9. Abi
9
ABI
I start the bike ride with my eyes squeezed shut, clinging onto Flynn like I’m going to fly away if I lessen my grip at all. I quell the shaking in my hands by pressing them against Flynn’s stomach, my fingers clutching at his shirt and listen to the sound of my heart galloping in my chest.
I’m expecting him to rev the bike and speed through the farm, but the pace he sets is sedate and after a few moments where I try to get my breathing under control, I pry my eyelids open.
Flynn must feel the moment my grip on him relaxes slightly—I’m still hanging onto him for dear life—because he takes a hand off the handlebars and pats my arm where it’s wrapped around his middle. “See, you’re all good. I’ve got you.”
I’ve got you. Somehow it feels like more than just in this moment. Since I got here Flynn’s had my back, even when I don’t want it. He gives my arm a soft squeeze, then returns his hand to the handlebars, which I have to admit, I’m relieved by .
We follow the road around to the main part of the farm, where the house is, and I’m just a tiny bit disappointed we didn’t get to go through the farm. I was looking forward to seeing just how beautiful it is.
“We aren’t going through the farm?” I ask.
“So you’ve managed to open your eyes, huh?” he asks, and I can hear the humour in his voice.
“Yes, but that doesn’t answer my question.” It comes out grumbly and I hope he doesn’t think I’m feeling bitchy about this.
“There’s a lot of gates to open if we go through the farm. You’re not exactly dressed in appropriate bike gear, or farming footwear. I’m just trying to preserve the shoes.”
“You’re really taken with my shoes.”
“You always have great shoes. I’m assuming it’s because you like them. I’ll take you down the farm sometime when I’m not worried about what you’re wearing. I don’t want to ruin your nice stuff, or have you get hurt.”
I glance down and realise the way I’m sitting on the bike, and pressing against Flynn’s back, has made my skirt ride up. My bare thighs slot in against the backs of Flynn’s denim-clad ones. The expanse of exposed skin, the way my green suede heels are propped on the little pegs Flynn showed me, and the way this position forces my knees apart is downright pornographic.
I let out a groan and my head falls forward, coming to rest on Flynn’s shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, immediately on high alert .
“I just realised what I look like on this bike, dressed like this. I look like some bike guy’s wet dream.”
He slows to a stop in the middle of the Wildflower Ridge driveway, resting one foot on the ground to hold us and the bike upright. He twists his body, turning to face me as much as he can.
His gaze trails over me, eyes darkening as they linger on the hem of my skirt, hitched somewhere around the underside of my ass instead of near my knees. His tongue slips out and swipes along his lower lip and something in me twinges at the sight of it. The scruff on his jaw makes me want to reach out and feel the roughness against my fingertips.
He drags his gaze upwards until it locks with mine. “I’m not going to deny you look incredible right now, but it wouldn’t matter what you were wearing, you’re probably always going to be some bike guy’s wet dream. You’re hot as fuck. You know that.”
It’s more than just a twinge this time. White-hot lightning strikes through my body at his rough voice. If I physically could right now, I’d be pressing my thighs together, trying to quell the sudden ache there.
It’s not even him telling me I’m hot, or that I look incredible. It’s the way he says “some bike guy”, like he knows exactly which bike guy would be dreaming about me.
It’s him.
He’s the one who’d be dreaming about me.
He abruptly turns back to the bike and finishes the slow drive up to the house. He pulls up outside, beside the ute I know belongs to Dallas, and flicks down the bike stand with one deft twist of his foot. It’s super-hot considering what he’s doing. I bet he doesn’t even think twice about it.
“Careful hopping off,” Flynn says gruffly. “The exhaust will be hot.”
I swing my leg over the back of the bike and slide to the ground, tottering a bit on my heels. Flynn’s big, calloused hand lands on my leg to steady me. It should be fine. It should just be a simple, casual touch to prevent me tripping over my own feet.
But my skirt is still riding too high and instead of landing on the fabric, his hand connects with my bare thigh.
His palm is hot and firm, just slightly rough from the physical farm work he does daily. If he’s affected by the feel of my skin, he doesn’t show it and as soon as I’m steady on my feet, his hand is gone, leaving behind an invisible but searing palm print.
