Page 84 of Rogue Riders Duet

Petit is the problem. I didn’t see that coming, didn’t even consider it an option. He either doesn’t know how to let people in or maybe doesn’t believe he deserves to.

I file this new information away.

“Well,” I say, feeling almost normal for the first time in days, like a weight has been lifted. One that, if I had to guess, probably weighs barely more than fifty kilograms. “I guess I’ll just hang around and annoy you until you change your mind, then.”

That earns me a twitch of his mouth. Not a smile, exactly, but he doesn’t immediately say no, which I take as permission.

He starts walking again, and keeping my word, I fall into step beside him. The gravel crunches under our boots as we head toward the trees, leaving behind the noise of the camps and the clatter of wrenches and egos.

“What are we even doing here?” I ask after a while, looking around.

“I’m getting some fresh air. You’re just hanging around annoying me.”

He needed fresh air?

He really isn’t okay.

We are alone, with no teammates, no audience, just me and the most confusing rider on the circuit, which gives me a chance for some real talk, to ask what’s up with him. I don’t really know shit about him, but the truth is I want to.

Except, he wouldn’t tell me, would he?

The least I can do is try to get that sadness out of his eyes.

“You know,” I start, glancing sideways at his hooded profile. “If you’re going to keep being allergic to actual conversation, I’m going to have to start filling in the blanks myself.”

He doesn’t respond, obviously, so I keep my word again.

I’m honorable like that.

“Okay, let me guess. You always wear your hood up because you hate your haircut.”

He flicks his gaze to me, and I have to suppress a smile. I was joking, but it seems like I hit a mark. Reaching over casually, I tug his hood down, letting my fingers glide through the soft, dark mess of his hair. It’s even softer than I imagined, ridiculously so, and he immediately swats my hand away with a glare.

“You shouldn’t.” I lean back with a satisfied grin. “The cut’s nice, you look good.” So damn cute.

His cheeks turn pink, just a shade, but enough to make my chest tingle with dangerous satisfaction.

“You drink your coffee black, no sugar, like some kind of bitter cowboy. Or tea, but only the kind that tastes like a forest and sadness.”

He huffs. Or was it a laugh? Eh, borderline. Either way, I press on.

“You’re a cat person, obviously. Aloof and judgy. Hating my son for no reason. You probably hiss when someone wakes you up too early.”

Another eyeroll. Excellent.

“Your bike has a name, and I’m sure it’s something dramatic. Like… Berserker, Nightmare, or Vengeance.”

The edge of his mouth twitches. There it is, the tiniest crack. Now’s my chance.

“You have a girlfriend.”

He frowns when his brown eyes come up to mine again.

Interesting.

“Boyfriend?” I hedge.

“No.” He presses his lips together firmly.