Chapter Ten #6
The carrier laughed. “Have a good one, Flynn.”
“You too.”
The door swung shut behind him as Flynn muttered, “One of these days I’ll remember his name.”
Zavier moved to the counter, resting his hip against it. “Is your personal mail normally delivered here?”
“My apartment building is on the same route as my job. Mr. Mailman is nice enough to deliver it here when he drops off the bookstore’s.”
“Who else knows your address?”
“It’s on my library card application.” Flynn pursed his lips, brows knitting.
“My gym membership. I used it for a couple of online orders.” He ticked the rest off on his fingers.
“My old therapist’s intake form. A few apps on my phone.
A beginners painting class I chickened out of because I can’t draw for shit.
Colton, and the guy he sent to sweep my apartment.
Dude sucks, by the way. My floor still had a few dusty areas he clearly missed. ”
“That’s…that’s not what sweeping means. Not in the context Colton used.” Zavier’s lips twitched.
“Sweep, swept, however you say it.” Flynn picked up his mail and thumbed through the small stack. “As nice as the offer was, broom handling is not in that guy’s wheelhouse.”
Flynn was so damn adorable. Zavier wanted to strip his mate naked, bend him over the nearest dusty shelf, and rub his scent all over the man.
Chapter Four
The sun was still shining brightly when Flynn clocked out at three Thankful Kate had actually shown up on time.
A thought struck. Flynn was off the clock. Zavier wasn’t. Which meant his bodyguard would be glued to Flynn’s side. In his apartment.
Together.
Just them.
“This way,” Zavier said. Heat erupted through Flynn’s entire back where Zavier’s hand was hovering.
Flynn quickly walked ahead, telling himself not to lust over the Dreamy Eyes. Zavier was there to do a job, not get harassed by a lonely and desperately horny client.
Zavier stopped next to a motorcycle built like it could endure a hurricane. You’ve got to be kidding me.
People died on those things. “So, where did you park your truck? Car? Bicycle? I’m flexible.”
Oh, he did not like the dashing smile on Zavier’s handsome face. There was too much mischievousness radiating in those blue eyes.
“That,” Flynn said, pointing at the hulking black-and-metal beast parked at the curb, “is not transportation. That is a midlife crisis with a murder budget.”
The motorcycle was low and dark, built like it had somewhere to be and didn’t care what was in the way.
All hard curves and thick tires, chrome catching the light in short violent flashes along the sides.
The seat was broad and black, lifted slightly in the back, handlebars angled just enough to mean something.
Zavier folded his arms, mouth tipping at one corner. “Her feelings are hurt.”
“Her feelings can recover without me.” Flynn took a step back and stared at the machine like it might lunge. “Absolutely not. People slide off those and become road crayons.”
Amusement warmed Zavier’s expression “I’ve been riding since they were invented.”
“Longevity does not equal a skilled driver. Just means you’ve become an expert at surviving crashes.” Flynn glanced up and down the street as if a more sensible vehicle might materialize out of pity. “Where is the enclosed option? Something with doors. Glass. Regret-proofing?”
Zavier slid his long finger over the leather seat like he was petting it. Maybe Flynn should give them a moment alone. “Your place is ten minutes straight through town.”
“Exactly,” Flynn said, wishing he was a leather seat.
“Or.” Zavier voice dropped into a smooth, lazy register that should’ve been illegal in public, “we take the back road. Less traffic. Better view.”
Flynn’s eyebrows shot up. “You just casually invited me to scenic death.”
A breeze skimmed down the block, carrying warm pavement, bakery sugar from half a block over, and the dark, masculine scent clinging to Zavier.
Even standing there arguing, Flynn remained embarrassingly aware of every line of him.
The fitted T-shirt. The forearms. The rough trim of dark facial hair that made him look like he should be leaning against a doorway in a cologne ad while ruining lives.
“I’ll go slow.” Zavier’s gaze slid over Flynn’s body with so much heat, it was a miracle Flynn didn’t combust.
“You’re playing dirty.” Flynn narrowed his eyes. “You’re using underhanded sexy charm, and I want that on the record.”
A low laugh rolled out of Zavier. “Underhanded?”
“Yes. Very.” Flynn told his half-hard cock to stop taking the bait like a horny idiot. “It’s manipulative to eye-bang me while suggesting reckless activities.”
“Like what?”
Flynn threw up his hand. “Like twisting that thingy with one hand and fist-fighting a tornado with the other.” He really needed to stop saying the first thing that came to mind.
