Page 15

My heart skips several beats, but I snort in response. "That was cheesy."

He just grins in an extremely dorky… and adorable kind of way. "I'm a cheesy guy."

What the hell?

I gaze at him incredulously because is this boy seriously flirting with me right now?

"Look," I sigh, tossing my hair. "I admire your confidence, I really do, but you aren't my type."

"And what type is that?" he asks, tilting his head. Genuinely curious. Obviously still interested.

It's my turn to smirk when I come up with the most raunchy, unhinged thing I can think of to scare him off. "I like good boys who bend over and let me peg them until they cry."

It’s not a total lie. That's why I dated Brad Hanegin last year. He was into it.

Logan's pupils blow wide, lips parting on a soft gasp as if I’d just punched the air right out of him.

For a second, I think it actually worked.

He looks stunned. Deer in headlights, floundering like a fish, completely struck speechless. But then that shock turns to fear and he squirms, redirecting his attention. I follow his gaze… right down to the boner in his pants.

"Jesus Christ." Spinning around, I stomp away, but he's hot on my heels.

"Salem, wait, I can explain–”

I quickly lock myself in the ladies room, hoping that if I hide out for a bit, he'll fuck off and leave me alone.

That night had been a complete disaster for everyone, but needless to say, Logan did not leave me alone. He hounded me until I finally folded and gave him what he wanted—and continued to give it to him repeatedly for two years as I molded myself into the perfect little housewife.

What did I get in return? Heartbreak. Abandonment. Because the morning after we drunkenly got married, Logan found out I’d slept with Devon and left without a word. Not even a fucking goodbye.

The minute he realized I wasn’t some good little Christian girl like he expected me to be, he jumped ship. Left me to deal with everything alone, just like I’ve always done.

Now tell me this: How the hell are we supposed to come back from that?

Chapter

Seven

Salem

“Hold it. Mm, yeah, right there. That's so good.”

Snap, snap.

Refocusing my camera lens, I zoom in on Taylor mounting his bright yellow dirt bike, inked biceps rippling when he runs a hand through his damp hair. Christian comes next, completely shirtless, his sun-kissed abs glistening with sweat.

Their fans fucking love these kinds of photos.

Snap, snap, snap.

The sun hasn't fully risen yet, barely cresting the horizon, but the guys are already running practice drills for our first show tonight. They take turns launching off the metal ramp, each one trying to out-stunt the other. I crouch in the dirt with my camera and try my best to ignore the million itchy mosquito bites covering my body.

In hindsight, sleeping outside in the middle of Tennessee summer was a horrible idea, but I'll never admit it out loud.

Lifting the camera, I snap a burst as Tay pulls off a perfect whip, Christian chasing right behind him with a backflip. The small stadium we're in is empty now, just the two of them carving lines into the dirt. Their engines echo off bleachers that will be filled with screaming fans tonight, if ticket sales are anything to go by.

This place had everything I looked for in a venue: ramps at the ready, stands pre-set for crowd flow, spots mapped out for photo ops.