He swings his leg over the bike and strides up the porch steps to the front door. His jeans tighten around his ass and thighs as he moves. I shouldn’t be staring at his ass, but my mind is still a haze of heat against the soft skin of my thigh, and a certain bike guy’s wet dreams and the way Flynn’s tongue dragged across his bottom lip.
Fucking hell. Nope. Nope. Nope.
Co-worker, co-worker, co-worker , I force myself to chant in my head. I can’t think about him like this.
Sadie. I need to think about Sadie. I take a breath and refocus on Dallas’s big black ute. Sadie is why I’m here, not to get the hots for a farm worker several years younger than me.
Nope, not going there.
I square my shoulders and follow Flynn up the porch steps. He kicks his boots off at the door.
“Your shoes will be fine,” he says, pushing the door open.
I take one look at the gorgeous hardwood floors and bend to unbuckle my shoes. I don’t care if Flynn says they’re fine. I don’t need my every step heard by everyone inside this house.
He watches me and when I stand barefoot in front of him, he leads me into the house.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Flynn announces to the room as we step into a large, airy kitchen. And here I was hoping he’d let me slip in quietly.
Olivia is across the room, heaping food onto a plate. Violet’s sitting at the table, a mug in hand while she laughs at something Dallas is saying. A stunning blonde who I know is Katie sits beside him, shovelling pasta into her mouth. Even with a mouth full of food, she looks gorgeous. Her gaze snaps to me at Flynn’s words and she swallows before her face splits into a huge grin.
“I hope you’re not referring to yourself as the cat in this situation,” she says to Flynn, then turns her focus to me. “Hey. Grab a plate.”
I appreciate her easy acceptance of my being here. She’s not making a big deal about it, neither going over the top excited about my arrival, or surly because I’m here.
Violet moves to stand, but Flynn pushes her back into her seat with a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“I got it,” he says, heading for Olivia. I trail along behind him, greeting Dallas on the way, and when I reach my boss, she hands me a plate that Flynn piles high with a deliciously creamy pasta filled with chicken and bacon and mushrooms.
“How’s it all going?” Olivia asks, sliding into a seat at the table and gesturing for me to sit across from her. Flynn sits beside Olivia and immediately falls into Dallas and Violet’s conversation.
“It’s good,” I say. “I have a meeting with the Barclay-MacDonald wedding group this afternoon. Way to throw me in the deep end.”
Olivia laughs. “That’s why I needed you to start so soon. I didn’t want to have to deal with it.” Her face turns serious. “Everything going alright?”
“Yeah, it’s great. Everything’s under control.”
“And for this weekend?”
That’s right. My first event. Thankfully it’s a small wedding and the couple don’t seem to be nearly as high maintenance as the Barclay-MacDonald couple.
“It’ll be your first event this weekend, yeah?” Katie asks and I nod. “I’m sure it’ll go great,” she says, her voice warm and kind.
“I hope so.” My voice sounds thicker than usual and I hope no one notices. I force a smile and turn my focus to my food, hoping Olivia will drop the conversation.
She does, turning to Katie and asking her about Aurora, who I think is one of the horses Sadie introduced me to the other day.
The women beside me chat about the horses for a few moments while I continue to shovel food into my mouth.
“Oh, Abi … Abigail …” Katie trails off when she trips over my name. I’m sure Dallas has only referred to me as Abi. That’s what he always called me, but Olivia and Flynn always call me Abigail. So far that’s all I’ve been known as here.
“Abi is fine,” I say, trying to smile in a way that doesn’t look like I’m about to jump off the edge.
“Abi.” She smiles. “Sadie and I are going riding on Sunday. Do you want to come with us?” She takes a breath but before I have a chance to respond, she’s talking again. “You don’t have to. If it’s weird. But if you do want to, you’re more than welcome to join us. We have a horse you can ride, obviously. I don’t know how confident you are, but he’s a real sweetheart. And we can go anytime, like after you’ve done what you need to do at the event centre.”
“Katie Kat,” Flynn says, his eyes sparkling with humour. “Stop talking and let her respond.”
Everyone at the table laughs and I realise now everyone is waiting for my response.
“Yeah, I’d like that,” I say, hoping that come Sunday I can actually go through with it.