Page 84 of Redline Baby

He stares at me for a long moment. Then he rises onto his toes. I meet him halfway. The kiss is slow, soft, nothing urgent in it. His hand remains against my chest, mine settling at his waist, and when he relaxes into me, I can still feel the smile at the corner of his mouth. When we separate, he doesn't go far. Neither do I.

Chapter 21. Soren

Saturday mornings at Redline start the same way they always do: bikes lined up in loose formation across the gravel lot, engines idling as they warm. I've become one of these people now, apparently.

"You're early," Ni says, rolling up beside me and killing his engine. "You're always early now. It's suspicious."

"I like being early."

"You like being early to things Kit's going to be at." Ni doesn't even bother making it sound like an accusation. Just a fact. His enormous beard is tucked into his jacket today, his black-and-white hair pulled back out of the way.

"That tracks," I admit.

Dex swings in on my other side, then Sol, and Allie pulls in last among the group I recognize, her hair braided back tight. King's already at the front, going over the route with two prospects who look barely old enough to be trusted with a stapler, let alone a motorcycle, but who nod along seriously like the fate of the ride depends on them getting it exactly right.

Kit pulls in last of all, the way he always does, on the black KTM I lent him.

"Morning," he says, dropping the kickstand and pulling off his helmet. His hair is a mess underneath, pushed in every direction, and he doesn't bother fixing it. His eyes are glowing. He's beautiful. "Did I miss the part where everyone stands around being smug about being awake before nine?"

"You're right on time for it," I say.

"Great. My favorite part of Saturdays."

He grins at me, easy and unguarded, nothing performed in it at all, and something in my chest does the thing it always does now when he looks at me like that—settles, warms, gets a little smug about its own good fortune.

King raises a hand and calls out the route: north past the reservoir, up through the switchbacks, out to a lake overlook nobody's visited as a group in a while, lunch at the little general store that somehow still exists up there, back before dark. Then the whole group starts moving, engine notes rising down the line in a rolling wave as bikes peel out of the gravel lot one after another.

The morning air is cold at speed, the kind of cold that wakes you properly in a way coffee never quite manages. I settle into my place in the pack, watching the group's rhythm the way I always do.

Kit rides two positions ahead of me today, which is new.

He used to keep himself in whatever position put him nearest to me, like he needed the visual confirmation that I was still there. Over the past few weeks, he's started taking up his own space in the formation. He rides near Dex for a stretch, then Sol. Later, through a more technical section, he drops back behind Allie, giving her plenty of room through the curves.

He's comfortable enough now that he doesn't need to keep me in his peripheral vision every mile of the way.

We hit the switchbacks about an hour in, the road curling upward through the low hills, and I watch Kit take the curves fast and committed but disciplined in a way he wasn't before. He brakes exactly where he should, rolls on smoothly, chooses his lines and holds them. None of the reckless edge-testing that used to make my chest tighten every time I watched him ride.

He's still the fastest thing in the pack.

He's just not trying to disappear inside the speed anymore.

The lake overlook is worth the ride. A wide gravel pull-off ends at a low stone wall overlooking water so still it looks painted on, the hills reflected back doubled and almost perfect, morning mist still burning off the far shore. Everybody kills their engines in a ragged sequence, and then comes that particular quiet after a group ride: boots crunching on gravel, helmets coming off, leather creaking as people stretch.

"Okay," Dex says, lifting both arms over his head until something in his shoulder pops audibly. "That view is doing something for my soul that I did not expect on a Saturday."

"Your soul needed a win, clearly," Sol says.

Kit is laughing before either of them finishes, that easy laugh that used to sound like a performance and now, most of the time, just sounds like a laugh. He wanders over to the stone wall to look out at the water, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, no restless bounce in his step.

Allie falls in beside him.

I watch them for a moment from several feet away.

Their friendship is beautiful.

Ni ambles over to stand beside me, arms crossed, looking at the same view. He doesn't say anything for nearly a minute, which is unusual enough that I eventually glance at him.

"He's different," Ni says.