“If you don’t, I’ll totally get on the bike.” Heather grinned like a loon.
“Swear to God, V. Get on the bike, or I’ll toss you on the bike.” Brek’s glare turned fierce.
“You wouldn’t dare.” She glared right back.
“Five bucks says she doesn’t get on the bike,” Claire said from behind.
“I’ll take that bet,” Heather replied. “If he tosses her on the bike, I get double.”
Velma turned and hushed them. “You’re not helping.”
“I kinda think we are.” Heather shrugged.
The bike motor seemed to get even louder. Oh dear. Given the expression that crossed Brek’s face, he absolutely would toss her on his bike.
Velma took the helmet, put it on, and clipped the chinstrap.
“We all need to go out more often.” Heather sighed.
Velma stepped closer to Brek, so they were nearly nose to nose. “Why are you doing this?”
Exasperated waves of frustration poured from him. “You wanna talk this out? We’ll do it at home.”
“You think they’re really going totalkthis out?” Claire stage-whispered to Heather.
Velma ignored her.
Brek did have a point. Bickering on the corner made no sense. She gestured to the seat. “I’ve never been on a bike before. How do you…you know?”
“I feel like my baby sister is growing up before my eyes.” Claire laughed. “I’m so proud of you, Velvet.”
“Climb on. Hang on. Don’t let go.” Brek held Velma’s gaze with his own.
“Right.” She could do that. She fixed her bag to cross-body and not so gracefully swung her leg over the seat to settle against his back, attempting to keep a modest space between them.
He pulled her arms around his waist, erasing any space. She tried to move farther back, but the engine growled, sending interesting vibrations between her legs.
Okay, so she was beginning to understand the draw of motorcycles.
The bike lurched forward. Fine. That worked, too.
“Have fun with your talk!” Heather shouted over Brek’s engine.
Velma squished her eyes closed and held on tighter.
The first block flew by before she finally peeked out from beneath her lashes. They stopped at a red light, and Brek stuck his foot against the pavement to hold them up. She gripped his waist harder. She wasn’t going to biff it at a red light wearing only half a helmet. His jacket was unzipped, and sheesh, he had amazing abdominal definition—the ridges prominent even through his shirt. Of course she had seen them before. But she’d neverfeltthem.
Perhaps the Brek Express was a good option. A car ride had never turned her on like this.
Brek pulled into his parking space, right beside hers. He cut the engine and put down the kickstand. She climbed off, lost her balance, and fell helmet-first against his chest.
His arms caught her, and he didn’t release his grip. Her rapid heartbeat echoed in her ears. Surely, he could hear it, too. She clutched the soft leather of his jacket as his hand at her waist slid higher. His other hand unclipped her helmet and tossed it to the asphalt. She focused on where it landed near the painted yellow stripe delineating their parking space. Brek’s finger traced her chin and lifted it so her gaze met his, which was a really bad idea because the heat from his anger melted into a different kind of fire. A warmth that somehow amplified his intense blue eyes.
She stood frozen in his gaze as he dipped his face until his lips barely brushed hers. Testing. Examining. She opened her mouth to tell him this was a bad idea. Supremely bad. Epically bad.
He must have misinterpreted her response because his lips urged for more and opened further. Perhaps this wasn’t such a bad idea. Nice, actually. Perfect amount of pressure. Oh, some tongue. Dear goodness, he tasted delicious. Cardinal sin, mistakes, and all the things she never let herself feel. In other words, he tasted amazing. Amazing with a subtle hint of wintermint gum. She adored wintermint gum. Of all the mints, that one was her top choice. He pulled his tongue back, and that was no good. No good at all.
She tilted her head and sought him out again with her mouth. He responded with a vengeance, tongue and hands everywhere. Her fingers still clutched him close and, oh my, she was panting. Whatever. She blamed it on the motorcycle engine purring between her thighs for three miles.
