Page 44 of Changing Lanes

“I will when you do.” Eh. Fat chance. “Get yourself cleaned up. I need a ride to get my bike and Marc already left for work.”

Hold up.

“You weren’t walking around like that when he was here, were you?”

Chick has the nerve to smirk at me then disappears into the hall before yelling, “Let’s go, roomie.”

The lack of ass in my room brings everything back into focus. And this, not only what happened last night but also today, now, is bad. So bad. This is exactly what I was worried about.

Oh, I’ll give her a fucking ride alright. I’ll drive her past her breaking point until she’s ready to move out of both the apartment and my life.

Roomie.

CHAPTER 11

Paige

“No way,” I say, glaring at his Ninja.

After our weird exchange this morning, Beckett and I spent the morning ignoring each other. Once I had some regular clothes on, I went to clean up the mess I made but he’d already taken care of it and I felt too awkward to knock on the door that I broke with this morning’s dramatic entrance. I ate breakfast on the balcony overlooking the pool, stealing glances at him as he ate at the kitchen counter, with his back strategically turned to me.

Why, oh why, did I have to choose today to care if Beckett was being strangled by a demonic ghost? It may not have been a night terror like Nick used to have but Beckett is absolutely being haunted by something. Or someone, judging by what I heard.

I throw my free hand on my hip. My favorite gray riding jacket and a helmet he loaned me take up my other arm. Today’s heat calls for shorts even though I hate riding in anything other than pants but you can’t argue with hundred-degree dry heat. My loose white tank covers cut-off shorts and my signature black boots complete the ensemble.

“What?” Beckett bites out.

Lip sneered in disgust, I lay on the attitude—thick. “Do I look like a fucking backpack?” If he thinks I’m riding with my arms wrapped around him after that whole scene last night, he’s got another thing coming. It was bad enough having his finger on me this morning without making a complete fool of myself by begging for more. And that was just his finger. It is a long finger but still, it shouldn’t have that kind of effect on me. He shouldn’t have that kind of effect on me. He’s my roommate. And kind of a dickish one at that.

Beckett makes a show of inspecting my body and it’s like last night all over again. His demanding hands and teasing mouth. He’s so good at playing around, he forgets how serious things can get. A want so primal began as soon as he speared me against the building that I couldn’t think straight. My body required one thing and one thing only, and that was Beckett. He consumed me in those moments and I was spiraling into a frenzy of need and want, lost to the feeling of his tantalizing touch. The hardness just beneath his silky shorts, the softness of his hands as they held me in place, the teasing in his voice as it slid over my face coaxing me closer.

I almost gave in.

The allure was unbearable to deny until his words turned cold, practically freezing my reaction to him. The hunger raged on, but the provider changed. I scratched the itch he caused and made sure he heard it.

“Never mind, I’ll get someone else to take me.”

That’ll do it. He hates the thought of someone else coming to my rescue, as stupid as that is, and he’ll back down.

Instead though, he says, “Don’t be an asshole. I get it—you’re big, you’re bad, you ride your own bike. Nobody thinks you’re a backpack. Now, get on, shut up, and let’s go. I’m late for work.”

See? Dickish.

I can guess what he’ll say but I still try with, “Then let me drive. You can hold onto me.”

He barks out a laugh. “And here I thought I was the funny one.”

“You’re not.”

“Now that’s funny. Come on already. You’re out of your mind if you think I’m riding bitch on my own bike, girl.”

Ignoring my deep frown, he mounts his green machine and starts it up. With narrowed eyes, I suggest taking his Tahoe but am met with ear-splitting revving.

But I’m the asshole, huh?

With my jacket in place, my helmet is tugged over my head in the next instant and I’m gripping his arm for leverage to climb on behind. I feel the rough patch of skin again and briefly wonder if there’s a story there.

My face blazes and I’m grateful none of my friends from the races are around to see me perched on the pillion. I’d never live down riding as a passenger.