“Okay, let me guess. You always wear your hood up because you hate your haircut.”
He flicks his gaze to me, and I have to suppress a smile. I was joking, but it seems like I hit a mark. Reaching over casually, I tug his hood down, letting my fingers glide through the soft, dark mess of his hair. It’s even softer than I imagined, ridiculously so, and he immediately swats my hand away with a glare.
“You shouldn’t.” I lean back with a satisfied grin. “The cut’s nice, you look good.”So damn cute.
His cheeks turn pink, just a shade, but enough to make my chest tingle with dangerous satisfaction.
“You drink your coffee black, no sugar, like some kind of bitter cowboy. Or tea, but only the kind that tastes like a forest and sadness.”
He huffs. Or was it a laugh? Eh, borderline. Either way, I press on.
“You’re a cat person, obviously. Aloof and judgy. Hating my son for no reason. You probably hiss when someone wakes you up too early.”
Another eyeroll.Excellent.
“Your bike has a name, and I’m sure it’s something dramatic. Like…Berserker,Nightmare, orVengeance.”
The edge of his mouth twitches.There it is,the tiniest crack. Now’s my chance.
“You have a girlfriend.”
He frowns when his brown eyes come up to mine again.
Interesting.
“Boyfriend?” I hedge.
“No.” He presses his lips together firmly.
My heart kicks.
“Ever had one?” I ask, trying to hide how desperately I want to know the answer.
He halts abruptly and turns to face me, full-on.
“No.” His voice has an edge now, and he looks at me like I’ve prodded something I shouldn’t have. “Why are you asking me that?”
He looks suspicious, which is fair, but underneath that guarded expression is a flicker of something else. Not fear exactly, but wariness. The kind that comes with a closely-held secret. Maybe heisgay or somewhere in the vicinity.
Elite sports are still stuck in the Stone Age. Guys can fly down mountains at sixty-five kilometers an hour, but God forbid they admit they want to kiss another guy.
“I was just wondering if that’s why you won’t talk tome,” I say with a thoughtful hum. “If there’s someone in your life who doesn’t want you talking to guys like me.”
His eyes narrow. “Guys like what? Annoying?”
With a grin, I push his shoulder, just enough to back him against the nearest tree. My leg slips between his thighs on instinct, and he stills completely, his eyes wide.
“Tell me,Petit. Give me the real answer. Is there someone who thinks they’re dating you right now?”
My fingers curl under his jaw, tilting his face up so he has no choice but to meet my eyes. His breath stutters, the tiniest hitch, just like I hoped it would. Maybe even prayed. Something flutters in my chest at the contact.
“Why?” he asks on a breath, his voice soft like it’s trying not to tremble.
“Because they should know, Iama threat.”
A flicker of something crosses his face, defiance, fear, want, I don’t know, but it makes my pulse spike. He’s trying to build a wall, but I can feel the cracks spiderwebbing underneath.
“You…” he starts, then falters. His eyes narrow as he forces the words out like they cost him something. “You think you could have me?”
