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I rip it off and shove it in the basket on the bike.
“Is everything okay?” Riley calls out from behind me, not out of breath at all because he’s in much better shape than I am.
“Yep.” I glance over my shoulder at him. “All good.”
It’s not all good. At this rate, I’ll need a shower, snack, and rest before we can resume any kind of make-out session. What was I thinking, choosing bikes? We should have driven.
“We can walk the rest of the way if you want?” Riley calls out again. He catches up to me and matches my pace.
“How are you not out of breath?” I pant.
He shrugs, and I laugh.It’s called exercise, Nova.
His muscles and zero body fat make it obvious he works out hard regularly. Note to self: start using the treadmill or elliptical in Gigi’s home gym.
Sweat drips down my back. “I need a shower,” I blurt.
“I can help with that,” Riley replies.
I stiffen for a second, surprised by his response. Not once has he been this direct with me. I like it—a lot—even though I shouldn’t. In fact, I should separate from him the moment we get home, but I don’t want to.
Headlights shine behind us on the street. This is the third car to go around us, only this car slows alongside us, and the passenger window rolls down. A camera appears and flashes before I can blink.
“Shit!” I completely forgot about paparazzi, my mind distracted by Riley, hormones, and how unfit I am.
Riley veers closer to the car.
“Watch out!” I shout.
He grabs for the camera but the shadowed figure jerks back and the car races away.
Oh my gosh.They got a picture of us. Neither of us are wearing our disguises. This will be all over social media by tomorrow.
I can see the headlines: “Is Nova already moving on?” “Who’s the mystery guy she was out with?”
They’ll comment on my hot-mess appearance, for sure. Another tabloid headline flashes in my mind: “Is this guy the father of Nova’s baby?”
This is a disaster. And what about Riley? I don’t even know what he’s hiding from, but this will make him a social media target.
“I’m so sorry.” I pant harder, filled with dread.
Riley doesn’t reply, his shoulder stiff, his head forward as he pedals alongside me.
“Are you okay?”
It takes him a moment to respond. “That picture is going to be everywhere, isn’t it?”
My stomach tightens, as if I’ve been punched. “Most likely. I shouldn’t have taken off my wig. I’m so sorry, Riley.”
“It’s not your fault. I took mine off, too.”
“I wasn’t thinking. I was hot…”
“Let’s just get back to the house.” Riley pedals faster.
I don’t know how but I manage to keep up with him. Adrenaline rush? Pure will?
At Gigi’s, I punch the code into the call box and wait for the gates to open. They seem to move slower than usual.
