“Look at their cars.” I jerk my chin to the line of expensive black SUVs with shiny board racks and window clings from fancy surf shops that care more about clothes than boards.
“Did you bring a knife?”
I flip the kickstand and swing off, pop the saddlebag, and hand her the utility knife. Keep the tire iron for myself.
She plucks it from my fingers, spinning it around a few times as she strolls for the nearest car.
I lean back against the bike, crossing my arms as I watch her and trying not to get turned on by her. It’s a fucking feat.
Her fingers slide along the strap of the first board like she’s checking it. Anyone looking too closely might think that’s all she’s doing. They’d be wrong.
With a small, precise movement, she cuts clean through each one with a wide smile.
I let out a quiet breath, something like amusement pulling at the corner of my mouth.
“You do this often?” I call out.
She glances back at me without stopping. “Only when they deserve it.” She moves on to the next car, repeating the same motion with the same efficiency.
There’s something about the way she does it that gets under my skin. I push off the bike and walk over, closing the distance between us as she works.
“Gage told me you like cutting straps,” I say.
She huffs a small laugh. “It feels like the ultimate fuck you to assholes who almost drown you because they don’t know how to use their board.”
“I don’t know, baby. I kind of think yourfuck youneeds work. Here, let me help you.” I press a palm to her stomach and walk her back a few steps so I have enough room. Then I swing the tire iron and take out the side mirror.
She squints, tapping the flat edge of the knife against her chin. “Hm, I don’t know, Rafe, I kind of think it needsmore.”
My mouth curls up in the corners, and I feel a parallel tug buried somewhere inside my chest. “Yeah, I think you’re right,” I murmur as I stroll around the hood. I take out the other side mirror. “Better?”
“For this car? Sure. But we have so many more cars left.” She grins as she skips to the next car.
We make quick work of it. She cuts all the board straps, and I remove their side mirrors. And then we’re back on my bike and cruising to the next beach.
It’s similar to the first. A cluster of shiny, new SUVs with too-new board racks and shitty vanity plates.
“That’s Shawntel’s Tacoma in the corner.” I jerk my chin to the black truck that shimmers electric blue in the sunlight. “So don’t cut hers.”
Bellamy’s lips purse as she slides me a look.
Oh, is this what jealousy looks like on her? Pleasure prickles against my skin at the thought. I let her sit with it for a few minutes, enjoying the way her shoulders pull back. I wonder what she’s imagining.
“She owns the dog club down the street from my place.”
She nods and slides off my bike. “Sure.”
I flip the kickstand and climb off, grabbing the tire iron once more. We move in tandem, like we’ve been doing this for twenty years and not twenty minutes.
She steps around me to the next car, close enough that I catch the warmth of her as she passes. I turn with her, keeping her in my line of sight without thinking about it.
That’s when I hear the engines. Heavier and lower. The kind of throttle that wants to be noticed.
I look up as three bikes roll into the lot. They don’t stop until they’re five feet out, effectively between us and my bike.
I know who it is without seeing his face.
Bellamy leans toward me. “Who’s that?”
