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"Well excuse my skepticism. You and I don't exactly have the best relationship, and you've just turned up at my place of work."
He nods. "Fair enough."
"Also," I push on, annoyed. "The last few times I saw you, you told me I cause all my own drama and that I'm a bad person who should leave. And I did leave… yet, here you are."
He rolls his eyes while taking a drink. "You're dramatic."
"And you're an asshole."
Blake raises an eyebrow at me. "That I am. So what?"
I blink at him, lost for words. These three brothers had to be the most infuriating assholes I have ever met. I swear, they get some type of sick satisfaction from torturing me.
"Why don't you just tell me what you want so I can go back to my life?" I snap.
Mike looks over, hearing me. He gives me a questioning look, a silent offer of help but I wave him off.
"I'll tell you when you're done. What time do you finish?" he says, unfazed by my attitude and tone.
"I finish whenever I finish," I respond, crossing my arms.
Blake finishes his drink, putting the glass down on the bar. "Suit yourself. I'll be outside when you're done."
A part of me spends the rest of my shift hoping that he was just bullshitting and perhaps he has left. But those hopes are dashed when I walk outside with Tara and Mike, to find Blake standing by a Harley, scrolling on his phone.
Mike nudges me with his elbow, eyeing off Blake.
"You okay, Ry? Do you need us to help you?" he murmurs quietly, so that just us and Tara can hear.
Blake looks up as we exit, watching me closely. I shake my head at Mike, offering him a small smile.
"I appreciate the help. But it's okay. That asshole," I say, jabbing my thumb back at Blake, "is my stepbrother."
Tara and Mike look at me with surprised glances and I quickly farewell them, watching them walk away. They throw me a last look of concern and when they are out of view, I walk over to Blake.
"I'm here now. Are you going to fill me in on thisoh-soexciting visit?" I ask.
Blake reaches into his bike's storage box and lifts out a spare helmet. He holds it out to me. "Put this on."
I look at the helmet, laughing gingerly. "I'm not getting on the bike with you."
He continues to hold it out, patiently waiting.
I cross my arms. "I have my car here. No, thanks."
"Put the goddamn helmet on, Rylee," he says annoyed.
"Not until you tell me what's going on or where we are going," I respond stubbornly.
Blake lowers the helmet, walking over to me. "I'm taking you to my motel, so we can talk privately. Now put the goddamn helmet on before I force it on you."
I snatch the helmet from him, shoving it over my head. He looks pleased with himself and heads back to the bike, swinging his leg over.
"Get on," he says, kicking over the motor.
I stomp over, throwing myself on behind him. Blake pushes the stand back, and as the bike starts to move forward, I wrap my arms around his waist. I intentionally squeeze him too tight, hoping that I hurt him enough to realize I think he's an asshole, but not enough that he gets us killed.
Blake remains unfazed, hitting the throttle as we soar off down the road. As we hit the center of town, I spot the familiar motel, the same one I stayed in when I first came to visit. He parks the bike in front of a room, killing the engine.
