“If you take it off, it’ll help with getting this hoodie on.”
“I don’t need to wear the hoodie. You can take it back.”
My finger taps against her side. “You’ll regret it once we’re going eighty down the road.”
She raises her chin and squares her shoulders. It’s cute how she thinks she can stand up to me. “Like you won’t?”
I shrug. “I ride shirtless sometimes. It’s nothing new to me.”
Her head rears back, full lips parting in horror. Her reaction brings an odd feeling into my chest. The same one as earlier, when she learned I didn’t care if I died in an accident.
“I’m not taking off my bra. It’s not like it’ll make a difference since my breasts are already too big,” she says.
My gaze drops to her chest, and I bite my tongue to keep from telling her they aren’t too big. They’re perfect the way theyare. Instead of voicing my thoughts, I roll my eyes and tug off the hoodie.
“I’m not doing it!” She crosses her arms, protecting herself from a fight that won’t happen.
I pull on my hoodie and stuff my hands into the front pocket. “Wasn’t going to force you, sis.”
Madison blinks, shocked that I’m not demanding she do something she doesn’t want to do.
“Let’s go,” I say, and walk toward my motorcycle.
The helmet is still on the ground near the bike, so I scoop it up and hand it over to Madison. She looks at the gear, then at me, and blinks.
We don’t need to say anything to know we’re thinking the same thing.
Empathy I really shouldn’t feel creeps up on me. I didn't realize I moved closer to her and plucked the helmet out of her hands until it was too late for me to stop. I lower it over her head and work the straps beneath her jaw.
“Wait.” Madison pushes my chest—a weak fight she has no chance of winning.
“I’m not taking you home until you’re safe.” I fix the straps beneath her chin and tilt her head as I work it through the loops.
Madison huffs but doesn’t remove her hands from my chest. She keeps them there, and it’s all I can focus on.
I hate how good she feels while touching me.
I hate how right it feels.
I especially hate her for still tempting me and making me forget why I can’t have her.
“I don’t want anything to happen to you,” Madison says, her voice softer than before.
I ignore her.
What the hell am I supposed to say?If I get hurt, I don’t care. As long as you survive?
Her warmth seeps beneath my skin, and it’s enough to light me on fire. I can’t feel the cold anymore. Not when she’s so close to me. Madison is wiggling her way beneath my skin, making herself at home in my soul. It’s not right. It’s not what I want. Yet, it’s still happening. This is the same girl who was friends with the assholes who made my life miserable in school. She’s the same girl who dated Mickey after telling me she couldn’t stand him.
A sick glee fills my chest at the thought of her dead ex. Murdered by sourdough. I wonder if she’ll cry when she finds out.
My teeth grind together, and my fingers work the straps a bit rougher. Madison’s body jerks forward.
“Ryder?” she says.
I can’t get the mental image of Mickey’s arm slung around her shoulders out of my head. They may not have been dating for long, but he pranced her around like a prized pony. He was proud about getting with her. I don’t know what all they did together, and I don’t want to know because the thought of someone else touching her enrages me.
She’s mine.
