Page 143 of Shade
Don’t say her name. It’ll only piss me off.
Roan revs his bike and nods to the jump. “I bet you can’t hit a 360 on it.”
My competitive side comes out and I show him yes, I can do a 360 spin off it.
JUST AS ROAN and I are finishing up on the jump and he’s bleeding from his mouth where he nose-dived into the face of a jump, I see Scarlet in the distance on the motocross track with Tiller, and she has a helmet on.
I take my helmet off and look over at them trying to figure out what he’s doing with her. She’s on his race bike.
Roan holds a rag to his face. “What the fuck is he doing with her?”
“Not sure.” I take off on my bike over to where Scarlet and Tiller are. “What are you doing?”
Take a look at her face. She’s excited. You’d think since being on the bike with me the other day, she wouldn’t want to be on one again. Apparently that’s not the case.
Scarlet jumps at the sound of my voice. “Oh, hey. Tiller’s showing me how to ride a dirt bike.”
I scowl at Tiller as I take my helmet off and hook it on my handlebars. “What the fuck, man?Your race bike? At least put her on a smaller bike. She’s going to kill herself.”
He waves me off with his broken wrist. It’s like he’s not even thinking. “She’s fine.”
I shove him. “Fuck you, she’s not.” And then I grab Scarlet by the arm. “Get off the bike.”
Determination furrows her brow. “I want to learn how to ride it.”
Of course she does. Goddamn it.
“Not this one. You can learn on my 150.”
She agrees, immediately and Tiller walks away mumbling, “Whatever. You teach her.”
What a tool.
Drawing in a deep breath, I glance back over at Scarlet in cut-off shorts, a tank top, and fucking flip flops.
“What the fuck was Tiller thinking letting you on this wearing flip flops?”
Scarlet holds up her left hand, shielding the sun from her eyes. “I think he might be drunk.”
“It’s ten o’clock,” I point out.
She shrugs.
I run my hands over my face and attempt to prepare myself for what I’m about to do. Scarlet’s practically giddy about being on a bike but me, I don’t like the idea of her riding one.
It’s not that I object to girls on dirt bikes. Rhya used to ride and it never mattered to me because she used to race with us when she was younger, before drugs took over her life.
Scarlet’s different. She’s fragile, and the last thing I want is to see her hurt on one of these bikes all because of me.
I get my CRF 150R out of the race shop, get her suited up in some of my gear that’s too big on her, though the race pants are surprisingly cute on her. “Ready?”
Do you hear the nervousness in my voice?
She doesn’t or doesn’t care and nods, the helmet pushing her freckled cheeks together. “Can’t be much different than riding a bike, right?”
I want to laugh, but I’m too nervous. “No,verydifferent. You do realize these things can kill you, right?”
I pat her on the top of the helmet when her eyes widen. “I’m. . . fuck. Maybe I shouldn’t be on this.”
