“Sorry, I’m in a hurry,” I say, “but I’m going to need that bike.”
MYLO
I thank Ollie for dropping me off and find June. Haley’s working on lines for the day and I don’t need to go back for hair for the next hour, so June suggests I get breakfast.
I grab a water and head outside instead, sitting on a wooden storage crate full of set dressings while I nurse my vape. I dig my suppressants out of my bag—it’s worth the risk of having the bottle with me, at this point—and roll it along my palm.
The pills rattle within, taunting me. There are four left: two for today, two for tomorrow.
I still haven’t choked down this morning’s dose.
There’s a chance some quiet and nicotine will do the trick, so it’s worth a shot.
I’m about to tip out a pill and power through when the growl of a motorcycle approaches.
I glance up and freeze, captivated by the sight of exactly what I need: someone to distract me from Christine.
Clad in black leather and a matching helmet, they’re hitting that wavelength of androgyny that always makes my mouth water. They strike an intimidating silhouette on a bike that could’ve ramped right out of a James Bond movie. They handle the bike like a pro, rocketing down the street and taking the turn into the studio lot far faster than is advised.
A stunt person? I didn’t know we were doing any vehicle stunts for this one, but who knows what Lana tacked on last minute.
Whoever they are, they move with that grounded confidence of someone whose skills are part of their life, not merely something they put on for the camera. It’s that vibe that I appreciate so much with my fellow stunt performers.
And I would absolutely know if this person had been on set before.
I make no attempt to hide my open staring as they swing the bike into a stop, sending gravel scattering as the back wheel comes around.
I hold my breath as they reach up and grip their helmet?—
And a cascade of platinum blonde hair pours out.
Christine turns toward me, already smirking.
Fuck.Fuck.
Of course it’s Christine. I blame my low blood sugar for my complete inability to put two and two together.
God dammit, she looks… ludicrously, offensively, obscenely hot in leather.
The breeze sends her hair flagging over her shoulder as she strolls over, helmet casually tucked under her arm, hips swaying.
I forget how to breathe.
“You ride?” she asks.
“Not really…”
“Hm. I thought you must be drooling over the bike, because otherwise…” She bends down over me, lifting my chin with a knuckle. “You’d be drooling over me.”
I jerk my head away and stare at the asphalt. “As if.”
Christine chuckles. “You’re a pretty good actor. You’ve gotta work on that blush, though.”
I quickly raise a palm to my cheek, and sure enough, it’s blazing hot. For once, I don’t think I can blame my hormones for that.
“I didn’t know you ride,” I mutter.
“Yeah, that’s kinda by design. I—” She stops short, crouching lower.
