“It is.”
“You’re exhausting.”
Anchor swung onto his bike.“You like it.”
Pearl muttered something under her breath as she got on behind him, but the way she wrapped her arms around his waist told the truth.
McKayla watched them for a second, then leaned closer to me.“Are they always like that?”
“Yes.”
“Good to know everyone here has questionable taste.”
Pearl pointed at her.“I heard that.”
McKayla lifted her hand.“I said it with affection.”
“No, you didn’t,” I muttered.
“Okay, fine.Mild judgment.”
Pearl laughed and adjusted behind Anchor.
Anchor looked back at McKayla.“No one rides alone.”
She frowned slightly.“I wasn’t planning to.”
“That means you listen,” he said.“No hopping off.No running.No deciding you can handle something by yourself and think sarcasm is a survival plan.”
McKayla blinked.“Wow.Word travels fast around here.”
“It’s a clubhouse,” Pearl said.“Everything travels fast.”
McKayla sighed.“So I just… get on?”
“Yeah.”I nodded to the helmet in her hand.“Put that on first.”
She studied it like it might explode, then pulled it over her head with a muttered, “This is probably not concussion-approved.”
“It’s better than your head meeting pavement.”
“Again with the comfort.”
“Get on.”
She climbed on behind me carefully, and the second her thighs settled against mine and her hands hovered awkwardly near my waist, my brain went real quiet.
That didn’t happen often.
I didn’t let women on the back of my bike, ever.
It wasn’t a rule I’d made a big deal about.I didn’t announce it or explain it.I just didn’t do it.
A man’s bike was personal, at least mine was.The seat behind me had stayed empty since I bought the damn thing.
Until now.
McKayla shifted, trying to get comfortable, and her knees tucked in against my hips like she’d been made to fit there.That thought was dangerous as hell.
