Yard Sale

“She’s with me.” I’ve never heard the voice before, but somehow, I know it’s Sebastian speaking. It’s authoritative and intimidating without having to yell.

Silence fills the tent, and everyone’s eyes are on the leather jacket man. He’s straddling his motorcycle, helmet off, and he’s now holding the announcer’s microphone.

“She’s part of the show,” he explains, and my eyes widen. What?

The security guard doesn’t look convinced, but what can he do? He doesn’t have proof that I snuck in.

“Well, come on, Princess. We don’t have all night. We’ve got a show to do!” His voice has a slight edge to it, as if he’s challenging me. My neck and ears feel like they’re on fire, but I swallow my nerves as I shake off the guard’s grip and slowly put one foot in front of the other as the crowd cheers me on.

Once I’m close, the other riders exit the cage. One of them jerks his helmet off and speaks low so only Sebastian can hear, but I can tell he’s not happy. He cuts his eyes at me and shakes his head before storming off to the side.

Okay, then.

I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, looking between Sebastian and the aptly named Globe of Death. He extends an arm, motioning for me to step inside. I hesitate, considering bolting instead, but something in me is dying to see what he has planned.

“You better know what the hell you’re doing, Bastian,” the announcer mutters as I cross the threshold. “I don’t need a lawsuit because you want to get your dick wet.”

“First of all,” Sebastian starts, encroaching on the announcer’s personal space, “when have I ever fucked up on my bike? Second, you talk to me like that again and I’m gone. Good luck selling tickets without me.” He slams the mic into the announcer’s chest and then enters the cage behind me. He jerks his chin to one of the other stuntmen, and he follows suit.

Pride wounded and resentment written all over his chubby face, the announcer slams the gate in place, effectively locking the three of us inside. I flinch at the jarring sound of metal clanging against metal, and my heart kicks in my chest. It’s smaller in here than it looked from the outside. There’s maybe a foot of space in between the bikes and me.

“That, uh…sounded final,” I try to joke, but my nerves get in the way. Sebastian props his motorcycle on the kickstand an

d stands in front of me, those green eyes inspecting. Assessing.

“You scared?” he asks. His voice is low and softer than it was a second ago.

“No.” I scoff, the lie flying off my tongue without a second thought. He arches a disbelieving brow and smirks. His friend chuckles behind me, and I scowl at him over my shoulder. I feel warm fingers on my cheek, gently directing my face back toward him. My breathing turns shallow, and I stare at his chest as I wait for him to drop his hand, but he doesn’t.

“What’s your name?” he asks, tipping my chin with the tips of his fingers so I’ll meet his eyes. Maybe he’s a hypnotist. I mean, this is a carnival. Don’t look him in the eye.

“Evan,” I say, giving him the nickname my parents refuse to use. My full name sounds uptight and snobby. And so what if I am both of those things? Right now, I don’t want to be that girl.

“I’ve been riding longer than I’ve been walking. I’ve never laid my bike down.”

“Not for lack of trying,” the other guy mutters under his breath.

“And that asshole,” Sebastian says, flicking his chin toward the guy, “is Eros. I trust him with my life.” His eyes burn into mine, as if they’re trying to force me to believe every word. It must be working, because I do. His hand falls from my face. “Wanna have some fun, Evan?”

A smile stretches across my face, and I nod, feeling both sick and invigorated all at once. Fun. What a foreign concept.

“Atta girl.” He smirks, grabbing the helmet that dangles from his handlebars. “Keep your hands at your sides and stay still.”

“Okay,” I say firmly, nodding. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, trying to block out the noise coming from the audience.

“It helps if you focus on something out there to keep your balance.”

“Spotting,” I whisper, mostly to myself. “Like with dance,” I explain once I see the confusion on his face. “You pick a set spot to focus on, so you don’t get dizzy.”

“Right. Just like that. So, what’s your spot?”

I look out at the crowd, their expectant stares trained on us. Their attention makes me nervous, so I look up and lock onto the strands of lights hanging above them.

“The lights,” I say decisively.

“Good choice.” Sebastian surprises me when he lowers the helmet onto my head and fastens it underneath my chin. He pats the top of the helmet before turning for his motorcycle. It’s all matte black and not at all sturdy looking. It looks like it’s seen a few falls, but I push down my fear and decide to trust him—this man I don’t know. The irony isn’t lost on me.

“What about you?” I ask. “You’re the one who needs the helmet.”