Page 58 of Rogue Riders Duet

TWELVE

The night air is cool against my skin, damp in the way that always settles deep into your joints if you sit still for too long. I stretch my legs out, away from the camping stool, and sip my magnesium drink, the citrus tang clinging to the back of my throat. Everything aches in the way it always does after qualifying. My shoulders are tight, my fingers twitchy, and my legs are somewhere between heavy and humming.

Dad is beside me, sitting in his usual seat, which looks like it’s been molded to him. He’s got a cloth in one hand and a tool in the other, rubbing at it in slow circles. The sound is rhythmic, familiar. Comforting, maybe. But tonight, it just grates.

Because I qualified fourth.

Fourth.

Luc, naturally, took the top spot. The chaotic bastard somehow always sticks the landing. Then Raine, the snake. And third? Allen-fucking-Crews.

My jaw flexes as I glance toward the far edge of the lot, where Mini Crews is crouched by his bike again. Alone in the dark with his head down, laser-focused, like the entire rest of the world doesn’t exist.

He’s always doing that. Always fixing something. Adjusting, tweaking, and tuning like the whole bike will fall apart if he doesn’t touch it every five minutes, and the longer I watch, the more annoyed I get.

Because what the hell is he trying to prove?

“I just don’t understand how he’s so damn fast,” I mutter. “He looks like a teenager. And have you noticed how⁠—”

“No,” Dad cuts in, voice dry as dust. “I haven’t noticed.” He glances up at me before going back to polishing. “Mase, I know you love to obsess over everything… your stats, your training, your lines. But I’ve never seen you obsess over another rider like this.”

“It’s not⁠—”

“So what if he’s small?” he asks, cutting me off. “He’s a good rider. That’s all, and you were never one to blame others for your time. He was just faster today. Doesn’t mean he will be tomorrow during the race. Give it your best and stop obsessing.”

Obsessing? Hardly.

I’ve been riled up by riders before. Luc, definitely. Raine, absolutely. But this?

This is different.

Mini Crews gets under my skin in a way I can’t explain because he’s got no business outdriving me and being fucking nice about it.

And I hate that the weird little guy jumped in to defend me. Twice. I didn’t ask for it. Didn’t need it, and he got hurt for it. Thrown down hard because of something I was in the middle of.

It looked bad too. I watched him puke before limping off like he was barely holding himself together. And what does he do today?

Qualifies third, above me, as if nothing happened.

I grip my cup tighter. “I’m not bloody obsessed.”

Dad keeps working, but there’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “You’re talking an awful lot about that kid for someone who’s not obsessed.” I shoot him a glare, but he doesn’t even blink. Not even a flinch, of course not. “Do you have a crush on him?”

“No.” My face heats immediately. “What the fuck?”

When everything fell apart last year, I came out to my dad like it was part of the wreckage. Figured if he was going to lose everything because of me, he deserved to know all there is to know about me. No secrets. He knows I’m bi, but we don’t talk about it. Ever. I’d like for it to stay that way.

And I’m not crushing on Mini Crews. Nuh-uh. Not happening.

“You can tell me. I’m hip,” Dad continues, totally unfazed. “One time when I was younger, before your mom, there was a motocross race, and I got too drunk and…”

“Dad!” I groan, slapping a hand over my face. “I don’t want to hear that.”

“Just saying.” He shrugs. “Whatever floats your boat, son.”

“Crews doesn’t.”

“Okay. Why are you obsessing then? Is it because he punched Delacroix for you?”