“Twisting that thingy,” Zavier repeated.
“I don’t know the name of motorcycle parts.” Flynn jabbed a finger at the bike. “That thing has pipes. And rage. And goes vroom-vroom. That is the full extent of my knowledge. Needs fuel too, but I figured that was a no-brainer.”
Still smiling, Zavier reached into a side compartment and pulled out two helmets. One was black to match the bike. The other was a dark gray that looked expensive enough to come with paperwork.
Flynn’s stomach dipped. Helmets meant Zavier had expected Flynn to agree. Worse, some deeply traitorous part of him was considering it.
Which was insane.
A list immediately unfurled in his brain like a cursed scroll.
He could fall off. A bee could fly into his mouth and choke him at highway speed.
A loose chicken could sprint into the road.
His shoelace could somehow get caught in something mechanical and yank him into the next county.
His soul could simply eject from body for the second time in two days.
There were so many ways Flynn could be yeeted from existence.
“Back road ride,” he echoed. “That phrase alone makes me shiver.” Riding at high speed, with only Zavier to stop him from falling off was not reassuring.
Zavier stepped in close enough that Flynn caught the bonfire and bourbon scent. “I’d never let anything happen to you. I’ll keep you safe.”
For some crazy reason, Flynn believed him.
Since meeting Zavier, Flynn had felt a strange ache inside his body, a yearning that made no sense.
Yesterday, he’d dismissed the sensation as simple attraction that no longer felt so simple.
The ache was still there, lodged somewhere deep behind his ribs, making him agree to do things he would’ve never even considered.
What was this guy doing to him?
Zavier tapped the seat. “Hop on with me, kitten.”
Kitten? Flynn let the endearment slide. Not every hill was worth dying on. Ugh, he did not just think that.
After one more look at the bike, Flynn exhaled through his nose. “If I become roadkill, take care of my plants. They need sunlight therapy.”
“Poor plants” Zavier held out the gray helmet. “Are you agreeing?”
Flynn snatched it from him before common sense could tackle the idea. “This is coercion by attractiveness.”
“Get on, then.” Zavier shook his head but didn’t look as if he was tired of Flynn yet.
Most couldn’t deal with his sarcasm, or nervous jitters.
It wasn’t something Flynn could help. If he didn’t joke, life would be to quiet.
Quietness led to thoughts of a father gone; every opportunity to get to know him switched off.
Something had to be wrong with him because who mourned for a father that had never been there for him? Who’d proven he’d never wanted Flynn to begin with.
Don’t you dare think about that right now. Push it back into the darkness where it belongs. Although Flynn had protested, Zavier had invited him on a ride, and Flynn wouldn’t ruin the moment things better left buried.
Lifting the helmet, he jammed it over his head but didn’t know what to do next.
As if reading his mind, Zavier stepped in to adjust the strap beneath Flynn’s chin. His knuckles brushed Flynn’s jaw, a barely-there touch, but it still made Flynn’s entire body shiver. If Zavier noticed, he didn’t comment.
“There,” Zavier said softly. “Bluetooth’s in the helmet, so you’ll hear me.”
“Great. Dying with surround sound.” Flynn grimaced, wishing he would buffer his thoughts better instead of letting them all hang out.
Chuckling under his breath, Zavier swung a long leg over the bike, then planted both boots on the ground. He glanced back over his shoulder. “She’s steady. You can climb on. I won’t let you fall.”
Flynn bit his lip. This was it. Get on or chicken out. And do what? Go home and stare at the walls. Routine and predictability were what got him in the mess in the first place. He needed to live a little, take chances, and experience new things.
One deep breath, then another. With a single nod, Flynn placed his sneaker on the large peg while gripping one of Zavier’s shoulders. Zavier reached behind, resting a hand on Flynn’s side to steady him.
The seat felt firmer than it had looked, and warm from the glaring sun. Flynn settled down behind Zavier, becoming very aware of Zavier between his legs.
“This is very intimate” Flynn muttered. “How am I supposed to concentrate when his butt is practically sitting on my crotch?”
“Need you to bend with me on turns.” Zavier glanced at him from the side mirror. “And hold on tight.”
Oh god! The Bluetooth. Zavier had clearly activated them because Flynn had just heard that silky voice practically purring in his ear.
How long had they been connected?
Mortified, Flynn slid his hands around Zavier’s side.
“Tighter.” Zavier reached back, caught Flynn’s wrists, and pulled them around his middle patting Flynn’s fingers. “Keep your hands here at all times. Right against my stomach.”