Chapter 13
thirteen
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Apparently, Callan had a little chat with Juliette, and voilà, everything fits just right. I’m rocking a fitted black leather jacket, tight black jeans, and ankle boots that scream, Who is this girl? Not exactly my everyday vibe, but honestly, I’m not mad about it.
I give myself one last once-over, tugging the leather into place, and damn. I look good. Callan knew exactly what he was doing.
“Damn, Sunshine,” Callan mutters, his voice full of that mischievous spark I’ve come to expect from him. His eyes roam over me, like he’s appreciating a rare, expensive piece of art. “You look like you were made to be on the back of my bike.”
I can’t help myself. I give a little spin, letting the leather catch the light. “Not gonna lie,” I say. “I’m inclined to agree. You might’ve just created a monster.”
His lips curve into that infuriatingly charming smile, and I damn near melt into a puddle right there. But I don’t. I’m stronger than that…mostly.
“That so? Sounds like a challenge, lass.”
I step closer, letting my gaze linger on him longer than necessary.
The way his own jacket stretches across his broad shoulders, clinging just enough to make me wonder what’s underneath…
It’s lethal. The way his jaw shifts as he smiles does things to me that I’m not prepared to handle. He’s pure temptation.
I arch an eyebrow, leaning in a touch and letting the teasing lilt in my voice do all the heavy lifting. “You think you’re ready for that kind of trouble?”
His grin turns dangerous. When those blue eyes flare with that wild, irresistible spark, it’s the kind of look that promises everything I should probably stay the hell away from. It’s impossible not to want it when every inch of me is screaming yes.
“Oh, I’m more than ready,” he says, his voice rough around the edges. “Question is, can you keep up?”
I tilt my head, casual, like this is just another challenge I’m about to dominate. His gaze doesn’t move, not even a blink, and the air between us practically crackles. This tension could set fire to the entire block if we’re not careful.
Then he moves, reaching for my brand-new helmet with a confidence that screams he’s in control of every second. He holds it out, his smirk practically daring me. “Ready to ride, monster?”
I take the helmet from his hands, our fingers brushing in a way that sends a jolt of electricity straight through me. His touch lingers, but just for a second. “Born ready,” I say as I slip the helmet on.
He leads me out to his motorcycle, and it really is a thing of beauty. A sleek black beast that looks like it eats lesser bikes for breakfast. The late morning sun hits the polished chrome, making it glint like something straight out of a dream.
Callan swings his leg over with that effortless confidence that’s so him. The engine roars to life, deep and satisfying, rumbling through the air like it’s alive and daring the world to keep up.
I hesitate for half a second, taking in the man, the bike, the moment.
Then, without overthinking it, I climb on behind him.
The second I press against him, the heat from his back seeps through the leather, and everything clicks into place.
The strength of his presence is undeniable, and it’s like my body just knows this is where I’m supposed to be. A perfect fit.
My arms naturally lock around his waist, and I can’t help but dig my fingers into the worn leather of his jacket. The movement pulls me closer to him, and for just a split second, the muscles under his jacket flex slightly, like he’s subconsciously reacting to my touch.
I lean in close, yelling over the roar of the engine. “Where are we going?”
He turns his head enough for his voice to carry over the noise. “My favorite spot!”
Without another word, he guns the throttle, and the bike surges forward like it has a mind of its own.
The rush of wind hits me instantly, cool and exhilarating.
Everything around us speeds up, the world blurring in the best possible way.
It’s like the air, the ground, and the whole damn world is moving with us.
Alive, and maybe just a little bit reckless.
I smile against his back, the thrill of the ride pulsing through me.
Every turn he takes, every shift in speed, sends his muscles flexing under my grip.
I hold on tighter, not just for balance, but because there’s something magnetic about being this close to him.
It makes my pulse race faster than the bike beneath us.
It’s not just from the ride anymore. It’s him.
It’s different this time. The sun shines down on us, casting everything in that golden light that makes the world seem like it’s in slow motion.
The landscape blurs past in a sweep of green fields, flashes of wildflowers, and the smooth curve of the road, but none of it really holds my attention like he does.
