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“You look good,” he said.
“Don’t start. I’m already nervous about the bike.”
“Nothing to be nervous about.”
“I’ve never been on one.”
He held out a pair of sunglasses, and I traded my oversized ones for them. “Then today’s your first time.”
“Sit behind me,” he said. “Hold on to my waist. Lean when I lean. Don’t fight it.”
“Lean when you lean. Don’t fight it. Got it. I’ll just trust a stranger with my life.”
“You trust me with your plumbing. This is the same thing.”
“Plumbing doesn’t go seventy miles an hour.”
He laughed and swung onto the bike, holding it steady while I climbed on behind him. My legs bracketed his hips. Thank God I’d worn shorts underneath. I had standards. Low ones, but standards. My hands found his waist through the thin fabric of his shirt.
“Ready?” he asked.
“No.”
He started the engine. The vibration traveled through the seat and into my body, a low rumble that settled somewhere behind my ribs. My grip tightened on his waist.
Then we were moving.
The bike pulled smoothly away from the curb. Wind hit my face immediately, pulling at my hair, cooling the sweat on my back. The neighborhood blurred past. Houses. Mailboxes. A kid on a bicycle who stopped to watch us pass.
Deadeye leaned gently at every turn, and I leaned with him like he’d instructed. The world opened up on either side. Sky above. Road below. My body wrapped around his as I rested my cheek against his shoulder blade.
We hit the open road outside town, and the engine’s growl deepened. Fields stretched out on both sides, the late sun laying them out in long alternating bands of green and gold.
The wind made my eyes water, but I didn’t close them. Didn’t want to miss a second of this. The speed. The freedom. The feeling of being completely present in a moment. Something I hadn’t felt in ages.
Deadeye’s hand came off the handlebar for a second and covered mine. Then it was back on the controls.
I smiled and let the wind carry everything else away.
Chapter Five
Deadeye
Friday evening cookouts were sacred for our pack. Smoke drifted up from both grills, meat sizzling, laughter carrying across the yard from my packmates.
Leaning against the patio railing, I watched Spencer toss a tennis ball for Noodles. The puppy launched after it, legs clumsy, tail a blur of fur. She was getting big. Five months old and already the size of a small pony.
My phone rang inside my cut. Niles’ name on the screen made my mouth pull into a grin before I answered. Fuck me. The male had me doing that a lot lately. Grinning like a damn idiot.
“Hypothetical question,” he said.
“Sparkles.” Motherfuck. Every time he called, my wolf perked up. So did I.
“Does this cookout involve real food, or is it a test of my survival skills? I’m good with either. I just want to know which battle I need to prepare for.”
“Real food. Burgers, dogs, brats. Calvin’s bringing potato salad.”
“Potato salad.” I could practically hear his eyes rolling. “That’s almost romantic.”
