Chapter 20
Twenty
EASTON
Three Years Ago
I thought Harley was kidding the first time she told me she wasn’t just named after Harley-Davidson, but had a bike of her own. And that she knew how to ride it.
For some reason, I was so sure she was bluffing in an attempt to impress me. Harley likes to throw little jokes out like that, test me, see if I’ll take the bait. I figured this was another one of those moments.
Turns out I couldn’t have been more wrong.
It’s late summer, the kind of night where the air hums with leftover heat but smells faintly of cut grass and honeysuckle. She takes me past the edge of town, down a gravel road I never paid much attention to before, and up to a row of storage units lit by a single buzzing streetlight.
When she tugs the lock open and rolls up the door, I freeze.
There it is: a bright pink Harley. Well, technically, it’s a Sportster, but it might as well be dipped in bubblegum. Pink paint, pink trim, even a pink saddlebag.
“Holy shit,” I mutter, trying to keep my voice level.
Harley’s cheeks are scarlet, and she bites down on her bottom lip the way she always does when she’s nervous. She wheels the bike out slowly, like she’s unveiling a secret part of herself I haven’t earned the right to see yet.
“You really have a bike, huh?”
“Told you.” Her voice wobbles, but she lifts her chin anyway, proud. Then, grinning, she tilts her head toward me. “Wanna go for a ride, or are you a bit rusty?”
I can’t help but laugh. “You got a helmet to cover that pretty head of yours?”
She pops the kickstand, rolls her eyes, and ducks back into the unit. When she returns, she’s carrying not just a helmet, but a whole matching set. Pink helmet, pink jacket, and pink riding boots are slung over her arm.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say, smirking.
She shakes her head, laughing now. “Oh, I don’t like pink that much. My dad thought I did, though, and he went all out one birthday. My mom almost killed him when he came home with this whole Barbie biker starter pack.”
I’m grinning so hard my cheeks ache.
She slides the helmet on and pulls on her boots like she’s done it a thousand times before.
The pink jacket zips with a loud snap, and suddenly she doesn’t look like the girl who blushes over spilled coffee or chews her nails when she’s anxious.
She looks like a woman who knows exactly what she wants, and right now, what she wants is to prove me wrong. And it’s sexy as hell.
She swings a leg over the bike, settles onto the seat, and revs the engine. The sound rips through the quiet storage lot, sharp and alive. The pink paint makes it look like a toy, but the rumble beneath us is pure muscle.
“Well?” she calls over the engine, cocking an eyebrow. “You getting on or are you gonna stand there gawking all night?”
I climb on behind her, slipping my arms around her waist. She fits against me like she always does, like she was made to fill the empty spaces.
“Don’t get any ideas back there,” she teases, throwing me a look over her shoulder.
“No promises,” I mutter, grinning.
And then she kicks into gear, and we are flying.
The gravel spits out from under the tires as we hit the open road.
The wind slaps against us, hot and wild, as Harley leans into a curve like she’s was born to do this.
My stomach lurches and my grip tightens.
I swear to God she laughs, a wild, free laugh that carries over the roar of the bike and the hum of the summer night.
“You’re insane!” I yell.
Her laugh only grows louder. “Told you I could ride!”
She’s fearless, leaning harder into the turns and accelerating just to hear me curse behind her. My pulse is pounding in my throat—part terror, part awe. I’ve never seen her like this: hair whipping free under the helmet, back straight, and hands steady on the bars.
This girl isn’t pretending. She isn’t bluffing. She isn’t some fragile thing waiting to be protected. She is steel and grit and fire disguised as soft skin and nervous smiles.
After a while, she pulls over on a long stretch of shoulder, cutting the engine. The sudden silence is jarring after all the noise.
I stare at her. She tugs her helmet off, shaking out her hair. Her cheeks are flushed, yet her eyes shine.
“Well?” she asks, trying to sound smug while still catching her breath.
I shake my head, laughing. “You’re out of your damn mind.”
She smacks my chest lightly. “You doubted me.”
“I did.” My voice drops as I study her. The pink jacket, the way the streetlight paints her dark hair, the confidence radiating off her. “Won’t make that mistake again.”
For a second, neither of us speak. The night presses close; bugs buzz loudly as the engine ticks cool beside us. And then, without thinking twice, I cup her face and kiss her.
She melts into it, tasting like wind and adrenaline and that laugh of hers that still rings in my ears. When we pull back, she rests her forehead against mine.
“See?” she whispers. “I’m full of surprises.”
I smile into her skin. “Yeah, Little Bird. You are.”
“You’re turn.” She laughs, handing me the keys.
“You better hold on.”
She rolls her eyes, muttering something about me trying to get her killed while sliding her helmet back on. She looks small in it, the visor swallowing her face until all I can see are her blue and green eyes, nervous, but sparking.
When she climbs on behind me, her hands are tentative at first, hovering like she isn’t sure where to put them. Then the bike rumbles beneath us as the engine snarls to life, and she grabs me like she never wants to let go.
We tear out of the parking lot and onto some back roads, the night air rushing against us. The trees blur and the stars above smear into streaks of silver. When Harley laughs it vibrates against my back, and I swear it’s better then the engine beneath me.
“Faster!” she yells, and I oblige, gunning it until we are nothing but a streak of metal and heat in the dark.
Later, when we pull into the storage building again and I kill the engine, she yanks off her helmet and smacks my shoulder.
“You’re just as crazy as me!” She grins, hair wild around her face and cheeks flushed, once again.
“Crazy?” I tease. “You were the one yelling faster.”
She shoves me, then leans against me, her voice soft. “Being on a bike makes me feel free.”
I kiss her again; she tastes like adrenaline and trust. Like someone who’s decided to let go of fear, if only for a little while.