Page 126 of Rogue Riders Duet

“Yeah…” I grumble, “… before Luc showed up.”

That French dickhead.

It used to be fun, the way we pushed each other. He’d win one weekend, I’d take the next. Trading places, shit-talking in the pits, always one mistake or miracle apart.

Now he treats me like I’m actual shit on his shoes, and maybe that wouldn’t sting so much if I didn’t spend half the damn season noticing the way his sleeves cling to his arms, or how everything he does seems effortless, even when he’s being a smug asshole. I miss when it was simple.

I miss before.

“Well, he showed last race he’s not invincible anymore. You could do it.”

I roll my eyes. “Thanks for the TED Talk.”

“Anytime.” Mini Crews grins, but then it shifts to his cocky self again. “You won’t win this race, though.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“Austria’s my favorite track.” He stretches, rolling out his neck as if he’s getting comfortable. “I’m gonna demolish your time. I need that win too.”

“Why?”

“Reasons.”

I huff a laugh. “So, I spill my guts all over the place, and I get nothing in return? That’s not how this friendship thing works.”

This friendship thing.

Fucking twat thing to say, Mason.

“Maybe next time.” His grin widens. “I mean, you already have the advantage over me.”

I scoff. “How’s that?”

“You’ve seen me puke, plead, and you’ve seen me obsess over my bike and fall flat on my ass.”

I tilt my head, eyeing him. “I’m nobody.” Before I can second-guess it, I reach out, take his hand, and link our fingers.

His lips twitch. “Likewise. So if nobody saw it?”

It takes me a second to pick up what he’s dropping down, but then I do. “Then nobody heard it either. Not a word.”

Nobody.

We share a long, understanding look, and our hands shift slightly, fingers adjusting, while I brush my thumb over the back of his.

It’s nothing.

It’s everything.

Needing no one is how I keep breathing and have stayed upright despite the weight pressing down on my back. I think Mini Crews gets that. I know he does. He’s survived something, too, on his terms, and he’s still here with his wide brown eyes, dirt smudged across his cheek, and that steady, quiet way he meets me without looking away.

My thumb keeps moving, and he squeezes my fingers as he smiles up at me. Something stirs in my chest. A little jolt, barely there, but I feel it.

And I shove it down, fast.

I can’t afford to want something I can’t keep. I’ve been through that, and I don’t have the pieces left to try again. I can’t want more.

But maybe I can want this.