Chapter 6
SIX
LUCKY
I stop beside my bike and glance at her, taking in the way she’s trying to play this cool, like her pulse isn’t already tripping over itself. That look in her eyes tells me everything. Curiosity. Nerves. Excitement she hasn’t decided whether she wants to admit yet.
“Alright,” I say, easy. “First things first.”
I pop the seat and pull out the spare helmet.
The smaller one. It’s been there since the day I bought the bike. Clean. Untouched. I don’t know why I kept it, only that I never got rid of it. Never needed it. Until now. “This one’s yours,” I say, holding it out.
She eyes it. “You just carry a second helmet around?”
“Yeah,” I answer easily. “Just in case.” That’s not a lie. Not really. I step closer. “Hold still.”
My hands slide to either side of her face, careful, deliberate. I guide the helmet down slowly, making sure I don’t catch her hair. My knuckles brush her jaw and I feel her inhale at my touch.
“Comfortable?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says, voice a little breathless. “I think so.”
I tilt my head. “You think, or you know?”
She swallows. “I know.”
Good answer. I fasten the strap beneath her chin, tug once to check it, then tap the side of the helmet. “There’s a comm system built in. You’ll hear me the whole time.”
Her honey hazel eyes lift to mine. “The whole time?”
I smile. “Every second.”
I step back and grab my own helmet, sliding it on and locking it into place. The world shifts, sound muting just enough to sharpen everything else. I flip the switch and hear the faint click as the system connects. “You hear me?” I ask.
There’s a pause, then her voice comes through, close and clear. “Yeah. I hear you.”
“Good,” I say. “Now listen carefully.” I swing a leg over the bike and settle in, grounding myself before I look at her again. “When I tell you to get on, step on the peg, swing your leg over, and slide up behind me. Don’t rush it.”
She nods, focused now. Serious. She follows instructions like she means to get them right.
“Once you’re on,” I continue, “I want you close. Closer than you think you should be.”
Her breath comes through the speaker, soft but unmistakable.
“Put your hands around my waist,” I say. “Or hold the grab bar if you need to. But if you choose me, you hold on tight.”
“Lucky,” she murmurs.
“Yeah?”
“I’m trusting you.”
Her words do something crazy to me. “You should,” I say. “I’ve got you.” I tap the tank once. “Alright. Go ahead.”
She mounts the bike carefully, exactly how I told her to. When she settles behind me, there’s a beat where she hesitates. I feel it. The space she hasn’t crossed yet. “Slide up,” I say quietly through the helmet. “That’s it. Don’t be shy.”
She moves, pressing in until I feel the heat of her through my jacket, her body fitting like it was always meant to be there. Her arms come around me, tentative at first, then firm. “Like that?” she asks.
I exhale slowly, steadying. “Perfect.”
Her helmet bumps lightly against mine as she nods, and I smile to myself. “Ready?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says. “I think so.”
I grin, rolling the bike upright. “Good.”
I start the engine, the vibration humming through both of us, and I don’t miss the way she tightens her hold. “Just stay with me,” I tell her. “I’ll do the rest.”
And for the first time since this whole thing started, I know exactly where this is headed. I just don’t plan on stopping it.
I ease the bike out of the lot slow at first, giving her a second to get used to the weight, the balance, the way the engine hums through the frame. Her arms tighten around my waist immediately, fingers curling like she’s afraid I might disappear if she lets go.
I smile inside the helmet.
“You good back there?” I ask through the comm.
She laughs, bright and surprised, the sound warm in my ear. “Yeah. Oh my God. Yeah.”
That laugh does something to me.
I roll on the throttle just a little, letting the bike stretch its legs. Nothing aggressive. Just enough to show her what it feels like when the road opens up and the world narrows down to wind and motion and control.
Her grip tightens.
“Lucky,” she says, laughing again. “You’re doing that on purpose.”
“Maybe,” I admit. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
“It’s not,” she says quickly. “It’s… fun.”
Good.
We hit the edge of town and I take the turn I always take, the one that leads away from traffic and into long stretches of back road where the asphalt rolls and the trees crowd in close. The kind of road you ride when you want to feel it, not just get somewhere.
I lean into the first curve, slow and easy. I feel her hesitate, then follow, her body moving with mine instead of against it.
“Just stay loose,” I tell her. “Let the bike do the work.”
“I’m trusting you,” she says again, softer this time.
I don’t answer with words. I answer by riding clean. Smooth. Confident. I give her enough speed to thrill without scaring her, enough lean to make her stomach flip, enough straightaway to make her laugh when the wind catches her breath.
Every time she laughs, she squeezes tighter.
Every time she relaxes, I push it just a little more.
We ride like that for a while, forty minutes of curves and sun and heat and that quiet rhythm that settles in when everything clicks.
I show her how it feels to accelerate out of a turn, how the bike hums when it’s happy, how the road starts to feel like something you’re dancing with instead of fighting.
“You’re smiling,” she says suddenly.
I grin. “How would you know?”
“I can hear it.”
I chuckle. “Yeah. Guess I am.”
We crest a small hill and the smell hits me before the sign does. Smoke. Sweet and heavy. I slow and take the turn into a gravel lot, dust kicking up behind us as I roll to a stop.
I kill the engine and the quiet rushes in, broken only by cicadas and the low murmur of voices drifting from the building.
I swing my leg off and steady the bike while she dismounts, careful but confident now. She pulls off the helmet, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.
