Page 58 of Off the Mark
It was a gossipy town. These women always talked about him in front of me, shooting me sly glances because we all knew aboutRowan, right?
His easy confidence wasn’t an act. I could give a single, one-word command, and this man would fall to his knees eagerly. Make me forget the past couple weeks, forget the pressure, forget all the people I was disappointing.
I wanted to forget so very badly.
I’d had plenty of meaningless sex—and that was practically Rowan’sspecialty—so why couldn’t I shove this big, brawny man backward onto my hotel bed and help usbothforget for a little while?
A burst of happy laughter and loud voices from the hallway had us stumbling apart. I slid my hands into my pockets, cocking my head at the door.
“That was a really good practice session,” I managed. “The cheek kiss should work. Are you…um, are you ready?”
There was a flicker of disappointment on Rowan’s face, but he smoothed it over. Grinned at me like he hadn’t a care in the world. “I was born ready, babe.”
I pulled open the hotel door and he followed me down the hallway. “Yeah, try that one again.”
“Let’s see…I was born ready,cupcake?”
“I’ll put on anactualclown suit, wig and all, and wear it on my next race before I ever let a man call me cupcake.”
I pressed the elevator button while Rowan eyed me with a playful look. One hand came to rest by my head, and he leaned close. “Then how about…kitten?”
“Oh, fuckoff, Rowan,” I said with a laugh. “There’s nothing kitten-like about me. What part of my personality is soft and cuddly?”
“What part of your personality isn’t stubborn and full of mischief?” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.
The ease of it, the pure flirtatious affection, amped up that need between my legs.
“You might have a point,” I admitted, stepping backward into the elevator as the doors opened. It was empty, and Rowan went to stand against the opposite wall as we started our descent.
Still felt much too intimate.
“Kitten-cupcake it is then,” he said smoothly.
I shook my head with a barely concealed smile. Then snapped my fingers, digging into my pockets as I remembered I’d made something for Rowan.
“Here, take this.” I held out a worn piece of notebook paper, filled with my scribbled notes. “I spent the afternoon doing some research. I hope it helps.”
Brow furrowed, he opened the paper and scanned it. Looked up at me sharply. “Is this a list of potential donors who will be here tonight?”
I nodded. “Tonight and at most of the other events. They’re rich, they love dirt bikes and—also—happen to love getting their asses kissed in public settings. From what I could tell.”
I stepped over to tap the first name,Steve Duncan.“I’ll point this dude out to you once we get downstairs. He’s your warmest lead.”
Rowan held up the sheet. “This is so fucking helpful, Charlie. Thank you.”
“It was no biggie. Besides, we had a deal. I help you, you help me, remember?”
His throat worked. “Right. Our business transaction.”
That flicker of hurt on his face was back—larger this time—but the elevator door was dinging loudly as it reached the lobby. Rowan took my hand, and then we were stepping into a busy space—cameras, fans, vendors, people milling about with cold beers. This event was 100% a shameless attempt at courting better press for motocross—with the exception of The X Games, sports involving dirt bikes generated less overall media and interest, even as our fan base was growing larger and more dedicated.
As we made our way through the crowd, we walked beneath a large white banner that readDirt Bikes Are the Future.
“There’s Dempsey,” I said, spotting a hot pink pantsuit. “And…that’sSteven over there, by the bar. Do you want an introduction before I head onstage?”
Rowan brightened. “I’ll be fine. Talking to people has always been the easy part for me.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You’re not nervous?”
