Page 299 of Rogue Riders Duet

Dane and Otis snicker behind me, but I just jog forward, my boots scraping against gravel, heart hammering like I’m about to drop into a finals run.

Apparently, asking out a girl I hate makes me nervous.

“Hey,” I say as I fall into step beside her.

She glances at me but says absolutely nothing.

Oh shit. Abort. Abort.

“I… uh… I lost your number,” I blurt instead of turning right back around, like I should, immediately regretting every life choice that led to this moment.

Isaac snorts from her other side so loudly it echoes off the trees.

“Oh, you did?” Isla’s eyebrow arches. “Did you chop off your hand?”

“What? No, I just…” I blink, scrambling. “I washed them. The number was gone.”

She stops walking, and so does Isaac. He hovers just behind her with his arms crossed, smirk locked in place.

“Right.” Isla surveys me like I’m a particularly unimpressive trail feature.

“I’m sorry,” I add quickly. “Do you… want to hang out sometime?”

“No.”

Ouch.

Her eyes trail down to my bandaged fingers, then back up.

“You had your chance, rookie.”

She flicks her perfect blonde hair over her shoulder and keeps walking.

Isaac lingers just long enough to give me the full effect of his smirk. “Damn, rookie, I would be so embarrassed if I were you right now.” Then he whistles lowly and follows her.

And I’m left standing there. Fist clenched, face burning, and heart pounding like a fucking idiot.

Perfect.

TWENTY-TWO

I can’t fucking ride with these fingers.

That truth is undeniable as I trudge back to the bus after bailing on a run before I even made it halfway down the mountain.

I had to make up some bullshit about my brakes before I hauled ass out of practice.

It’s not the pain, for once. It’s the grip. My hands shook when I hit the brakes too hard and gave out at the worst goddamn moment.

I’m not just off, I’m dangerous.

To myself, to the run, to the goal I’ve been bleeding toward for years.

No one should be at the bus, which is why I’m going there. Dane is still with Piper. Mason and Luc are probably still throwing themselves down the practice runs with their usual lack of self-preservation.

I haven’t seen Finn since track walk, and I’m not looking for him either.

Dragging my bike to the back of the bus, I shove it inside and lock it up harder than necessary before stalking back to the door and through the narrow aisle inside. Helmet off. The one glove I managed to wear flung somewhere. Jersey yanked over my head.