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Ten years ago—Navarone’s house, California
Navarone parks the bike in the garage and kills the engine. I have trouble moving my legs. He covers my hands with his before letting go. “You okay?”
“Better than okay. Riding with you was amazing,” I gush, getting off and handing him my helmet, which he places on the bike.
He chuckles, his big chest vibrating. My fingers skim the handlebars. He swallows hard, following the movement. He gives me a sweet grin, rubbing the back of his skull.
I thrust my hand out for him to shake. “Thank you for today.” I hope my mile-wide smile doesn’t scream lovesick puppy.
“You’re welcome,” he says, gazing down at me, not letting go of my hand. “You had fun?” Rone’s voice is deep. The way his eyes hold my stare makes it hard for me to breathe.
I look at our entwined hands, feeling shy all of a sudden.
“Allie,” he whispers, tilting my chin up before his calloused thumb moves over my cheekbone and he cups my jaw in his big hand.
I run my trembling fingers through his hair while he pulls me against him, hugging me and brushing his lips across my forehead. I don’t know what comes over me; I want to hold onto him and pretend he is all mine.
I let my hand drop to his hard chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat through his shirt, and he stares at me.
“Been wanting to do that since you stepped out of the truck. Fuck, you are nothing like I thought you would be.”
My eyes widen at his words, his gaze locks on me and heat rushes through me.
“What do you mean?” My voice is shaking.
A hint of vulnerability creeps over his features before they harden once more. He traces his thumb over my parted lips. I press my legs against his hard thigh, and he holds his breath. He quickly takes a step back, pulling away from me and blushing.
We both stop staring at each other when Gunner yells from the porch, “Food is ready, guys.”
With a devilish grin, Rone winks at me before we walk to the patio, stealing looks at each other.
“So, Squirrel had fun on the bike?” Gunner drawls, giving Rone a knowing smile.
He shakes his head, searching his pockets.
Axl throws a pack of cigarettes his way and after catching it midair, he lights one up.
Gunner puts an arm around me, telling us both about his day and the songs Axl has been working on in the studio before Ax and Gunn are called into the kitchen by my dad.
Sighing, I lean against the railing of the porch, watching Rone smoking his cigarette.
“Alice, I ...” Rone says hesitantly.
Why does my breath catch in my chest whenever he says my name that way?
He takes a step toward me, brushing an awkward hand through his hair. “I’m sorry for what happened back there in the garage. I shouldn’t ...”
His eyes are darker than I remember, and I let my gaze drop to the bulge pressing against the zipper of his black jeans. My cheeks flush again. I’m not clueless; I know what that means.
“Why?” I ask, my voice small.
He boxes me in before his hand travels through my hair, my skin igniting under his touch. He sighs. “Because from the first moment I laid eyes on you, I fucking knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That I was gonna get my ass kicked.”
“Why?”
