Page 30 of Rogue Riders Duet

Dane reaches for the band of flowers. “You making us one too?”

“No.” I swat at him again. “You don’t deserve it. You both rode like garbage.”

“Then show us how it’s done, baby girl.” Finn nudges my shoulder, a full grin in place.

I look away from him just in time to catch a rider coming down the track in front of us with a wobbly line and bad entry.

Amateur.

“Already did.” I nod toward the trail. “You just didn’t see me.”

“Impossible,” Finn simply says, making me glance at him again. His gaze catches mine, and for a moment, gravity shifts. My fingers falter on the flower stem, my breath catching in a way that feels too noticeable. “And you’re gonna win everything,” he adds, like it’s not up for debate. “Crown and all.”

Fuck.

Stop crushing, Alaina.

Dane’s eyes flick between us, lingering for a second too long. He doesn’t say anything, but the corners of his mouth flatten.

I clear my tight throat and hold my finished flower crown out to Finn. “Flattery still won’t make me give you this one.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He takes it anyway and sets it gently on my head in an informal coronation. “I’ll see you wearing it on the podium.”

A loud thud jolts me awake.

I lift my head from the table, my cheek peeling off the vinyl with a sticky shhk. Pain lances through my spine as I move, my hip screaming at me for sleeping curled up around myself. For a split second, I don’t know where I am, caught somewhere between a dream and reality. Then the rattling hum of the road and the familiar creaks of the bus register.

Right. Race circuit. Somewhere on a mountain road between Scotland and Poland, chasing the next muddy slope we’re supposed to throw ourselves down with a smile and a death wish.

I shift in my seat, biting down on a groan as my hip pops and my spine realigns with a dull crack. Everything hurts. Already. Still. Always.

My eyes flick to the notebook in front of me. It’s crumpled, smudged, and bent under the weight of my sleep-heavy arm. I was logging everything I did to my bike last night. Every bolt, cable, and tiny adjustment so I could go over it all again in my head.

There’s no room for error. The last time I left my bike unattended, it cost me everything, and thanks to Dane doing exactly that, I ended up tearing it apart and putting it back together in the freezing dark because I had to.

Which was how I found myself sitting on the cold ground beside Mason Payne, way too close to someone who looks at me like he sees straight through my cracks.

He never even said a word.

“Good morning, sunshine.” The greeting comes from beside me, and I startle.

Fuck.

I shove the memory down and lock it away for later. I can’t think about one pro rider when another one is standing right in front of me, especially not when this one is Finn Greer. The smug, long-limbed, snack-hunting demigod is framed by the glow of the refrigerator light as he casually steals one of my energy drinks.

His shirt pulls across his shoulders in a way that should be illegal as he shuts the refrigerator door with his hip and turns to me with a slow, amused smile.

“Caught you drooling,” Finn teases, cracking open the can with a hiss.

I wipe my mouth automatically, then freeze when I see his shit-eating grin.

“Ha-ha.” Idiot.

He chuckles and drops onto the bench across from me, stretching his long legs out under the table, brushing mine. Electricity flares in my body. Or annoyance. Maybe both.

I glance out the window and notice that the sky is already fading toward evening again, soft pinks brushing the horizon, telling me I must’ve been out longer than I thought, which explains why the pain is even harsher than usual.

I haven’t had any meds in hours. The urge to grab my pills from my bunk claws at me, but I don’t move, not with Finn here. I won’t let him see me desperate. I’d rather chew glass.