Page 14
Motorbikes don’t pretend.
Once the girls have had their shots, we’re down at the road. I’m regretting my heeled footwear, but at least they’re boots and not stilettos, like most of the others are wearing.
Theo gets on a BMW, passing me a helmet before fastening on his own. “Trial by fire, New Girl.”
“Thought I’d already survived that.” The comment earns me a grin as I strap mine on.
Looking at the superbike, the moon shining off the titanium, makes my stomach lurch.
Jameson gets on a Ducati Panigale. The girl wrapped behind him is wearing a short skirt, and her long bare legs have me thinking this is an even worse idea than I originally thought. She catches me watching and rests a possessive hand on Jameson’s leg.
Yeah, I’m not fighting you for that one.
I go to Theo’s bike, reaching for his shoulders. His body is hard and warm through his shirt. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
Until I feel Jameson’s moody eyes on us. He rocks back, pulling off his helmet and tossing his dark hair off his face. “Change of plan. Switch girls.”
“What?” My heart thuds against my ribs.
Theo considers, frowning. “Do it.”
No fucking way.
“I chose the route and made him drive my bike,” Theo explains. “He gets to pick an advantage.”
My lip curls as I eye up Jameson on the Ducati. I want to get on behind him as much as I want to cuddle with a bucket of live spiders. But everyone’s watching and waiting, and drawing attention to myself isn’t the best idea.
His copilot looks even more unhappy than me but she peels herself off Jameson, evidently deciding Theo’s not a bad second option. I wish I felt the same about mine as I cross to the Ducati. Each step feels heavy. The music and cheering in the background might as well be happening in another universe.
While Theo’s wearing the same shirt from inside, Jameson grabbed a leather jacket along the way. It should look like shit with the dress pants. Somehow, it doesn’t.
“If vomiting on your head is an advantage, you’re more twisted than I thought,” I offer.
“Save the sweet talk.” Cold eyes flash from under the helmet as someone holds up a phone with a countdown.
Three.
I scramble to swing a leg over the bike, shifting on the seat.
Two.
I scoot forward an inch. How much space can I leave between us without going flying off?
One.
“I suggest you hold the fuck on.” His voice is the last thing I hear before the sound of an airhorn rips through the night.
Arrogant pr—
The bike leaps forward. I cling to Jameson, my hand still rough from the accident the other day.
My thighs are spread to accommodate his hips, and it feels startlingly intimate. His body is hard, his chest and abs a wall I suddenly wish I wasn’t forced to hold quite so close. He always looks cold and composed, but this is the first time I clock that he’s a living breathing person.
We’re accelerating. The wind whips over us, our tires bumping across the road. I expect the front of the bike to lift, but he keeps it level. We fly along the pavement, and my shock recedes, replaced by adrenaline. When I crack my eyes open, I see the other four bikes are eating our dust.
Alcohol makes my stomach lurch. We’re neck and neck with the BMW I should have been on.
Come on, Theo. I want him to beat the asshole who treats everyone, including me, like crap.
