Authors: Jillian Leeson
“Elle, babe, don’t tell me you—you’re actually interested in that dude. That would be a first.”
Still avoiding his eyes, I snap, “No, of course not. I’m just thinking of the cash. It will tide me over for a while.”
Thankfully, the waitress returns with our orders, and he doesn’t ask any more questions. In front of Damon sits a towering burger accompanied by a mound of fries.
I shake my head. “Ugh. I can’t believe you eat that crap.”
“What’s wrong with this? It looks good to me.”
“You don’t know what kind of meat they put in that burger. Could be any trash—brains, intestines, crushed bones…”
“I don’t care. Not when it tastes so good,” he says, taking a big bite out of his burger.
I steal a fry off his plate, and he slaps my wrist.
“Hey, order your own. I thought you hated my crap.”
I dip the fry deep inside my ice-cream and hold it up to him before putting it in my mouth. I laugh when he scrunches up his face in disgust.
A commotion by the door makes our heads turn. A group of African American men enter the diner—racers. I can spot them a mile away by their doo-rags and leathers. They approach our table.
“Yo Damon, what’s good, my man?”
I recognize the bulky racer who greets Damon—CJ, a talented risk-taker. I’ve raced him once before and lost. Damon stands up for a quick embrace and a backslap. CJ nods at me, and I nod back.
“You comin’ to the big race?”
I furrow my brow. “What race?”
“In two weeks’ time, in Newark. Everyone’s gonna be there.”
Damon turns to me. “Elle? What do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
CJ takes a chair, spins it around and straddles it, his forearms leaning on the back. “You should race. Maybe I’ll even let you have a rematch. It wouldn’t make a difference though. I’ll still whip your ass.”
I smile, but what I really want to say is no. A big race like that is going to be dangerous. It often attracts the wrong crowd, and emotions will be running high on account of the huge amounts of money at stake. At least I don’t have to worry about risking my life with the ten-grand race offer. Damon is interested, though, and he starts asking details about the upcoming race.
I lean back in my seat. I feel exhausted, from tonight’s race and my lack of sleep the night before. Suddenly I can’t wait to go home and curl up in bed.
“Hey guys, I’m beat. I’m calling it a night.”
“You want me to ride home with you?” Damon says.
“Nah, I’ll be all right. You stay here and talk.”
I say my goodbyes, slap a ten-dollar bill on the table, and enter the cold air to get on my bike. I love riding at night when I have the road all to myself, especially on a moon-lit night like this, with the bright lights of the city in the distance.
I approach a traffic light that is just changing from yellow to red. The intersection is clear, so I am considering running the light. But I decide against it and stop, waiting patiently for the light change. I’ll treat it as the start light for a race, just for practice.
I see movement from the corner from my eye—another bike. The flash of white-and-blue looks familiar, and when I take a glance to the side, my heart skips a beat.
It’s Ryder.
Ryder
I can’t believe how damn happy I am to see her again.
Ever since she rode off after our race, I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind. As I approach the traffic light, I take in the contours of her moonlit shape. The sight of her lanky figure, draped over her bike, is much more alluring than the voluptuous girls I usually spend the night with. I realized this only a short while ago, when Alex had talked me into hitting a club on the way home.
He had won a race against “Crush”, a skinny guy who, fortunately, didn’t live up to his name. A pile of cash bulging in his pocket, Alex wanted to celebrate, and within ten minutes of entering the club, he had a sexy Latin girl on his lap, one hand holding a scotch on the rocks, the other cupping her ass. A couple of girls were vying for my attention at the bar; one of them was pretty with ample curves and curly blond hair. I would’ve been interested any other time, but for some reason, I wasn’t in the mood. My mind was elsewhere—a few miles away, with long legs wrapped around a GSX.
I left the club and got on my bike to head back home. I was thinking of the fastest way to get in touch with her—Elle. In my head, I kept on replaying what she’d said to me, “L for loser,” in that husky voice, her luscious lips curling around the word “loser”. It was pretty obvious she meant to insult me, but that sassy mouth of hers was a major turn-on.
