She bites her lip. “Why do you have to bring that into it?”
“Because I’m hoping for a repeat. Twenty dozen times over.”
“No,” she refuses.
“Yes.” I lean into her. “I know you want to ride me . . . I mean, my bike.”
Kayla shakes her head, but I can see she’s wavering. I notice how she drinks in my thighs straddled over the seat and the seductive aerodynamic curves of the machine. Beauty in high precision. The one-of-a-kind bike and I make up a supercharged performance sensation. I know she doesn’t want to miss out on that.
“C’mon, Kayla,” I coax her. “You have one life. Live it.”
“Is that your motto?”
“No, my motto isgive me fucking fast. Now, get your ass on this bike.”
Her breathing picks up, as if suddenly anxious. “I’m not that easy.”
“Baby, don’t I know it. You had me panting for three months, and then you give it up to me the night before I have to leave. Talk about fucked up.”
“What was fucked up is that you left without even so much as a good-bye.”
“You going to hold that over my head forever?”
“It just proves my point.”
“Which is?”
“Bikers are nothing but trouble.”
“Well, I can’t speak for all of us, but I definitely am.” I flash a flirty smile. “And you know what I think?”
“I couldn’t care less what you think.”
I chuckle, brushing off her snarky reply. “I think you like trouble.”
“I definitely don’t,” she contests.
“You might if you forgive me and get on this fucking bike. I’m not asking for anything more than a friendly ride.Yet.”
Kayla chews the inside of her cheek, and I can’t tell if she wants to kiss me or drop kick me.
“C’mon.” I urge her again, turning up the charm.
Reluctantly, she takes a step forward, coming so close the clean scent of her shampoo assaults my senses.
“Say you’re sorry,” she straight up challenges me.
I stare her down, determination burning in my gaze.
“I’m fucking sorry. And I mean it. I’ll never bounce like that again. I’ve never been good at goodbyes. And I’m pretty sure if I looked you in the eye, I wouldn’t have been able to leave.”
The hard lines in Kayla’s face soften. I think my earnest apology may have redeemed me. A minuscule amount.
After a few long, dragged out moments, Kayla smiles and sighs.
“Am I forgiven?”
“No.” She smirks.
