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“Come on, you two,” Rip called from the open door. “We’ve gotta go.”
“I’m just gonna run and change,” Cassie announced, skipping past Rip and me and rushing upstairs.
“Never seen you like this,” Rip commented with a nudge in my side as we walked through to where my brothers were lining up their rides to leave. We stopped in the doorway, staring out at the row of bikes, sparkling chrome catching the receding sunlight, men adjusting their leather cuts. It wasn’t very often I got to do this anymore. “So what is it about her?”
“I have no fucking idea,” I murmured out loud, but I couldn’t help but thinkeverything.
At first, I thought maybe it was because we were so different—that opposites attract kind of stuff. But the more I got to know her, I saw her strength, her flaws. I could see her as this whole, amazing fucking woman I wanted to stand beside me and wanted to fight to protect her.
How did I know that in such a short amount of time?
Pressure.
When put under pressure, coal creates diamonds.
And the utter chaos and destruction this past week or so, it was fucking creating something amazing. Something I wasn’t about to give up. Not fucking easily.
“We doing this or what?”
The club was standing around waiting for the signal from my dad as everyone turned to look as Cassie stepped out of the clubhouse in a pair of ripped jeans and an old leather jacket of mine that was still at least three or four sizes too big for her. It dwarfed her tiny frame, swallowing her up.
“You ever gonna stop stealing my shit?” I teased.
“Not likely.”
Shaking my head, I stepped in front of her and helped zip the large jacket up to her neck. Then I reached for the helmet I’d borrowed from Zoey, placing it on her head and clipping it up under her chin. I checked the strap was tight but not too restricting and tapped her softly on the top of her head.
“Good?”
“I think so,” she answered, rolling her shoulders and wiggling her body, seeing if she could get the helmet to move. I grabbed her shoulders, stilling her and forcing her gaze to meet mine which I was trying my best to keep serious despite how fucking cute this moment was.
“Please don’t move like that while you’re holding onto me,” I informed. “Because you might just wiggle us into a car or a highway barrier.”
Riding bitch can come natural to some and can be a nightmare for others.
There’s a lot of trust involved.
Not only do I have to trust her to do what I need her to do, the person at your back has to be able to let you lead. They have to be able to trust you to control that big heavy machine and keep you both safe.
It wasn’t like a car—there was no metal cage to protect you. There are no airbags, doors, or windows. Mistakes don’t just mean a dent here or there. Mistakes could mean your body lying on the asphalt.
Thankfully, just like every other fucking part of Cassie’s and my short story, our practice run earlier today hadn’t been easy, but with a little trust, it got a lot easier. Once we’d cruised around the inside of the clubhouse lot a few times, Cassie’s hold around my waist felt natural, her body leaning with me, trusting me to ease us in and out of corners like we’d done it a million times. Having her pressed to my back, her laughter in my ear as we accelerated, it fueled me to go a little faster, enjoying the way she squeezed tight and peeked over my shoulder.
I’d had three women on the back of my ride.
My dad’s old lady.
Her teenage daughter.
Cassie was the third and the only one I didn’t class as family. I was raised to believe your bitch seat was reserved for someone important, someone you weren’t scared to show off and let people know was yours.
Letting people get close wasn’t exactly one of my more well-known traits.
Usually, I liked to keep them out.
At a distance.
Where they couldn’t hurt me.
