Page 2 of Oops! I Fell for the Biker Next Door

For a minute, everything goes quiet as I stare at another ghost of my past. A woman I'd forced myself to forget about a long time ago.

Keeping my eyes glued, I shrug off my cut. "Wear this for a second, Ma. I need to see something."

I barely register her response, maybe a complaint about the cigarette smell, before I'm moving.

I don't mean to leave my mother behind after just now arriving, but my eyes are playing a trick on me. They must be.

"Zoey? You're still here?"

The blonde-haired woman lifts her head, then turns to look my way. The pot in her hands hits the ground with a loud enough thump that it makes me realize this isn't some hallucination. My mind isn't playing some kind of cruel trick on me.

"Lucas?" Her voice is so soft it physically hurts to hear. So innocent and pure, I can't remember the last time I'd heard a tone so light.

I never thought I'd see her again.

Zoey looks just as startled, before her eyes dart to the side. She looks at my bike, her eyes lingering too long before she wipes her palms on her jeans. "Sorry, you uh, caught me at a bad time."

She gestures toward the house, stammering something about running water, but I'm stuck on the fact that the woman I loved through my high school years is still stationed next door, as if time on the mountain had frozen over. It's like nothing has changed.

No, that's not right. Something has changed.

Zoey isn't the lanky, brace-faced teenager from my past. The woman standing in front of me now is a revelation. She’s fully grown, filling out those fitted jeans with soft, breath-stealing curves that hit me right in the chest.

I open my mouth to speak, to bridge the decade between us, but the sheer weight of what we used to be freezes me in place.

Before I can find my voice, she slips back inside, disappearing right before my eyes. The only difference between now and when I turned eighteen is that she's the one running away this time.

The walk back to my mother is a stumble, and by the time I reach her knowing eyes, the back of my neck is warm.

"You better be nice to Zoey," she tells me sternly, after most likely witnessing such a pitiful sight. "She's a sweet girl who is too nice for her own good."

"She took over her parents' cabin?" I ask, my eyes lingering on the poor state of the building. If time had frozen over, the wood wouldn't be so weathered.

My mother nods. "They moved down south to retire. For some reason, she insisted on staying behind. I can't blame her for not wanting to leave. How old was she again when they moved in?"

While she ponders, I already know the answer.

"Thirteen years old," I mutter, easily remembering the day we met. I can still picture her hopping out of that moving truck—a skinny kid with a mouth full of silver metal and a sunshiny smile that grated on every dark mood I tried to cultivate. Being the same age, puberty had hit me hard. The last thing I wanted to have anything to do with was the girl bundled with energy.

I’d tried like hell to resist her, but I stood no chance. I fell fast and hard, sentencing myself to years of silent agony, playing the reliable best friend while my chest bled for something more.

What a damn fool I was. I couldn't stomach the thought of watching her move on and fall for some guy who wasn't me, so I ran. But the day I went to say goodbye...

My mouth tingles with a phantom brush, and I can almost remember what it felt like to be kissed by the girl next door. Awkward and imperfect, yet the most memorable first kiss a guy could ask for.

"It looks like you've got some catching up to do," she muses softly, an amused smile on her face.

"Yeah," I murmur as the realization hits that maybe my time in Willowbrook Ridge may not be short after all.

Chapter two

Zoey

Istill can't believe my eyes. Lucas Cross—the guy who swore on everything he'd never set foot in this town again—is back.

My heart refuses to settle, even a whole day later. Couldn't Mary Lou have warned me her son was making a rare appearance? After how long it took to pick up the pieces he left behind, a heads-up was the bare minimum.

She knew better than anyone what he did to me before disappearing—leaving my embarrassingly rushed confession hanging in the air, taking my heart with him, and offering nothing in return.