared but in that good, rollercoaster way. I feel safe with Crew. We get to Sunset and he turns left onto the busy street. The warm wind has the ends of my hair flying everywhere as buildings and billboards blur. A few blocks later he stops at a light and as he puts his feet down to steady the bike while we wait for the green he turns his head. "You okay back there?"
"Yeah, but I thought you wanted to talk?"
