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“What she is or isn’t to me ain’t none of your concern,” I growl.
“That’s answer enough.”
Technically, I could put Riot in his place since I outrank him, but he’s such a volatile prick it would most likely escalate to a fistfight, and I don’t have time for that shit right now. So instead, I leave without saying another word.
When I get to the parking lot, I spot Vivi leaning against my bike, arms crossed. She has on a pair of well-worn, baggy black jeans, a T-shirt that’s been cropped to just under her tits, and a pair of cheap black boots. She changed her hair, too, slicking it back into a ponytail. It shows off her high cheekbones and the long, sexy neck I want to nibble on.
“You ready?” I put my aviators on before I get close enough to her that she might read how she affects me.
“Guess so. I’ve never ridden on the back of a bike before.”
“It’s easy. Just keep your feet on the pegs and hold on.” I grab my helmet and rest it on her head before adjusting the straps so it’s snug under her chin. She looks cute with my matte black dome on.
“What about you?” she asks.
“What about me?”
“Isn’t this your helmet?”
“I’ll live.” I fasten the clip and tap her head. “There.”
“Tough guy doesn’t need a helmet, huh?” She waits for me to climb on the bike before taking my hand to get behind me. “Do you remember Wilder’s shitty dirt bike you two rode around on?”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“You didn’t wear a helmet back then either and look what happened. You fell off that thing and split the back of your head open.” She pokes around my scalp until she finds the small scar. “I had to shave your head and put a butterfly bandage on you.”
“I do remember that. You must’ve been what? Seven-years-old?” I chuckle. “I was the one with the cut, but you were the one crying.”
She grimaces. “There was so much blood, I thought you were gonna die.”
“Head wounds bleed. I was fine.” I glance over my shoulder.
“Still scared me.”
It’s strange when someone who knew you so well when you were young knows nothing about you as an adult. If she did, she’d know I’ve been shot, I’ve wrecked out, and I’ve been in more fights than I can count. That tiny little flesh wound is nothing but a blip in my memory, yet it’s burned into hers.
“I promise not to crash,” I promise and face forward. “But you gotta hold on.”
I wait for long seconds until I feel her hands rest on my hips, but her grasp is loose and hesitant. That won’t do. Gripping her hands, I pull them around me and press them to my abdomen, showing where she should hold. Her touch is like fire, burning my skin through my shirt and leather cut. I don’t want to react this way to her, but my body seems to have a mind of its own.
Not giving myself more time to analyze it, I start the bike and slowly accelerate so as not to jar her. Even being cautious, her grip tightens, and she scoots closer. I can’t feel her tits through the layers of clothes, but just knowing they’re pressed against me has my cock twitching in awareness.
It’s wrong to feel this way, right? I mean, I haven’t seen her in years, and we were only in each other’s lives for a short time, so it’s not like we grew up together. Except my dad is still married to her mom, so regardless of all that bullshit, sheismy stepsister, no matter how I cut it.
She holds on like her life depends on it for ten miles before loosening up. As her body relaxes, she unlocks her hands, and I feel her energy change. The fear I sensed before is gone, and now she’s buzzing with excitement. It’s a relief since I plan to take her on many more rides.
Pulling into the gravel lot outside the clubhouse, I park my bike at the end of a long line of Harleys. The party is already in full swing, with people spilling outside, beer in hand. For a minute, I second-guess my decision to bring her here. Something has me holding back who she is, but I have to introduce her somehow, and I have to do it in a way that keeps her off-limits.
I throw down the kickstand and help Vivi off before climbing off myself.
“That was crazy,” she says, unclipping the buckle on the helmet and handing it back to me. Her hair, which was so smooth before, is now all mussed up and wild.
“Good crazy or bad?” I set the helmet on my bike and turn back to her.
“At first, it was scary. Like legs shaking kind of fear. But then, I don’t know. I felt free.” She laughs, big and loud. Her joy is fucking beautiful. “It was like every single cliche I’d ever seen in ads was true. I just wanted to ride.”
“Ride where?”
