Page 9 of My Wild Biker

"Morning," I say back.

"You're still here."

"Seems that way."

She stretches and the covers slip down, revealing skin I spent half the night touching. My body responds immediately and from her expression she notices.

Before either of us can act on it, my phone buzzes on the nightstand.

I grab it. Text from Clint: Need you at clubhouse by noon. Crane intel developing.

Then another immediately after: Where you at?

I text back: On my way.

Isla sits up, pulling the sheet around herself. "Work?"

"Yeah. Gotta be at the clubhouse by noon."

She nods and the easy intimacy from last night shifts into something more thoughtful. We both know what we agreed to. One night, clean ending.

"I should get going," I say.

"Right. Yeah."

I get out of bed and start finding my clothes. Pull on boxers, jeans, shirt. My cut goes on last and I smooth the patches out of habit.

When I turn back Isla's watching me with an expression I can't read.

"Last night was good," she says.

"It was."

"Thanks for... you know. Keeping it simple."

"Course."

My phone buzzes again. Clint: Not seeing your bike yet.

I pocket it. "I really gotta go."

"Okay."

I walk toward the bedroom door and stop. Turn back. She's still sitting in bed looking at me and for a second, I almost say something. Don't know what. Doesn't matter because my phone buzzes a third time.

"See you around maybe," I manage.

"Maybe. I'm here till Sunday."

"Right."

I force myself to walk out, through the living room, out the front door into morning heat that's already building. Get on my bike and kick-start it.

The engine rumble is loud in the quiet street.

I ride away without looking back.

Route 9 is empty this early and I take it faster than I should, leaning into the curves, trying to focus on the road instead of the feeling in my chest that something's off.