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Griff holds up his hands. “Trinity gave it to Molly, so she thought it was okay to wear.”
I hold up the helmet toward the sunlight. “You can barely see it.”
“That’s the point,” Dex says under his breath.
Griff winks at me.
“Will it keep my head from bouncing off the pavement?” I ask.
One corner of Dex’s mouth curls up. “Yeah.”
“Good. Thanks, Griff.”
“No problem.” He gives a quick wave, then takes off toward the tow truck.
“Everything okay?” I ask Dex.
“Yeah, just, Molly’s a kid. I worry about her wearing our stuff.”
“That’s Remy’s sister, right? She goes to Libby’s school.” Realization hits me. “Damn, I totally forgot. I have to pick Libby up after practice tonight.” I twist, throwing a helpless glance toward my disloyal car.
“Can she catch a ride with a friend?” Dex asks.
“Probably. I hate asking the other parents. And I’m not wild about her driving with any of her friends, you know? I remember how, uh, easily distracted I could be at that age.”
He snorts.
“I’ll worry about it later. Maybe Griff will have good news about my car.” I stop dead. “Wait, how will he reach me? I didn’t give him my number.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Dex assures me, then marches ahead, waving his hand to hurry me along.
We stop at his bike. He stares at the seat, then me. “Have you ever ridden before?”
Warmth spreads from my cheeks to my forehead. “One of my exes used to ride. He took me out a few times.”
Is it my imagination, or did Dex’s jaw tighten when I mentioned an ex?
“Sorry, did you want to be the one to give me my first ride?” I tease.
A hint of a smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. “No, just your last.”
“That’s either really sweet or kind of ominous.”
“Well, I didn’t mean it to be ominous.” He flicks his gaze toward the sky. “And few people have ever called me sweet.”
The heat in my face spreads to my ears. “You’ve been sweet to me today.”
“Better put that on.” He nods to the helmet, ending our casual banter.
Mushy time over. Got it.
I strap the unfamiliar headgear into place, then sling my purse across my chest. “Let’s ride.”
Another hint of a smile. Dex is a hard man to crack.
He effortlessly slings his leg over the bike and I try to stop the drool from rolling down my chin. My ex certainly hadn’t looked this good straddling his skinny motorcycle with the high-pitched, whiny engine. Dex seems completely confident he can handle the giant machine. Like he’s one with his motorcycle.
He straps on his helmet and pulls black leather gloves from his pocket that he carefully works onto his big hands. Damn, since when do I find a man’s hands so enticing?
