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“That sounds a lot like his problem too.”
Mason stares at me for a second, then scoops up his quarter pound burger in his hands. The juicy beef drips onto the plate as he takes a large bite. He chews, stares at me some more, and seems to draw a conclusion.
“I get it,” he says. “Why everybody likes you.”
A warm flush floods my face. “You do?”
“Yeah,” he says. “You’re easy to talk to.”
We finish our meal from there. I eat fries that Mason considers too salty and peppery. He demolishes his burger ’til there’s nothing left. By the time we walk out we’ve got full bellies and I’m clutching a to-go baggie.
“You can put that in my saddlebag.”
“Thanks.”
The sun’s fading away. Deep blues and purples ink onto the sky. We mount the bike with Mason checking on me one last time before we take off. I’m back to wrapping both arms around his middle.
It’s darker out. More cars occupy the highway. I’m feeling tired and sluggish.
All factors that go into me clinging onto him.
We ride in silence for what feels like forever. The air’s cooled down, though still warm against our skin.
My lids are growing heavy. I yawn and snuggle closer to Mason without thinking how it looks. If he even minds.
He’s just so… comfortable. So damn huggable.
His broad, muscled back feels so good and solid to rest on. I bet he’s amazing to cuddle with.
The thought’s out of left field and almost jolts me all the way awake.
No! No thinking about cuddling with Mason Cutler!
I scold myself.
These types of situations are muddying the waters. They’re blurring lines that don’t need to be blurred.
Mason’s still my enemy, and I still can’t stand him. He still hates me.
I’m distracted by these thoughts. Mason’s attention is on the road. Neither of us notice the group of motorcycles coming up ’til it’s too late.
We go from riding solo in our lane to being surrounded on either side of the highway.
Their engines growl from all around me. The guys on the back of the bikes resemble dark angels, masked by bandanas and engulfed in shadows with the exception of their headlights.
I scream and duck behind Mason like he really is my shield.
“Fuck!” Mason shouts over the roar of the summer night’s wind. “What do you think you’re—don’t fucking try it!”
They’re trying it. The formation of bikers closes in on us. They slide so close that Mason’s forced to speed up to escape them.
But we’re outnumbered.
The men simply accelerate along with us, trying to force Mason’s hand. They want to intimidate us by running us off the road. The message is clear; we’re their enemies.
“Syd, hold on tight, got it?” Mason grunts. “Tight as you can. This is risky as fuck.”
Another helpless scream tears from me. Mason’s slamming on the gas to propel us forward. One of the bikers goes for it too. He darts at us to cut us off.