Hell, just thinking about it again makes me want to snatch her off the bike, yank off her helmet, and claim the sweetness of those lips. I can’t wait for the day I get to race her and collect my prize. If it’s up to me, it would be later today—I’m not known for my patience, especially when it comes to women.
I should have asked for her cell number. I know it wouldn’t be hard to find her through my PI, especially when I know her bike and plate. But it would have taken me a while before I could get in touch with her. So I thank my lucky stars that I spot her waiting behind the stop line, and get my chance to talk to her again.
I crawl alongside her while she is wrapped around her GSX, as if she’s ready to start a race. Her slender, never-ending legs are pressed against the sides of her bike, and I feel my pulse quicken. I come to a complete stop a few feet beside her, and turn my head sideways to attract her attention. She notices and looks back at me. I can imagine the gleam of her eyes behind the shield. Those dark sparkling eyes that held me spellbound from the moment I met her; those eyes that flashed with defiance when she thought she was daring with her 10k offer.
I’m so caught up in my thoughts that I almost miss her making a head signal. She does it again, cocking her head towards the traffic light, then nodding at me. Ah, I should have known: she’s challenging me again. Wicked—I know this is not meant to be our big race, but I’m hell-bent on some payback time after my defeat.
I nod back, then turn to look straight ahead at the traffic light, bending my body over the fuel tank to get into position. We both rev our engines, ready for the light change. And the millisecond the traffic light turns to green, we charge.
The wind is howling in my ears while I accelerate by shifting up the gears. I thought I’d done pretty well at launch, but my peripheral vision shows that Elle’s had a better start than me—she’s in the lead. Damn. I concentrate harder, determined to extract every bit of horsepower out of my machine. And thank God, it doesn’t let me down. I creep up alongside her and we’re head to head.
Come on, just a little faster.
I get my advantage when a slight bump in the road has me unweighting the front wheel. When I settle back, I see that I have taken over the lead. Yes! But my sense of victory quickly fades when I discover Elle is not keeping up with me. She is falling back too fast, as if she’s putting on her brakes. That’s strange. I reduce my speed and quickly spin my head round to see where she went. She is way back; too far back. I slow down further and swing round my bike.
Something is definitely wrong.
Elle
What the hell is happening? One minute I’m racing, the next I feel a bump in the road and lose serious speed. I realize it’s the engine—it’s stalled. I open the throttle a few times, but the engine doesn’t come back on again. What’s wrong? Did the chain break? Am I out of fuel? I check my fuel gauge. No, that’s not it.
Ryder is becoming a dot in the distance while I’m quickly decelerating until I come to a complete stop at the side of the road. I get off my bike, yanking off my helmet. When I inspect the bike from all sides, nothing looks out of the ordinary. Has the road bump triggered anything?
I’m going through all the possible problems in my mind, when a bright light dazzles me. I put my hand up to shield my eyes from the glaring headlight. Ryder glides past and comes to a stop behind me. Great. Just what I need—Mr Obnoxious coming to gloat, or worse, teach me a lesson.
“Hey, are you all right?” To my surprise, his voice sounds concerned.
I nod. “I’m fine.”
I hear his engine switch off and his heavy boots thud on the asphalt. When I look up at him standing next to me, he is taking off his helmet. For a moment, I’m taken aback, causing my breath to catch; I’ve forgotten how gorgeous he looks. He drags his hand through his dark hair, messing it up and making it look annoyingly sexy.
“What’s going on? Engine trouble?”
“I’m not sure. My engine died after I hit that bump.”
“Fuel?”
“No, I’m still half full.”
“Did you accidentally flick the kill switch?”
I lean over and check the switch above the red start button. “No, it’s still in the running position.”
Ryder gets off his bike and strides towards me. He walks around my bike, furrowing his brow, and when he stops, his dark eyes find mine. “Did you try the ignition?”
