Page 13 of Catching Flynn

“Or.” Zavier voice dropped into a smooth, lazy register that should’ve been illegal in public, “we take the back road. Less traffic. Better view.”

Flynn’s eyebrows shot up. “You just casually invited me to scenic death.”

A breeze skimmed down the block, carrying warm pavement, bakery sugar from half a block over, and the dark, masculine scent clinging to Zavier. Even standing there arguing, Flynn remained embarrassingly aware of every line of him. The fitted T-shirt. The forearms. The rough trim of dark facial hair that made him look like he should be leaning against a doorway in a cologne ad while ruining lives.

“I’ll go slow.” Zavier’s gaze slid over Flynn’s body with so much heat, it was a miracle Flynn didn’t combust.

“You’re playing dirty.” Flynn narrowed his eyes. “You’re using underhanded sexy charm, and I want that on the record.”

A low laugh rolled out of Zavier. “Underhanded?”

“Yes. Very.” Flynn told his half-hard cock to stop taking the bait like a horny idiot. “It’s manipulative to eye-bang me while suggesting reckless activities.”

“Like what?”

Flynn threw up his hand. “Like twisting that thingy with one hand and fist-fighting a tornado with the other.” He really needed to stop saying the first thing that came to mind.

“Twisting that thingy,” Zavier repeated.

“I don’t know the name of motorcycle parts.” Flynn jabbed a finger at the bike. “That thing has pipes. And rage. And goes vroom-vroom. That is the full extent of my knowledge. Needs fuel too, but I figured that was a no-brainer.”

Still smiling, Zavier reached into a side compartment and pulled out two helmets. One was black to match the bike. The other was a dark gray that looked expensive enough to come with paperwork.

Flynn’s stomach dipped. Helmets meant Zavier had expected Flynn to agree. Worse, some deeply traitorous part of him was considering it.

Which was insane.

A list immediately unfurled in his brain like a cursed scroll. He could fall off. A bee could fly into his mouth and choke him at highway speed. A loose chicken could sprint into the road. His shoelace could somehow get caught in something mechanical and yank him into the next county. His soul could simply eject from body for the second time in two days. There were so many ways Flynn could be yeeted from existence.

“Back road ride,” he echoed. “That phrase alone makes me shiver.” Riding at high speed, with only Zavier to stop him from falling off was not reassuring.

Zavier stepped in close enough that Flynn caught the bonfire and bourbon scent. “I’d never let anything happen to you. I’ll keep you safe.”

For some crazy reason, Flynn believed him. Since meeting Zavier, Flynn had felt a strange ache inside his body, a yearning that made no sense. Yesterday, he’d dismissed the sensation as simple attraction that no longer felt so simple. The ache was still there, lodged somewhere deep behind his ribs, making him agree to do things he would’ve never even considered.

What was this guy doing to him?

Zavier tapped the seat. “Hop on with me, kitten.”

Kitten? Flynn let the endearment slide. Not every hill was worth dying on. Ugh, he did not just think that.

After one more look at the bike, Flynn exhaled through his nose. “If I become roadkill, take care of my plants. They need sunlight therapy.”

“Poor plants” Zavier held out the gray helmet. “Are you agreeing?”

Flynn snatched it from him before common sense could tackle the idea. “This is coercion by attractiveness.”

“Get on, then.” Zavier shook his head but didn’t look as if he was tired of Flynn yet. Most couldn’t deal with his sarcasm, or nervous jitters. It wasn’t something Flynn could help. If he didn’t joke, life would be to quiet. Quietness led to thoughts of a father gone; every opportunity to get to know him switched off.

Something had to be wrong with him because who mourned for a father that had never been there for him? Who’d proven he’d never wanted Flynn to begin with.

Don’t you dare think about that right now. Push it back into the darkness where it belongs. Although Flynn had protested, Zavier had invited him on a ride, and Flynn wouldn’t ruin the moment things better left buried.

Lifting the helmet, he jammed it over his head but didn’t know what to do next.

As if reading his mind, Zavier stepped in to adjust the strap beneath Flynn’s chin. His knuckles brushed Flynn’s jaw, a barely-there touch, but it still made Flynn’s entire body shiver. If Zavier noticed, he didn’t comment.

“There,” Zavier said softly. “Bluetooth’s in the helmet, so you’ll hear me.”