Page 24 of Diesel

Ollie smiled like he was trying not to. He folded the flyer once, twice, then reached around me and tucked it into my back pocket, his knuckles grazing my hip through the denim. The movement brought him close enough that I caught the scent of his shampoo, something citrus and clean.

“So you don’t forget,” he said.

“Wasn’t going to.”

“Now you really can’t.”

Thank god Ollie hadn’t slipped the flyer into my other back pocket or he would’ve discovered my losing bingo card.

A burst of laughter from Greta’s direction. Neither of us looked over.

“We should head out,” Ollie said.

“Probably.”

Neither of us moved for another few seconds.

We pushed through the exit into evening air that had cooled since I’d arrived. The parking lot was mostly empty now, but a cluster of seniors lingered near the entrance, talking and laughing like they weren’t ready for the night to end.

I knew how they felt.

Irene stood slightly apart from the group, nodding at us as we passed.

“Have fun, boys,” she called out.

“Miss Irene,” Ollie said.

She flashed a grin. “He’s a keeper, Ollie. Don’t screw it up.”

“I’m trying not to,” he murmured, oblivious to how clearly I could hear him.

“You’ll be okay,” she said.

Ollie shook his head, but he was smiling. We continued across the parking lot toward where my bike waited. The shuttle sat several spaces over, waiting for the occupants to climb aboard.

Stopping next to my motorcycle, I turned to face Ollie. His hands were shoved into his pockets, looking at me like he was trying to figure out what happened next.

My hands reached for his, pulling them free from his pockets. His fingers immediately curled around mine, and I led him the last few steps to the bike.

“You have fun?” he asked, uncertainty in his tone.

“Yeah. Thanks for letting me crash your fun time.”

“You didn’t crash. You invited yourself, sort of—well, I wanted you there, so—” He laughed at himself. “I’m ruining my words again.”

“You talk fine.”

“I talk too much.”

“I like it.” I raised one hand to cup his jaw, my thumb brushing his cheekbone. “I love listening to you.”

“Even when I’m rambling?”

“Especially then.”

His breath hitched, and his gaze dropped to my mouth. Desire was written in every line of his body: the way he leaned in, the quick lick of his lips, the way his grip on my hand tightened.

“Can I kiss you?” My voice was rough with need.