Page 86 of The Auction
I feel her grip tighten, her body scooting even closer against me. I can’t stop the grin that spreads under my helmet. Should’ve done this earlier.
“You trust me?” I ask.
I feel her nod, but then she says it out loud too. “Yes.”
“Okay, baby. Hold on tight. Here we go.”
The road ahead clears, and I lock in—eyes forward, weight balanced, her pressed warm and solid at my back. I lean us into the first curve and she comes with me, and then we’re flying.
I push it as far as I think I can safely take her. Not as much as I’d do riding solo, but still a hell of a lot faster than anything we’ve done today.
And she loves it. I can feel it in the way she moves with me, the way her laughter cuts through the comms like pure adrenaline.
We eventually roll into a little hole-in-the-wall spot I know—best burritos on the planet. The guy behind the counter recognizes me instantly, greeting me like we’re old friends.
Cass tilts her head. “Everyone seems to love you everywhere you go.”
I smirk. “Yeah, well… I’m incredibly lovable.”
She glances at me over her menu. “Do they not know you’re a giant turd?”
I laugh. “A turd. You’re so mature, Cricket.”
I’ve been watching the clock all afternoon, but not because I’m in a rush to get back.
There’s a spot I want to take her to—one I’ve been saving. If I time it right, we’ll hit it just before sunset.
The road winds upward until we pull off to a small dirt lot. From there, it’s a short hike to a wide rock ledge that overlooks the valley. We sit side by side, legs stretched out, the warm stone beneath us radiating the last of the day’s heat. The view is all soft oranges and pinks bleeding into each other, with streaks of purple at the edges. Lightning flickers way off in the distance, far enough to be beautiful, not dangerous.
She’s looking at the horizon, but I’m looking at her.
“Pretty, huh?” she says without glancing my way.
“Yeah,” I answer, but I’m not talking about the sunset.
The light catches in her eyes when she finally looks at me, and for a second, neither of us says anything. I can feel the shift, that quiet stretch of time where everything slows. My heart kicks up, which is ridiculous—I’ve kissed plenty of women. But she’s not plenty of women. She’sher. My Cricket.
She must see something in my face because her lips part, and she stops fidgeting with the zipper on her jacket. There’s this stillness in her, like she’s holding her breath without realizing it.
“You’ve got that look,” she says softly, almost like she’s teasing but too curious to commit to it.
“What look?”
“The one you get before you do something you’re not supposed to.”
I smirk, leaning in just slightly, close enough to watch her pupils expand. “Maybe I’m about to.”
Her lashes lower for a second, then lift again, meeting my eyes head-on. She knows. I can feel it in the way she tilts her chin up a fraction, not pulling away.
The space between us disappears slowly, my hand finding the side of her jaw. She’s warm, her pulse thrumming under my fingertips.
When our lips finally meet, it’s soft at first—testing, savoring—but it builds fast. Her mouth fits mine perfectly, and the world around us fades until there’s nothing but her, the taste of her, the way she exhales like she’s been holding that moment in for years.
It’s the best kiss I’ve ever had.
Thunder rolls closer, low and heavy, and then the first drops fall. We pull back, glance at each other, and the shared grin says everything.
We make a run for the bike, the rain turning from playful to a downpour in seconds. She’s laughing by the time we reach it, hair plastered to her cheeks, jacket dripping.
