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“Okay.” He pursues his lips and stares into the starry sky, deep in thought. “It’s not one specific best memory. My favorite part was taking the roads less traveled.”
“What does that mean?”
“With a motorcycle, you can get off the beaten path and take roads less traveled. If you see a quirky landmark or a sign that leads down a side road or track that most vehicles can’t get down, with a motorcycle, you can explore it. And I always explored places. Discovered waterfalls and sand hills. Old train tracks and old ruins. There’s just a freedom of being able to explore the less explored.”
“That sounds amazing.”
“It is.” His fingers slide up my to touch the flesh of my neck.
“Why did you come home?”
“There’s no place like home, Bex. Home is where family and friends are. It’s the place to put down roots.”
“You’re planning to put down roots?” I keep the hope from my tone.
“Yes.”
“You say it with such confidence.”
“When I know what I want, I go for it.” Is he talking about me? About us?
Somewhere, deep down, I already know the answer.
“I hope you have that same confidence when we catch the hooligan tonight.”
He accepts my change of topic with a smile. Even masks some of the lust in his eyes.
“We’re in Cinnamon Bay. I doubt we’ll have any hooligans.”
“We should probably get back. In case they’re early.”
“Right.” He steps back. Our connection breaks, but our eyes are locked. My foot trips over a rock, and I stumble. Johnny’s there to catch me. One large step and his strong arms are around me again.
“I’m alright.” Embarrassed laughter bubbles out of me.
“You drunk, Gratton?” His teasing tone is one of my favorites.
I laugh. “Buzzed at best. There’s a rock.”
“A rock?” He’s teasing again. “I don’t see a rock.”
“There’s a rock.” I spin around to find it. I’m still tangled in his arms. “I swear.”
I hear him curse. His body staggers, and I know he tripped over the damn rock. We’re laughing and stumbling together when a deep voice interrupts us.
“What the fuck is going on here?”