We roll to a stop, and for a moment, I’m completely disoriented. How long have we been riding? Ten minutes? An hour? Time slips through my fingers, the blur of the scenery and the calming scent of Callan filling the air like some kind of irresistible, distracting cologne.
I can’t stop noticing it. I’m torn between wanting to inhale it like it’s the world’s greatest perfume and trying to ignore the fact that it’s making my pulse quicken. Not that I’d ever admit that.
Nope. Definitely not.
I’m doing my best to shut down the mental gymnastics because I really just want to enjoy today.
As I climb off the bike and take in our surroundings, I realize I’ve been here before.
I remember how stunning it was the last time, the air thick with fall’s chill, everything draped in the cool shadows of midnight, silvered by the moon.
This time, in the daylight, with spring starting to paint the world with color, it’s like stepping into a whole new place. A different kind of magic entirely.
The air is crisp, sharp with that earthy scent only spring can bring, the smell of life waking up from its long winter nap. Everything’s so still and quiet, but it’s the kind that feels alive.
Sunlight spills over everything, filtering through the scattered clouds.
It catches the rolling hills, casting shadows that shift as if the land is breathing in time with the wind.
And the snow stubbornly clings to the hillsides in patches, like winter’s refusing to let go, unwilling to admit defeat.
And then there’s the lake. It’s like a scene from a postcard. Timeless, untouched, and impossibly calm. The surface sparkles, glinting in the sunlight, so impossibly smooth and clear it feels like stepping into another world.
I take a deep breath, letting the brisk air fill my lungs. “I could sit here forever and never get tired of this view.”
Callan dismounts in one smooth, practiced motion, pulling off his helmet with that easy confidence of his.
Before I can shift, he’s in front of me, his presence like a magnet I can’t escape.
His hands are strong but careful as he reaches up to remove my helmet, cradling my head like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“You see why I come here often, aye?”
That damn accent of his makes even the simplest words sound like poetry. I could listen to him say the dumbest thing in the world and still get lost in it.
I glance at him, ready to answer, but then I catch sight of how he’s standing, tall and broad-shouldered, looking out at the horizon like he owns the whole world.
For a second, the view doesn’t register.
It’s just him, standing there, that steals my attention.
Watching him is like its own kind of magic, pulling me in, making everything else fade away.
It should be strange, right? This big, leather-clad guy just standing still in the middle of all this nature, like he’s part of it, not some intruder just passing through. But with Callan, it’s not strange at all. It just…fits.
I reach for his hand, craving that little bit of contact like it’s the air I need to breathe.
He looks down, his gaze softening when he sees our fingers tangled together. That small smile tugs at my heart, and when he squeezes my hand, it leaves me breathless.
“You’re going home in, what, four days?” he asks.
I wish he hadn’t brought it up. That little reminder yanks me out of this perfect, blissed-out bubble I’ve been living in since I got here.
Here, there’s no crappy job with a boss who acts like “personal time” is just some fairytale people tell themselves to get through the day. No exhausting drama with drunken exes.
It’s just me, my best friend, the kind of scenery that makes your soul lighter…and him.
“Yep,” I say, sighing dramatically. “I wanted to stay longer, but apparently living the dream isn’t a valid excuse for more time off. Who knew?”
He shrugs. “Well, at least you’re not dealing with me full-time.”
I laugh. “Oh, trust me, I’m definitely gonna miss you. Especially when I’m knee-deep in a pile of…you don’t want to know.” I make a face like the very thought of it is a crime. “I’ll be wishing I was here, getting distracted by your ridiculous charm instead.”
He leans in just enough to make my pulse skip. “You know, I was going to fire back with some snarky comment, but…I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“As you should,” I reply. Because as much as I tease, I mean every word.
I need to figure out what I’m doing here, and what I’m doing with him.
Over the past year, I’ve gotten dangerously close to feeling too much for Callan. And it’s not just a crush or a passing phase. It’s deeper than that.
What I had with Dillon was real. Sure, the end was messy, there’s no denying that. Before it all fell apart, it was easy, young love. It was comfortable in a way that felt like it could have gone on forever if life hadn’t decided to ruin it.