Bad Boy Blues(115)

I make my way through the chanting crowd and rush down the stairs. There’s a staff entrance at the bottom of the stadium and I flash my visitor pass to the guy standing guard.

The inside is bustling with activity and people. The crew has their headsets on and they’re running around like the entire world depends on them. Well, at least the act does so I’m happy they seem so dedicated.

It’s a big space that breaks off into a tunnel, leading to the bottom of the well. I reach the mouth of the tunnel and see Zach getting off his bike. He takes his helmet off, followed by his jacket.

Even when he’s practicing, he’s always super-heated and sweaty after his stunt.

His black t-shirt is sticking to his muscular chest and his hair is all mussed up and spiky. There’s a dark hue on his cheeks from the rush, I think.

A crowd is gathered around him, a couple of staff members and his friends from New York, and even though, I’m impatient to get him alone, I don’t mind waiting until he finishes up.

But as it turns out, I don’t have to wait long.

He looks at me as soon as he’s done throwing the jacket on his parked bike. Back when I hated him or I thought that I hated him, this connection between us used to bother me. But now, I’m thankful for it. It makes me feel special, the only girl for him in this world. In this entire galaxy.

His stare is dark as always, and hungry.

He seems ravenous and my skin breaks out in goose bumps when he starts to walk toward me, in the middle of the conversation.

Breathing hard, I stand there, watching him approach me.

The first thing I notice when he gets close to me is his smell. It’s musky mixed in with his favorite: blueberry pie. When we were in Princetown, I got the recipe from Maggie. I’m a disaster in the kitchen but somehow, I’ve learnt to perfect it for Zach.

“That’s very rude,” I tell him, craning my neck up. “Walking away in the middle of a conversation.”

He leans over me. “I’ve always been rude.”

Shaking my head, I smile at him and reach up to wipe off an errant drop of sweat, snaking down to his brows. “You were amazing down there. Like, really, really amazing.”

“What happened?”

“What?”

His hand reaches out and he traces my lower lip with the rough pad of his thumb. “Have you been biting your lip?”

Oh, I forgot about that.

I nod, clutching his wrist and rubbing the end of his tattoo on his wrist. “Just a little. I was nervous.”

“I keep making you bleed,” he murmurs.

I step closer to him and his chest grazes mine. “It’s not you. I’m just a chicken shit about these things. I keep thinking something will happen to you.”

“Nothing will happen to me.”

Then, he bends down and kisses me softly. He sucks in my lower lip and runs his tongue over the torn-up skin, soothing it. Apologizing for making me worry over him even though, I’ve told him a hundred times before: I’ll always worry, and he doesn’t need to apologize for it.

I wind my arms around his neck, going flush with him. Just as our bodies connect with each other, Zach puts his hands under my ass and heaves me up.

My legs go around his narrow hips and he begins walking, without breaking our kiss. I hear a few hollers in the background but I don’t care.

Zach’s kissing me. The world can catch fire and I still wouldn’t mind.

He takes me out through the door, where a crowd has been gathered, probably waiting for the bikers to come out. I hear someone call out Zach’s stage name and going all speculative if it’s really him, but he keeps walking until we get far away from them. He finds a secluded spot between two trailers parked on the far side of the ground.

Propping me against the metal wall, he breaks off.

“No, don’t stop,” I breathe out, lifting my chin to go after his lips again.

His strong body shifts between my thighs, his pelvis rubbing against my swollen clit. “What are you wearing?”

Zach’s frowning down at my t-shirt and I realize it’s the first time he’s noticed my attire. My unusual attire for the night.

He’s focused on my bare midriff. It’s pale and soft and right now, dimpled in the shape of his fingers that are clutching me.

“Uh, it’s a t-shirt?”

He looks up. “Why isn’t it hiding anything, then?”

Even though I’m a little nervous at his reaction at such a bold outfit and a lot turned on, I manage to chuckle. “What? It’s hiding everything.”

He digs his fingers into my flesh, and I stretch my spine, trapped between him and the trailer. “Not your stomach.”

“I wanted to dress up a little.” Then, because I can’t stop myself, “Do you think I… you know, look weird? I mean, I’m not built like a leaf and –”

“Do you want me to drop you right here and leave?” he growls, getting up in my face.

His words remind me of the night I followed him in my car and found out that he can fly bikes. In fact, this whole encounter is making me remember how he put his mouth on my body for the first time ever and kissed me. Down there.

I punch his shoulder. “Stop being mean. I’m genuinely worried. I’ve never put on something like this.”

“And you won’t put on something like this ever again because you look sexy as fuck and only I get to appreciate that. You’re mine, remember?”