I’m annoyed with myself. That should have been the first thing I tried. I get back on the bike, lift the kickstand up, turn the key, and press the start button, but nothing happens. Ryder leans over to study the controls. I recline as far as possible to avoid touching him, but he is still close enough for me to feel his body heat and breathe in his alluring scent.
“None of the warning lights are on, everything seems to be okay. It could be anything— a dirty fuel injector, a blocked fuel supply…but I won’t be able to check now.”
When he steps away, I breathe a silent sigh of relief. He walks around to my left side and leans down. Without warning, he settles his hand on the back of my boot, balancing himself to bend down further, apparently to inspect the underside of my bike. It’s as if I can feel the warmth of his hand through his glove and my boot, searing my thigh and sending sparks straight to my lower belly. I swallow, keeping my body as rigid as possible.
After what feels like an eternity, he releases his hand and straightens up.
“I’ve been thinking, it could be your kickstand sensor. I’ve checked, your kickstand is fully up, so that’s not the problem. But if the sensor is faulty, the engine goes into a failsafe mode and the engine won’t start.”
“Oh, shit. That means I’m stuck.”
“Pretty much. You’ll have to get it to a mechanic.”
I immediately pull my cell phone out of my pocket, planning to make two calls: one to get a tow and one to Damon to pick me up. But when I try to make a call, the screen is completely blank, even after pressing the power button repeatedly. I curse inwardly. Looks like I have no choice; I’ll have to ask Ryder for help.
“Um…could I borrow your cell? Mine’s out of charge.”
“What for?”
“I’ll get a tow and someone to pick me up from here. Just give me your cell to make a couple of calls, and you can be on your way.”
Ryder narrows his eyes. “You don’t need my cell. You need a ride home.”
I try to use my calmest voice. “Can you just give it to me?”
He turns away from me, pulls his phone out of his pocket, and dials a number. After a few moments, he starts talking.
“I need you to come out. Bike malfunction.”
He walks away from me, so I only hear snatches of his conversation, giving details of our location. A hot anger is rising within me, but at the same time, I realize I’m helpless. I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere. I could wait for a car to pass by, but it’s risky. Who knows what kind of people drive out at this time of night?
Ryder spins around, finished with his call.
“I’ve got someone to pick up your bike in about fifteen minutes.”
Nervous, I start babbling, almost stumbling over my words. “You shouldn’t have done that. You should’ve let me make a call, and you would’ve been on your way home right now. Anyway, you don’t have to stay. Why don’t you go, and I’ll get a ride from the guy who picks up my bike.”
Ryder crosses his arms, his legs apart. “I’m not leaving.”
I sigh loudly and stare at him with narrowed eyes. He gazes right back, turning this into a staring contest. I really don’t want to be the first to break my gaze, giving him the satisfaction of winning, but I still do. His shiny BMW catches my eye, lit by the moon that has emerged from behind the clouds.
God, that bike is beautiful.
And it could be mine soon.
I get off my bike and stride towards it, my eyes admiring its flowing curves and the shark-like gills on the side. Cocking my head to the bike, I turn to Ryder. “May I?”
He nods. “Be my guest.”
I swing my leg over the seat and straddle the bike. It fits perfectly, as if I’m made to ride it. I am about to reach over to the handlebars when I remember what happened after I won our race—how Ryder taunted me by feeling up my bike. Well, two can play at that game.
Snaring his gaze, I lift my fingers up to my mouth and pull my glove off slowly with my teeth. I do the same with the other glove, and lick my lips while putting the gloves in my pocket. I let my fingertips graze the curves of the engine lengthwise, then I start massaging the smooth, shiny surface in slow circles.
“Hmm…”
With the hand that’s closest to Ryder, I follow the curve of the engine around to the front until I reach the edge. My index finger jumps to the handlebar and trails leisurely along its length. I curl my finger over the bar and with my thumb underneath it, make a ring. Keeping my gaze locked on Ryder, I move slowly along the handlebar, to and fro. I notice that his gaze is darkening, his hands are balled in fists at his side, and he shifts position slightly. Yes! It seems to have an effect on him.