“No way. It’s dark, it’s cold, you just burned off a thousand calories…”
I laugh and take a step back. “At least!”
“I’m serious, Lois.”
I shift on my feet. I want to turn him down, but the truth is, I’m exhausted. And starving, too.
“Okay. Let’s do it.”
“I’m parked out front.”
We chat about the playlist he made for this evening’s class, and I poke fun at some of the lamer songs before stopping in my tracks on the sidewalk.
“Here!” he says, holding out a helmet.
“It’s a—”
“Motorbike,” he finishes for me. “This your first time? I’ll be gentle, I promise.”
I pull a face. A second later, there’s a helmet pressing against my skull. He clips the strap under my chin and helps me scramble onto the bike.
“Hold on tight to my waist, and follow how I move. I’ll take it slow, don’t worry. We’ll be home before you faint.”
He settles in in front of me, and I grip his jacket.
“Ready?”
I part my lips to reply, but there’s a voice cutting through the night air so loud that I startle, nearly slipping off Ethan’s bike.
“Lois!”
My name is echoing down the street. I turn my head for a glimpse of the person yelling at me, but my helmet is too tight, and all I can see is gray fabric.
“Get off, now.”
A raspy, threatening voice. One I’m not sure I recognize. I instinctively clench my thighs tighter around my driver’s hips.
“You know him?” I hear Ethan call out to me.
I fumble at the chin strap, and by the time I manage to shrug thehelmet off, I see Lane standing in the middle of the road, running toward us. I open my mouth and squint as I try to figure out what’s going on with him.
As he nears us, I shrink back, hunching down in my seat. Lane is terrifying. I’ve never seen him like this before—cussing and cursing as he runs, anger radiating out of every pore. Ethan slips off his helmet and glances at me, confused, but I’m not looking at him. I’m too focused on Lane and the electricity filling the air.
“What the hell are you doing, Lois?”
He sounds furious. He stops two feet away from me, scowling at the bike.
“What’s the problem, dude?” Ethan asks.
Lane ignores him. “What the fuck are you doing on this bike?”
“I… I was heading home,” I say quietly, as if I’d been busted by my parents.
His fists are clenched, his breathing ragged. There’s a crazed look in his eyes.
Jesus, what is wrong with this guy?
“What is going on?”
