Page 228 of Rogue Riders Duet

“Oh, don’t act like you’re the fun police,” he throws over his shoulder to Dane with a grin, turning to face him.

Which also turns me, and I catch movement too close to my setup. Isaac Raine is crouched low beside it, gloved hands brushing over the rear linkage. Checking something?

What the actual⁠—

“Finn—” I start, but Raine has already straightened and dusts off his palms before sauntering back toward Isla.

She’s off to the side, arms crossed, face twisted in that permanent scowl she wears.

Raine starts talking to her, gesturing sharply, but she just rolls her eyes, flicks a dismissive hand in his direction, and turns away, heading for her own bike.

Was he checking my suspension settings?

Trying to give her an edge?

Typical Raine bullshit, probably thinks she can match my line if she copies my setup.

I snort. Good luck with that.

Finn shifts again beneath me, and the motion makes my stomach lurch.

“Getting sick here,” I mutter, elbowing him hard in the shoulder.

“Yeah, man.” Dane grunts, finally catching his breath. “Put her down before she pukes on your back.”

Finn laughs, then he sets me down way too gently for someone who just hauled me over his shoulder like a sack of gear. When I’m back on my feet, he catches the end of my braid and tugs at it, and my traitor of a diaphragm seizes on instinct.

Hiccup.

Of course.

His smirk widens. “There she is.”

Fucking butterflies, a full-blown stampede in my stomach.

I glare at him, or at least I try to, but it comes out more like a flustered squint. “I hate you.”

“You’re welcome.” He’s still smiling like he’s the reason the sun decided to come out this morning. “You needed to loosen up.”

I hate that he’s right.

But as I turn back to my bike, something inside me shifts.

Just a flicker.

And I ignore it.

I hiccup.

Or at least, I think I do.

Maybe it’s just a phantom echo of the memory lodged somewhere in the back of my throat as I blink up at the lavender print across the room.

The frame is a little crooked. Just enough to bug me, but I’m too tired to fix it.

My head hangs off the foot of the bed, gravity pulling at my face until everything feels heavy and upside down, which, honestly, fits.

Because how the hell is it still the same day?