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She lets out a huff of laughter. “Oh, so you do remember me. Took you long enough.”
“Holy shit.” I pull off onto a side street and hit the brakes, hard enough that the momentum presses her body close against me. We roll to a stop and I cut the engine. “Get off,” I grit out. “Now.”
I expect her to protest, but she does what I say. I climb off the bike, and when I turn to her she’s pulled her cap and her glasses off, and is staring at me defiantly. “What, so you’re just going to leave me in the middle of nowhere, now that you know who I am?”
I stare at her.Kat.It really is her. Jesus, now that I look at her, I can’t figure out how I didn’t see it before. It’s been years, but she still has the same snap to her gorgeous eyes. The same tiny waist, flaring to generous hips. The same shapely legs that all these years later I can still remember wrapped around me. The same fire to her.
And just like that, I’m hard as a rock.
“I didn’t say anything about leaving you here,” I shoot back, sounding angrier than I feel. “How long have you known it was me?”
“Since the second you came out of that bar, dumbass,” she retorts, rolling her eyes.
“The fuck? Why didn’t you say something?”
She flings her hands up in exasperation. “Because I didn’t want to see you! Do you really think I’d be like, ‘Oh, look, there’s Connor, the guy who broke my heart and dumped me! Awesome! Can’t wait to catch up and reminisce about old times!’”
“Fuck you, Kat,” I seethe, but her words hit their mark. “I got you away from that dickhead that was manhandling you, didn’t I?”
“If you’ll remember, I got away from him by myself.”
“And I knocked him out cold so he wouldn’t follow you.”
“Oh, I see. You want the credit. Unbelievable. So now I’m just supposed to swoon at your feet?”
“No, but shit. A thank you would be nice.”
She lets out a sharp laugh. “Yeah, sure. Thanks for all the great stuff you’ve done for me in my life.”
“For this one fucking thing! Jesus. I’m starting to regret helping you out now.”
“What’s the matter, Connor? Am I getting too real on you by bringing up the past? You know I’m right. And you know I have every right to be pissed at you. So yeah, asking me for a thank-you is pretty damn rich, if you ask me.”
“Then why did you accept a ride from me?” I challenge her. “If you didn’t want to talk to me so bad?”
“Because I needed to get away from Hooch!” she shouts, flinging her hand back toward the bar. That must be the name of the Talon. “But you know what? It turns out that I ended up just trading one asshole biker for another.” She blows a loose tendril of hair away from her face. “Screw you, Connor. I’m done with this conversation.”
And then, before I even register what she’s doing, Kat hops onmyfucking bike and starts the engine.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I yell. But she kicks the bike into gear and gooses the throttle, taking off down the street before I can stop her. She wobbles slightly until the bike starts to pick up speed, and then flips me the bird as she drives off.
“Son of a bitch,” I exhale, running a rough hand over my beard. “This is fucking unbelievable.”
For a few seconds, I can’t even do anything but stand there and watch her go. Even though the bike is way too big for her small frame, she still manages it. As pissed off as I am right now, there’s a part of me that can’t help but admire her. I shouldn’t be surprised that she can handle that beast. After all, I’m the one who taught her how to ride.
Sighing, I stand there for a minute or so, and then pull out my phone. It’s got an app on it to trace my bike’s location in case of theft. To my surprise, it looks like the bike is stopped on a street a couple blocks away. Has she abandoned the bike already, and left it for me? Hopefully she didn’t have an accident.
Either way, there’s only one thing for me to do. Swearing under my breath, I start out on foot in the direction the GPS tells me to go. With my brain still reeling at the uncomfortable realization that Kat Bergland is still the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
4
KAT
People tell themselves all sorts of stories about their past. We do it to make sense of things that would otherwise baffle our belief in who we are. Our understanding of the things that have happened to us. The people we can trust, and the people we can’t.
Sometimes, we even manage to convince ourselves those stories are true.
As I muscle the Harley upright and drive away, I resist the urge to catch a glimpse of Connor in his own rear-view mirror. My mind recalls his close-cropped dirty-blond hair. The dead-sexy beard, which is new since last time I saw him. Those unforgettable teal-blue eyes.
