8. Paige
I think I got hit by a car and died… or I’m at least lying in some hospital in a coma and none of this is real… either option would make far more sense than the reality of being on a date with Maxon Grant.
Much less the fact that he wants me to climb on the back of his motorcycle with him.
I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m wearing a skirt Maxon.”
His gaze travels my body, goosebumps rising over my skin. “I noticed. And you look stunning.”
I roll my eyes, trying not to let the comment affect me, I was all too used to Maxon’s pretty words.
He steps closer to me, holding out his full-face helmet. “And I also know that you, without a doubt, are wearing some kind of shorts underneath it.”
I narrow my gaze at him. Was he always this cocky? Am I only just now realizing it? It was really starting to annoy me either way. I glare at him, stealing a glance around us before reaching to my hip and undoing the zipper and slipping the sheath of a skirt off, revealing the little black biker shorts I had, in fact, worn under it.
His brows are arched high in shock, an amused smile dancing at the corner of his lips. “I was just thinking you’d pull the skirt up Paige, I didn’t…”
I point an accusing finger at him. “You are not going to say anything about me getting undressed.”
He shuts his mouth tight. “Of course not. That wouldn’t be very gentlemanly, now would it?”
Rolling my eyes, I shove the article of fabric into my oversized purse along with my beret before taking the helmet from Maxon and slipping it on. “Okay, now what?” I say, my voice sounding odd beneath the helmet.
A soft smile touches his lips and he reaches up to fasten the strap of the helmet, his fingers grazing the delicate skin beneath my chin and sending a shiver down my spine.
My own body is betraying me and I hate it.
“You’re really cute when you’re impatient with me.” He says in a near whisper, as if only to make the comment that much more intimate and all my insides mushy. Haha. Jokes on him, I’ve trained my insides to be certified mush-resistant.
I let out a scoff. “Maxon, stop with the sweet nothings. This is me.”
Something hardens behind his eyes and he stiffens, nodding shortly. “Right.” He turns to his bike and swings a leg over it. “Hop on.”
Quickly I mimic his movements and settle in behind him, opting to grip the bike underneath me instead of him.
“You’re going to want to hang on.” He says over his shoulder as the bike starts up.
“I’m good. Thanks.” I say. When was the last time I was on one of his motorcycles?
He shoots me a grin over his shoulder with a shrug. “Suit yourself.”
And I swear he makes the bike lurch forward on purpose.
Reflexively, I throw my arms around his stomach, trying desperately not to notice the abs underneath his button up.
Max’s chest rumbles under my touch.
I hate men. From henceforth I will abolish all men and the entire male species. From here on out it will be me, dogs, and maybe I’ll get a guinea pig. I always thought they were cute. But absolutely no more men.
Maxon zips through the downtown streets, weaving in and out of traffic. The cityscape flies past us as I hang onto him, the thrumming of my heart loud in my ears as I melt into the familiar feeling of him.
Stop it, Paige. I chastise myself. I couldn’t let myself drift back into that kind of thought process, regardless of how nice he felt…
There’s a reason we didn’t work out the first time.
“Where are we going?” I shout, as he begins driving away from the city center. When Maxon had said that my repayment to him for saving me from the date from H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks was for us to go on a date I didn’t actually think he was serious. That is until he’d paid for our drinks and led me out of the restaurant towards his motorcycle… at that point I was wondering if I’d made the right decision after all.
To Maxon’s credit, he did ask if I’d brought my car, which I lied and said I hadn’t. I didn’t need him seeing my beat-up bug and making comments about it that I was not ready to answer.
Maxon ignores my question though, instead tensing under my fingers for a second before relaxing again and weaving around another car. Accepting the fact that I’m not going to get an answer, I settle against Max as he drives, watching the passing buildings and cars until he pulls into a line of vehicles that lead into a large, crowded parking lot. He goes slowly through the lot, finding a spot to leave the bike before turning it off. I’m left to stare up at the massive arena with a gaping jaw, grateful that the helmet hides my reaction.
I know this place. I know this arena.
I glance around the filling parking lot as people make their way towards the massive building, adorned in blue hockey jerseys and I nearly fall off the bike behind Maxon.
He chuckles. “You still follow hockey, right?” He dismounts from the bike and holds out a hand for me which I choose to ignore, instead opting to hop off the bike myself, which leaves me nearly falling into Maxon.
“Well, yeah…” I stammer, straightening myself and putting some distance between us in a desperate attempt to tame my racing heart rate. This was the sport Max introduced me to one Christmas break, we had filled our weekend with games, and I became absolutely obsessed with the life that filled the arena after every puck drop.
His smile grows as he reaches up and takes the helmet off my head. “It’s their last game of the season.”
I nod slowly. “Yeah, I know. I was going to be checking the score all night.” And I can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of my lips as he hangs his helmet on the handlebars of his bike and takes my hand, leading the way towards the arena.
And more shockingly, I let him.