“Throwing you over my shoulder, swiping everything off that damn desk, and fucking your brains out on it.”
“That’s vivid.”
“Yup.”
“Not gonna happen.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
“Do we have a deal?” I repeat, because for once, I think I may have the upper hand.
“When is this race?”
“Six weeks.”
“Six weeks? You think that’s enough time for me to get you ready? Maybe I should just enter the damn race myself.”
“Too late. The trials are in three weeks, and I was the last entry they accepted. Field’s locked in.”
He stalks closer, and I retreat until he’s got me backed against the wall again. “You afraid of me, Six?”
“No.” My voice cracks, and he grins.
“Maybe you should be.” His eyes drop to my mouth, and his warm, calloused palm wraps around my neck. His touch is gentle, but I know if he were a different kind of man, he couldsqueeze the life out of me. I feel his thumb stroke my skin. “Your pulse is beating a mile a minute.”
“Sully—” I whisper, but he cuts me off, correcting me.
“Keno.”
I shake my head. “You’ll always be Sully to me.” He’s unsettling me, so I turn the tables. “Do you know I used to have a silly teenage daydream about you?”
“Yeah? What was it?”
“I used to wish I had one of those work shirts of yours with the name embroidered on the chest so I could wear it to bed.” My eyes drop to the leather cut he wears, and the patches sewn onto it. I don’t know what any of them mean. The percent sign, the letters, BFFB, the wordNomad. My fingertips trace over it, and his eyes drop to follow them. “What does that mean?”
“Means I don’t belong to any one chapter.”
“So, you’ve never put down roots? Never stayed in one place?”
“Never had a reason. Until now.”
My eyes flair. Is he talking about me?
“I used to have fantasies about you, too, Six. But you weren’t wearing my shirt in any of them.”
I swallow. Maybe I’m playing with fire.
His hold on me drops, and he steps back. “We’ll start practicing tomorrow. Be ready at eight.”
“Tomorrow?” Has he lost his mind?
“Be ready, Six, or I’ll come upstairs and drag you out of bed.” He moves to the back door, and when it opens, I spot the motorcycle parked under the fire escape. Hesitating, he turns back. “Don’t forget to lock up.”
When the roar of his Harley fades down the alley, I throw the locks and lean against the door, wondering if I know him at all.
CHAPTER SIX
Maggie—
