Page 83 of Rogue Riders Duet

I haven’t seen Petit Crews since the race in Poland or heard his voice since his dreaded rejection, and it’s driving me insane. Following close enough to not be detected, not that he’s paying much attention to his surroundings, I shadow him past the other teams’ pits and to the tree line.

He probably doesn’t want to be my friend because I hurt him, but deciding that just because I had one little fuckup is not fair, and it’s time he hears me out. I clench my fists and increase my speed, closing in on him.

“Bonjour, mon Petit,” I say when I’m close enough. He actually jumps, and I grin, coming to a stop beside him. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

He turns to look at me, hood still up, eyes narrowed in the opposite of welcome. “What do you want?”

Ouch. That hurt, but still, I want to say, You. And no, I don’t know why.

But all that comes out is, “I haven’t seen you around,” I say it as if my brain hasn’t been short-circuiting for three days straight because of him.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Took a while to get here.”

I cock my head to the side. “How come?”

“Flat tire.”

My brows pull together. “Are you okay?”

I really take him in then, and my heart squeezes at what I find. He has red-rimmed eyes and is paler than usual. He’s wrecked, and after the first rather rude question, he dropped the comically deep voice he’s always using, like he doesn’t have the energy to maintain it. It’s stripped down and soft now, not forced or armored, just tired.

“Yeah. Finn and Mason’s dad helped.”

I frown. “They drove with you?”

“No. Mason and his dad passed by and helped. Finn traveled with us on the bus.”

Finn traveled with us on the bus.

His words land like a punch to the gut, punching through my brain louder than they should, and jealousy hits me like a bad landing, leaving my teeth rattling and body stunned.

Of course, he wants to be friends with Greer.

Always calm, always composed, Finn Greer. He’s the kind of guy you let into your life without thinking twice.

I should know because I did, too, and maybe that’s what eats at me most. I might know how to make people laugh, distract them, seduce them, or make noise, but Greer gets space next to him while warming up without pushing between. He gets a seat on the bus. I can easily imagine the casual talks and laughs shared between them.

I don’t get any of that.

And fuck, that image of Greer driving with Petit Crews in the passenger seat. Maybe asleep, maybe curled up in a hoodie, maybe trusting him with more than just directions.

I hate that image and how easy it is to picture, hate how it makes me feel, even though some part of me knows it’s bullshit, especially based on how tired Petit seems.

“Why?” I blurt before I can stop myself.

He frowns. “Why what?”

“Why them?” My skin warms, the outrage mounting. “Why can you be friends with Payne and Greer but not with me?”

His jaw ticks. “Neither of them is my friend.”

I blink, thrown off by his quick denial. “Seriously?”

“I don’t do friends.”

We stare at each other for a beat in the wake of that admission, and my mind whirls.

Ah. So it’s not me? It’s probably not even them, either.