Me: If I said I did?
Rafe: I’ll be there in four hours
A laugh sputters out of me.
Me: Four hours? Where are you?
Rafe: If you want to share locations, all you have to do is ask.
I roll my eyes with a little huff.
Me: I already have one Calloway stalking me. I don’t think I need another one.
Rafe: My brother doesn’t do it the way I do
The tip of my shoe catches on a raised sidewalk square. I stumble, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim of my cup, phone nearly slipping from my fingers. My cheeks burn hot despite no one being around to witness my clumsiness.
Rafe’s text burns brighter in my mind than the embarrassment. My body temperature rises another few degrees as I picture large hands on either side of my waist, one with a familiar scar across the knuckles, the other with that silver ring that always catches the light. The image is so clear I can almost feel the scratch of stubble against my neck. My throat goes dry. I’ve never—God,I shouldn’t be thinking about taking both of them at the same time—but the thought won’t dissolve.
I’m still wearing a stupid grin when something dark catches my peripheral vision. My steps falter, gaze lifting from the cracked sidewalk to our flat ahead.
A motorcycle gleams at the curb, sleek and black. My pulse jumps. Rafe? But as I draw closer, the stranger leaning against it comes into focus—one boot braced against the pavement, shoulders relaxed but spine straight. His eyes are alreadytracking me, measuring each step as I approach, his stare unhurried but locked-in.
By the time I reach the edge of the driveway, my lips press into a thin line, gaze fixed just past his shoulder.
“Evening,” he says, voice easy as the leather jacket hanging open over his plain black t-shirt.
I slow my pace half a step, chin dipping in the barest acknowledgment. My fingers curl tighter around my phone, thumb hovering over the emergency call button.
“I need a little help.”
I pause against my better judgment, looking over my shoulder with a raised brow.
His mouth quirks up at one corner, a dimple appearing briefly. “I’m looking for someone.”
“Who?”
One shoulder rises beneath his jacket. “Guy I thought might be staying around here.”
The hair on my arms stands up despite the evening warmth. I blink twice, keeping my voice level. “I don’t think I can help you.”
“Maybe,” he says, eyes tracking over my face like he’s memorizing it. “You live here?”
“Who’s asking?”Who are you?
A quiet exhale escapes him, almost amused. “A friend passing through.”
I meet his stare for three heartbeats, then flick my gaze toward the street, chin following. “Then keep passing.”
Something hardens behind his eyes. His smile stretches wider, teeth showing now. He lifts his hands, palms out, fingers splayed. “Yeah, okay. I’ll try to track him down another way. Didn’t mean any harm.”
I plant my feet at the bottom of the driveway, watching as he swings one leg over the motorcycle in a practiced motion. Theengine growls to life, then settles into a controlled purr. Exhaust curls around his boots as he pulls away.
I don’t move until his taillight disappears around the corner at the stop sign.
The back door opens with a familiar creak that settles something in my chest that had been rattling since the street.
“Bell?” Lola’s voice floats from the kitchen.
