Page 30 of Texting the Wrong Bikers

I scrub a hand down my face hard. “Fuck.”

The digital clock beside the bed reads 8:12 AM. Sunlight spills warm gold across the rumpled sheets and the pile of clothes on the floor. Sadie’s panties were ominously absent among the hastily retrieved pile we gathered before rushing upstairs like teenagers sneaking in from a party.

The door handle jiggles again. “Mommy, why’s the door locked?”

Sadie makes a strangled sound beside me.

“It’s never locked,” Owen says suspiciously.

I sit up too fast, immediately regretting how little sleep I got as my head pounds.

“Shit. Baby, I’m sorry.” Sadie’s voice comes rough from sleep. “I didn’t mean to.”

Sadie pushes messy hair away from her face, still blinking sleep from her eyes. God, she’s beautiful like this. Flushed cheeks. Swollen lips. Bare shoulders peeking out above tangled blankets.

Mine.

The thought comes instantly again, a dangerous fucking thought.

Outside the door, Owen now knocks dramatically. “Mommyyyyy.”

I’m already reaching for my jeans off the floor. “I can leave.”

“How?”

“Window?”

She turns to stare at me. “We’re on the second floor.”

“Right.” I’d jump out of a plane if it made her happy.

The door rattles again. “Mommy! What’s taking so long?”

Sadie bites back a laugh despite the panic. “Yes, baby! One second!”

I shove my shirt over my head quickly while she scrambles out of bed, looking adorably disoriented.

Last night crashes back through my head in flashes—Sadie underneath me, Sadie laughing breathlessly against my mouth, Sadie wrapped around me in the dark while we talked until sunrise. I’ve had sex before. A lot of sex, with a lot of women, none of it felt remotely like that. Which is a fucking problem, because somewhere between the texts and the talking and the way she looked at me last night, I crossed a line in my own head I can’t uncross now. I’ve fallen for this woman. Hard and fast, yet undeniably real. That should scare the hell out of me. I know what happens when I let myself get too close.

The door rattles again. “Mommy!”

Sadie opens it just enough to peek out.

Owen immediately squints at her suspiciously, wrinkling his nose. “Why’s your hair messy?”

I nearly choke trying not to laugh.

“Because I just woke up.”

“Oh.” He accepts that immediately because he’s four. “The thunderbike man is still here?”

Every muscle in my body stills. Sadie freezes, too. Slowly, painfully slowly, she turns toward the bedroom window. I already know what she sees. My bike. Parked right in front of the damn house. I might as well have left a damn sign advertising my presence.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.

Owen gasps loudly from the hallway. “He is.”

Sadie closes her eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of her nose, as if she’s reconsidering every life choice that brought her here.