My brother will be home in two weeks, and this little game of ours will have to end.
We stop at a red light, and he plants one boot on the pavement to steady us. Sitting taller, he tells me where we’re headed, one hand rubbing absently over my thigh as he does it—like it’s second nature. And I’m thankful he can’t see me smiling inside the helmet.
Because I am. He’s doing a great job of making me feel… well, a lot of things but…like I’m really his.
The light changes, his hands return to the handlebars, and I hold on tight.
Idon’t think I’ve stopped grinning since the moment she came downstairs. Three hours in the truck, music up, her singing along—sometimes badly, sometimes better than she’d probably admit—and she still looked fresh, eyes bright.
I’d forgotten how easy it could be to just… have fun with someone.
The poor woes of a rich boy, I know. But most people around me are there because they work for me. Or because they want something—money, a spotlight, a leg up toward something—and then they’re gone.
My close circle is small. Really fucking small.
But I don’t have to worry about any of that with Cass. She’s known me forever. Seen me in rags that were too small and falling apart, and later in Jonathan’s hand-me-downs. Better fitting, sure. Certainly the nicest things I ever had back then—but still, never mine.
She’s seen every part of me… mostly. Not how things were before my mom took a job with the Hayes’. And not lately, since we went our separate ways. That was my fault. I had my reasons.
I hated those reasons, but back then I believed them. I used to think Jonathan was right—that it was for her good.
But now… I’m starting to see a side of my friend I’ve never seen before, not until I started seeing him through Cassidy’s eyes. And it’s got me rethinking everything I thought I knew about him—what he’s capable of, what else I don’t know.
I shake it off. That’s not for today.
Today is her. On the back of my bike, exactly where I want her.
I love having her there—the weight of her against me, her arms wrapped tight around my waist. Too tight at first, but it doesn’t last. She loosens, finds her rhythm with mine.
We start slow, but I open it up a little more each time, feeling her excitement build through the way she leans into me. She’s having the time of her life, and it shows—she’s getting more comfortable by the second.
The turns are where I really test her. I start conservative, then push faster, dropping us lower into each lean. She listens well, matches my movement, and it feels good—how we fit together like this.
“Want to try something?” I ask when we hit a long bend.
“What?”
“Touch the pavement on the turns. Just your fingertips.”
Her laugh is nervous. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe. But you’ll love it.”
The first few times she tries, she pulls back before she’s anywhere close. I don’t push her—just take us into the turns smoother, lower, letting her feel how much control I’ve got.
Finally, on the third try, her hand skims the pavement. She squeals so loud it nearly bursts my eardrum.
I laugh through the comms. “Damn, Crick. You’re gonna make me deaf.”
“Worth it!” she shouts, still laughing.
And fuck, she’s right. Everything would be worth it with her.
I’m fucking starving. And if I’m hungry, I know she has to be too.
“All right,” I say over the comms, “you wanna go fast now?”
Her voice is incredulous. “That wasn’t fast before?”
