Supercross Me (Motocross Me 2)

Two hands cover my eyes. I squeal, but I’m in the score tower, so there are only so many people that would be in here trying to sneak up on me. It’s probably not a murderer.

“Guess who?” a voice whispers in my ear. Chills tingle down my neck at the close proximity. Where those . . . butterflies? I reach up and grab his hands, pulling them down.

“I don’t know, probably some weirdo,” I say, turning around.

Lincoln frowns and pretends to be offended. “You’ve certainly been spending a lot of time with this weirdo.”

I shrug and grab the stack of warm papers from the copier. “I’m just doing my civic duty. Being kind to weirdos and all that. It’s like community service.”

“Is that so?” He says the words slowly, his hands grabbing the papers from mine. He sets them on a table and then—before I realize what’s happening—he grabs my waist and holds me in front of him. He’s so close and so tall, I have to look practically straight up to see him.

“Yeah,” I mumble, not really remembering the question he asked me.

His hands are warm on my sides, his gaze playful but full of desire. “You wanna hang out later?” he says, his toes inching a little closer to mine.

My heart races and I find myself focusing on the feeling, hoping and wishing for the flutter, the feeling that the world has slipped out from under my feet. But all I feel is nervous. He is too close, and I’m not sure I’m ready for this.

I swallow and stretch my neck. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, it’s Friday, so Mike is having another party,” Lincoln says. His hands slide up my sides and grip my shoulders. “So we could hit that up. Unless

you want to be alone . . .”

A loud knock on the door startles both of us. I rush over to it, so grateful for the distraction. I swing open the door, and Shelby greets me, panting.

“So . . . many . . . stairs,” she says, grabbing onto the metal railing for support. She clutches her chest. “I am so out of shape.”

“What’s going on?” I ask.

She waves a lazy hand behind her. “The UPS guy is here and he has a package, but he will only let a Fisher sign for it. Your dad’s on the track, so I came to get you.”

Lincoln follows us as we head back down the stairs and then the long gravel driveway to where a guy waits with a tablet and a box at his feet.

“He was kind of a jerk,” Shelby says as we make our way over. “Must be having a bad day.”

The short journey to the brown truck takes us past the bleachers, and I see the one person I’d rather avoid. I immediately wish I hadn’t. I’m pretty sure he saw me too, even though he’s talking on his phone. Ash, with his black shorts and arm in a sling, looking hot as ever.

“You didn’t tell me he was here,” I whisper to Shelby.

“He’s been here all day,” she says back, not even trying to hide our conversation. I glance back and to my horror, Lincoln has slipped away from us and is walking over to say hello to Ash. Awkward.

The UPS guy accepts my chicken scratch signature and hands me the box. It’s about three feet tall and one foot wide, and although it’s not heavy, it’s awkward hefting it up and walking back with it.

“You should say hi,” Shelby says, her tone as carefully chosen as if she were talking to a toddler on the verge of a tantrum. A dirt bike zooms by us, kicking up a film of dirt in its wake.

“I don’t know if I want to,” I say, giving her an honest look of worry. “It’s just hard now that…”

“Now that what?” Shelby says.

Dammit. I haven’t talked to her about the pictures of the girl online. I couldn’t ever find the time or energy to say the words aloud, and although I’m sure she’s seen the photos too, she knows better than to mention it around me. I draw in a deep breath, juggle the box in my arms trying to get a better grip, and sigh. “Now that he has that new girlfriend.”

“Well, he hasn’t mentioned anything to me about this supposed new girlfriend,” Shelby says, running a hand through her dirty blonde hair. “Maybe it was just a fling.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” I say, walking a little quicker now that we’re almost at the bleachers again. Lincoln is still talking to Ash, and they both look over at us as we approach. I look straight ahead. I have to deliver this box to the score tower. Nothing can stop me.

“Hey, Fisher!”

Except maybe that.