Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 47714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
She planted her hands on her hips. “He offered. I said no.”
I looked over at her, the words still rolling hot in my chest. “Why?”
“Because I’m a grown-ass woman, that’s why. It’s bad enough I’m living in a place he set up for me. I’m not adding ‘let my brother buy my car’ to the list.”
My teeth ground together, but I didn’t argue. I respected the hell out of that answer, even if it made me want to throttle the gorgeous woman in front of me. “Fine. But you’re not driving this again.”
“I’ll get it fixed tomorrow.”
“You won’t.”
Her chin lifted. “Yes, I will.”
I growled in frustration, surprised and a little pleased that she didn’t seem intimidated. Not many people out there wouldn’t shrink back or run away from my wrath.
“Fine,” I gritted out. “Let me take a look. It’s dead?”
“I guess. It wouldn’t start.” She gestured helplessly toward the open hood, cheeks flushed from the heat. Or from me showing up so fast.
“Keys.”
She handed them over without argument this time. I leaned in, checked the connections, and caught the faint smell of burnt oil under the cleaner she had used on the dash. The engine coughed once and died again when I tried it.
“Starter’s shot,” I muttered. “You’re not driving this anywhere.”
Her mouth tightened. “Like I said, I can get it fixed.”
“Not today.” I was done with this argument. She would be driving a different car tomorrow, whether she liked it or not.
“Drift—”
I shut the hood hard enough to make her jump. “You got somewhere to be. Grab your bag.”
She hesitated, the instinct to argue flashing in her eyes. Then she sighed, muttered something about “bossy bikers,” and disappeared inside while I suppressed a smile.
When she came back out, she carried a purse. Her eyes met mine, and she seemed to fill with nervous energy again, making her words tumble out. “You really don’t have to—I mean, I can—”
I held out my spare helmet. “Get on.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “I can’t ride on that.”
My mouth curved down. “Why the fuck not?”
She sputtered. “Because only a guy’s old lady rides behind him!”
“And family.”
She went quiet at that, and her eyes dropped, but not before I saw the disappointment flicker in those stormy-gray pools before she masked it. I knew she’d misunderstood the weight behind it—by family, I meant mine. But I didn’t explain because it wouldn’t do either of us any favors. If she’d looked closer, though, she would’ve seen the lie sitting under my tongue.
She pulled on the helmet, and I helped her climb on. The moment her arms slid around my waist, something in me short-circuited. Her body molded against my back, warm and soft. I gripped the handlebars tighter than I needed to and hit the road.
The ride to downtown Crossbend didn’t take long, but it felt longer with Alanna pressed against me. The wind dragged strands of her hair across my neck, and her breath was a soft rhythm I could feel through the layers between us.
The café sat on a corner, two blocks from the waterfront, sunlight flashing off the glass storefront and the metal sign that read The Drift Café. Cars lined the curb, locals moving slow in the heat. I parked at the edge of the lot, killed the engine, and helped her off.
She lifted the helmet, her cheeks flushed and hair tumbling loose. “Thank you.”
“Text me when you’re done.”
Her head tilted to the side, giving me a confused smile. “You’re not leaving?”
“I’ll be right here.” I crossed my arms over my chest and settled back on my bike.
Before she could answer, she was interrupted by a voice from across the lot, and her smile faltered.
“Alanna!”
The guy walking toward us looked like he’d come straight from a student catalog—pressed shirt, too-white sneakers, neatly parted hair, and a grin stretched a little too wide.
I was immediately on my guard. Something about him rubbed me the wrong way. Especially the proprietary gleam in his beady eyes when they scanned Alanna’s body. He seemed too comfortable in her space.
“Ethan,” she greeted, her smile forced.
He gave me a once-over, eyes catching on my cut, the bike, then back to her. “Who’s this guy?”
“Ethan, this is Drift. My car died, and he gave me a ride.”
My hands curled into fists when the little shit looked at her with disapproval, as if his opinion made a difference. “I would have come to get you, Alanna. You didn’t need to get a ride from…someone like him.” His voice dripped with disdain.
Alanna shot him a warning look. “Drift is Jaxton’s best friend. He’s…like a brother.”
Something cold twisted under my ribs. Like a brother. Like hell. We’d be clearing up that shit real soon, but this wasn’t the time or the place.
I didn’t move or speak, just stared hard at Ethan, satisfied when he couldn’t hold my gaze and dropped his eyes to the ground for a beat.