She looks at me like she just discovered something new about the world.
“That was amazing,” she says. “I get it now.”
I take my helmet off and hang it on the handlebar. “Told you.”
She glances past me, nose lifting as she catches the scent. “And it smells incredible.”
I follow her gaze to the low, weathered building with the hand-painted sign out front. Smoke curls lazily from a pit out back.
“Best ribs for miles,” I say. “Potato salad’ll ruin you for all other potato salad.”
She smiles, still buzzing, still riding that high. “You’re full of opinions.”
“Only the important ones.”
I hold a hand out to her, casual. Easy.
“Come on,” I say. “You earned lunch.”
And the way she takes my hand, still warm from the ride, tells me she enjoyed every second as much as I did.
We grab a booth near the back, vinyl cracked and warm from the sun coming through the window. Savannah slides in first, still riding that post-bike glow, eyes bright, hair a little wild. I take the seat across from her, stretching my legs out, letting myself settle.
This feels… easy.
Our waitress shows up with a notepad and a smile that’s a little too practiced. She takes one look at me, then Savannah, then back at me again.
“What can I get y’all?”
Savannah orders ribs without hesitation. Potato salad. Sweet tea. I grin at her like she passed a test she didn’t know she was taking. I follow suit, add cornbread, and the waitress scribbles it all down.
“Good choice,” she says, still looking at me when she says it.
Savannah catches it and snorts. “He’s got opinions about potato salad.”
“Strong ones,” I confirm.
The waitress laughs, finally tearing her eyes away long enough to leave us alone.
Savannah leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Okay, I get why you brought me here. This place smells like heaven.”
“Told you,” I say.
I notice them when they slow instead of walking past. Two women, mid-thirties maybe, dressed well, moving like they expect attention and usually get it.
One of them smiles at Savannah first. Polite. Almost friendly. “Sorry to interrupt,” she says. “Do you order at the counter, or does someone come around?”
Savannah answers easily. “They come around.”
“Thanks,” the woman says. Then her gaze slides. Past Savannah. Lands on me.
Her friend steps closer, fingers resting on the edge of the booth like she belongs there. “That your bike out front?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“It’s nice,” she adds. “You take it out a lot?”
“Enough.”
The first woman tilts her head, studying the two of us now. “You two riding together today?”
Savannah’s shoulders go tight. Just a fraction. I feel it anyway.
“Yes,” I say.
The second woman smiles wider. “That must be fun.” Then, like an afterthought, she nods toward Savannah. “Is she your sister?”
Something hot and immediate flares in my chest.
I don’t answer right away. I look at Savannah instead. The way her jaw sets. The way she goes still, waiting to see what I’ll do.
“No,” I say, turning back to them. My voice is flat now. “She’s not.”
“Oh,” the first woman says, eyebrows lifting like she’s surprised. “Well, you never know.”
I set my fork down. Slowly.
“We’re on a date,” I say. “So you should probably move along.”
There’s a pause. A beat where they clearly didn’t expect that.
“We were just being friendly,” the second woman says, smile tightening.
“Not with me,” I reply. “Not like this.”
She huffs a laugh. “Relax.”
Then she reaches into her purse anyway, pulls out a pen, and scribbles something on a napkin. She slides it toward me, ignoring Savannah completely.
“Just in case,” she says. “If you ever want to ride without the… audience.”
That’s it.
I push the napkin back across the table without touching it. “I’m not interested.”
Her smile drops. “Wow.”
“Yeah,” I say, irritation sharp now. “You asked if the beautiful woman I’m on a date with was my sister, then tried to give me your number. That’s your cue to leave.”
The first woman scoffs. “No need to be an asshole.”
“There is,” I say, holding her gaze, “when you pretend she’s not sitting right here.”
Silence stretches. Savannah exhales slowly beside me.
The second woman mutters something under her breath, snatches the napkin back, and they finally turn away, heels clicking hard as they go.
I turn my attention back to Savannah, who’s watching me with an expression I can’t quite read. “What?” I ask.
She lifts a brow. “You didn’t hesitate.”
My brows pull together, why would I? “Nope.”
“And you said date.”
I don’t hesitate or soften it. “Yeah. I did.”
Her mouth curves, slow and amused, like she’s trying to decide if I’m serious. “Are you sure about that?”
I lean back against the booth, meeting her gaze head-on, letting her see exactly where I stand. “I don’t throw words around,” I say. “If I call it a date, that’s what it is.” Then, quieter. Steadier. “I don’t say things I don’t mean, Firecracker.”
Before she can say anything back, the waitress appears at our table, plates balanced on her arm.
“Alright,” she says, setting one down in front of Savannah. “Ribs for you.”
Then mine. Sauce dark and glossy, steam rising between us.
Savannah glances down, then back up at me, that amused look still sitting on her mouth like she’s holding onto the moment. “Well,” she says, reaching for a napkin, “I guess that settles it.”
I pick up my fork. “Told you I don’t mislabel things.”
The waitress smiles, clearly clocking the vibe now. “Y’all need anything else?”
Savannah shakes her head. “I think we’re good.”
“Enjoy,” the waitress says, and disappears back toward the kitchen.
Savannah looks at the food again, then laughs softly. “Okay. If this is what dates look like with you, I might be in trouble.”
I watch her for a second, then finally smile. “You’ll survive.”
She meets my gaze, eyes warm and curious. “I’m starting to think I might.”