Page 109 of Rogue Riders Duet

By the time I reach the top, I spot the crowd of riders already on the hill, but they’ve only made it a few hundred feet down the course.

Feet flying over loose gravel, my brain shifts into race mode, flipping through terrain memory and junior race flashbacks. I know this mountain, know its teeth, and I immediately start picking lines, making mental notes, locking into the rhythm of the trail like I never left it.

By the time I hit the second segment, I’m in step with the pack. It feels weird doing this alone. Dane has always done track walks with me, his voice in my ear, his stride beside mine, cracking jokes and pointing out lines.

Everyone else is with their teams, clumped together in branded jackets, half-bent over trail features with someone squatting next to them drawing in the dirt, strategizing.

I step around a berm. This particular banked curve is cut tight but low in the slope. My eyes flick across the trail, and that’s when I see him. Finn is standing a little higher up, talking to his teammates, one arm crossed, the other gesturing toward a rock section like he’s mid-analysis.

His eyes meet mine, and everything stills. We stare at each other for a second too long, but then he blinks and looks away.

That’s it. No nod. No smile. No hey.

Nothing.

He turns back to his team and keeps talking like I don’t exist, and his hands weren’t on my skin, his mouth on mine. Like he didn’t whisper fuck, baby girl into my neck.

My next breath is ragged as another kind of pain slices through me. I know it was a mistake, but I didn’t imagine it. I didn’t hallucinate the way his chest felt against mine, the way he looked at me like I was something he wanted.

But now he can’t even say hi?

God, I’m so stupid. So fucking stupid.

Of course, he regrets it. He said it to my face. He doesn’t want to be part of this mess. I mean, look at me. What the hell did I expect? He’s ten years older with a successful career, and I’m a walking disaster with an expiration date.

I stomp down the trail, not even really looking at the lines anymore. The markers blur as the rock gaps, and roots and angles become static in my brain.

Everything is fucked. Everything. I kissed one guy who won’t speak to me, spent the night with another who thinks I have a dick, and my brother is mad at me because of a promise I fully intend to keep.

A hand clamps around my upper arm, yanking me back with enough force to make my breath hitch. I spin around.

Mason Payne.

His fingers are firm but not rough, his brows pulled into that deep, judgmental frown he’s practically trademarked. “I thought we already tried falling into the rock garden once,” he says dryly. “Didn’t look that fun the first time.”

I pull my gaze from his and glance over my shoulder.

Motherfucker.

I nearly walked right over the edge.

It takes an effort to shrug it off, but I do, turning back to him. “Oh, now you talk to me?”

The words come out sharper than I mean them, but I don’t take them back. If Finn and Mason have both decided I’m not worth talking to anymore, fine. Let them. I’m done chasing people.

“Didn’t realize saving your arse came with prerequisites.”

“You made it pretty clear you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t let go of my arm. “Doesn’t mean I want to scrape you out of a rock garden… again.”

“I was fine.”

“You were distracted.”

“No shit.”

He releases me and opens his mouth, then shuts it again. His gaze flicks away, like he’s rethinking something, but I don’t care. I’m already half-turned away, ready to storm off and be pissed about something else, when an arm slings around my shoulders.