Playing with Fire

“Better haul ass there, then.”

“Good idea.”

I turned back, marching toward my house to get my Chevy, before stopping, my back still to West.

“Crap.”

“Hmm?” I could practically hear the grin in his voice. He hadn’t moved an inch, knowing he had me in his pocket.

“It’s outside Sheridan limits, about ten miles out. They closed the road for the fair tonight. The only way through is the old dirt road, and I can’t drive there with my pickup.”

My Chevy was my age, and just like me, not in pristine condition. Besides, it was more of a path, rather than a road. I didn’t think the pickup would fit in there, in the first place.

Walking the dirt path wasn’t a grand idea either. It was sandwiched between cornfields. There were bobcats, coyotes, and all kinds of animals roaming about.

“We’ll take the bike.” West reappeared in my periphery.

“Since when are we a collective we?” I spun on my heel to face him, popping an eyebrow.

“Do you know how to ride a motorcycle?”

“No.”

“That makes us a collective we. Geez, Tex, for a smart girl, you sure are kinda stupid.”

He shoved his helmet into my hands. I caught the heavy thing but didn’t make a move to put it over my head. I stared at him, dumbfounded. I opened my mouth to decline his crazy, albeit sweet, offer, but he raised his palm up, stopping me.

“Spare me the bullshit. You’re in no position to turn me down, and I’m definitely not gentleman enough to insist on it.”

“I’m sure you have better things to do with your time.”

“No, I’ve got things more fun to do with my time.” He tsked. “Nothing beats helping a friend in need.”

A friend.

Something about the way he said it completely undid me.

I felt weak. Raw. I hated to be the recipient of his assistance.

If we were going to do this, I needed to give him a fair warning.

“My grandmomma is … a character,” I warned cautiously.

“Thank fuck. Everyone else in this town seems to be clinically boring. Hop on.” He slapped the leather seat of his motorcycle.

“Do you have another helmet? For yourself?”

West snatched the helmet from my hands, tossed my ball cap to the ground, and shoved the helmet over my head in one swift movement. He secured it over my chin, tugging the buckle.

He got on the bike and jerked his chin.

“Hop. The. Fuck. On.”

I stuffed my ball cap into my back pocket quickly, ducking my head down. The helmet was unexpected heavy and squeezed the heck out of my cheeks.

“I don’t want you to ride without a helmet.”

I didn’t want him to risk his life for me. Between illegal fighting and riding a motorcycle, he seemed to be doing a fine job trying to die all on his own. He didn’t need my help.

He ignored my words, screwing his fingers into his eye sockets, shaking his head, clearly exasperated.

“Get on here before I fling your ass over it like a sack of potatoes. Fair warning: I won’t be gentle.”

I took a step in his direction, feeling my resolve cracking.

“And watch Christina’s paint,” he snarled.

“Christina?”

“After Christina Hendricks.” He patted the shiny red neck of the motorcycle with his rough hand. “They’re my favorite redheads.”

“Good thing only one is stupid enough to let you ride her. And she ain’t got a pulse,” I deadpanned.

He stared at my helmeted head for a beat before throwing his head back and laughing with pure, electrifying joy that zinged through my veins, making my blood bubble. Watching the row of pearly whites inside his mouth confirmed my initial suspicion he had a smile that brought women to their knees.

Men too, probably.

I slid my leg over the seat behind him. My whole body quivered with anxiety and adrenaline. I’d never felt so scared and alive.

“Scoot forward,” he barked.

I did. The engine rumbled like a feral animal beneath me.

“Now press yourself against me.”

“That’s more of a third-date move for me.”

West laughed again. His laugh sounded throaty, smoky, almost foreign—like he was unused to being happy.

“It’s either cozying up to the campus asshole or blowing in the wind like a deflating balloon. Your call, Tex. I’m going to get my fun in either scenario.”

West St. Claire had the uncanny ability to do nice things and still act like a complete and utter jerk about it.

Reluctantly, I flushed my chest against his back, my head nestling between his shoulder blades. I closed my eyes and breathed, reminding myself I didn’t have the luxury of being prudish right now.

“Wrap your arms around me, real tight.”

I looped my arms over his body. I could feel the individual ridges between his six-pack, and my heart began to pound so fast I was sure he’d be able to feel it through his thin shirt.

We sliced the still air, shooting across the road like an arrow. West angled his body forward. I clasped him harder, stunned by the way we were balanced on his motorcycle, even when the concrete beneath us turned into gravel, and eventually, bumpy dirt. His shirt tossed about like a flag, and the biting rush of the wind against my skin took my breath away. Every inch of my body tingled with goose bumps.