Rein In (Willow Bay Stables #3)(15)

Rhys tapped the spot behind him and in a practiced motion, the pretty brunette swung a leg over the bike.

My stomach rolled and flitted on a feeling. It was tight and coiled in a way that made my chest feel uncomfortable and my palms sweaty. The pressure on my heart increased as she slid her hands around his mid section and leaned into his back, tilting her cheek to the side.

I knew what this was.

I was jealous.

I was jealous of a girl I’d never met with a boy I’d never really talked to.

She’d had his laugh and his smile in the span of ten minutes.

In six weeks, I had two full sentences, one of which was rude and a question.

I was jealous that she got a window into the man who read books to horses in the dark of night, while I could barely get him to look at me.

My stomach turned and my pulse skyrocketed.

I was jealous.

“Are you done creeping on that guy?” Josh asked, stepping into my line of vision.

I looked around him to see Rhys and the girl disappear up the driveway on his motorcycle.

“Yes, I’m done.” I smiled.

For today.





THE SUMMER HEAT LICKED AT the beads of sweat on my throat as I picked up speed.

I straddled thunder between my legs. I had missed it. I missed the way the roar climbed up through the engine and pulsed in my chest. It was the first time since being in this new world that I felt like I hadn’t missed a beat, like there wasn’t nearly a decade missing from my story.

The back road weaved and I leaned into the turn. Late June had brought with it warmth that even in the night the air couldn’t seem to cool down. Twisting my wrist, I throttled through the bend and straightened out onto the long stretch of blacktop.

It wasn’t as hard as I’d expected to renew an expired motorcycle license. Maddy had brought the papers with her when she delivered the bike.

God, it felt good to see her.

It felt like the winds of hell in my heart got swept away in her brown eyes.

It was easy to get lost with Maddy. It always had been. That’s how we survived.

Guilt snaked around my breath, and my knuckles went white.

My bike taunted me, like an old friend on a dare. A dare I accepted as I pulled back the throttle again.

The engine bucked.

“Son of a bitch,” I grumbled under the sound of the spitting Harley.

I let off the throttle, but it was no use. The bike was slowing down regardless. Looking around me, I steered the bike to the shoulder where it promptly slowed to a stop.

Stomping the kickstand down, I threw a leg over the seat and growled.

Maybe you didn’t forget how to ride a bike in eight years, but fixing one was a whole other ball game.

Peeling off my shirt, I wrapped my left hand in it so my skin wouldn’t melt off and used it to inspect the engine.

I couldn’t tell shit and it was hot as hell, burning me even through the shirt.

I tried rolling the engine over a few times but it useless. The thing was dead, and it needed a mechanic. Something I wasn’t.

Tires rolled on the pavement behind me as I pulled the grease-covered shirt back over my head. There was the sound of brakes, followed by a change in gear, and I looked over my shoulder to see an old pickup truck had stopped and was now backing up in my direction.

I leaned forward, pulling the keys from the ignition and stuffed them in my pocket. There was no way I could leave a bike like this on the side of the road. Even without the keys, it would be gone by morning.

Walking toward the pickup, I pushed the aviators up on my nose and readied my practiced civility. “Thanks for stopping,” I said just I was approaching the window.

“No problem.”

A rush of cold air from the cooling system of the truck teased the sweat on my skin, and my heart suddenly burned at the sound of her voice.

There she was. That white-blonde hair fell around her face, her upper body leaning forward onto the steering wheel so she could see me.

“You shouldn’t be out so late,” I growled, taking a step back.

She looked at the dash, humor dancing in her eyes, and smiled. “It’s nine o’clock.”

I didn’t answer.

“Is something wrong with your bike?” she asked.

I didn’t answer.

“Do you want a ride?”

Wiping the grease from my hands on my shirt, I shook my head.

She frowned as I took another step back.

“You’re due back for curfew in an hour and a half,” she said, worry etching itself on the corners of her mouth. “It’ll take you at least two just to get to the edge of the property from here, longer if you’re walking that.” She pointed at my bike.

I sighed, resigned.

She knew I couldn’t miss curfew.

It was hard to ignore the way the blue in her eyes lit up at the conceding of my situation.

Jumping down from behind the wheel, she rounded the hood of her truck and my ignorance died in the air around her. After nearly two months, it was the first time I’d seen her in anything but that white volunteer shirt, and in that moment, this wasn’t something I missed.

If watching her go felt a little like the sun setting, then watching her walk my way in that yellow dress felt a lot like the perfect sunrise.

She looked relaxed.

As she got closer, I could tell the ends of her hair were wet and without thinking, I reached out to touch it.