Throttled (Wild Riders #1)(44)

“Hang on, Shutterbug,” I warned. “Let me show you a few new tricks I’ve learned.” I turned us around and sped back across the open grass we’d rode on before. This time popping my front wheel up just enough to earn another squeal of excitement, followed by the melodic sound of her laughter.

I took a familiar route around the property—along the timber line and back up to the area where my parents’ house was being built. It wasn’t the first time I’d rode over the landscape with her on the back of my bike. We used to take the same route when we needed a break from the motors and people that were usually running at full speed on the track. We’d escape off for a little privacy and a chance to talk outside of the noise.

We made a pit stop at the construction site and I gave her the grand tour. The basement was poured, the subfloors down, and some of the walls were up. It was hard to envision it, but I walked her through anyway.

“The kitchen,” I said, stopping in the center of the house and expanding my arms. “Living room.” I pointed across the bare space. “Then two bedrooms, an office, and a couple of bathrooms. It’s not too big, but it’s everything they wanted. I guess it’s kind of hard to tell since it’s unfinished.”

“I can see it,” she said. “Real estate brain,” she winked and tapped the side of her head.

“Yeah, how exactly did you become an agent?” I asked. I’d wondered the day she showed up with the land deed. She was always more interested in the arts than business.

“I’m not really sure,” she chuckled. “I worked for Mr. Hillcrest during the summers when I was on breaks from college and it just seemed like a good idea when he suggested I get my license.”

“I kind of thought you’d be a photographer or something by now.”

“I don’t really take pictures anymore.”

“No?”

“Haven’t really felt inspired.” She said. My heart sank. Another consequence of me leaving. I was batting a thousand when it came to screwing up her life. Dating a jerk? Check. Gave up her dream of becoming a sports photographer? Check. Settled for less than she deserved? Double check. The photographs she used to take of us riding were good enough to be featured in any motocross magazine. It didn’t seem fair that I was living my dream and she wasn’t. I had a lot of making up to do and even if she didn’t decide to be with me, I could at least push her to do what she loved with her life.

“Maybe we could change that,” I suggested.

“Maybe.” She shrugged before steering the conversation back to the house. “This place is going to be perfect, Reid.” She walked over to where a set of French doors would be off the back of the kitchen. “And look at this view.” The grass covered land rolled out and led to the pond we’d just come from. “Wouldn’t mind waking up to this every day.” She turned to look over her shoulder at me.

“Me either,” I said under my breath as I looked her up and down. Waking up with her everyday would have made me a very lucky guy. “It’s quite a view,” I agreed so that she could actually hear me. The hills were great, but the girl standing in front of me had my full attention. The soft curve of her neck and shoulder tempted me to put my mouth on her skin. I was thankful for this time we were spending together and I wouldn’t do anything to make her have a second thought but I needed to change the scenery. “Ready to go?” I asked. If I got her back on the bike, at least I could feel her body pressed against mine. I’d never thought to use riding as an excuse to be near a girl, but I’d make an exception if it meant being close to her.



*



Even though both of us wanted to keep riding, the fuel gauge was arguing otherwise. When I rolled the bike back into the trailer and shut it off next to my brother’s and Brett’s, she climbed off and started to run her fingers through her tangled hair. I watched her walk around the space, carefully inspecting the trophies and tools that were strewn about. The back twenty feet of our forty-foot trailer was a like a mobile workshop. Everything I needed to keep my bike running fast. The front twenty was a living space. It slept four people and had a bathroom. I’d spent more time in this trailer than I did in the apartment I rented back in Texas. This was my home.

“Leave it,” I said, as I pushed down the kickstand with my foot. “Windswept is a good look on you.” Her cheeks were rosy from the ride and her eyes a bit watery. I reached up and brushed the tears from the corners of her eyes with both thumbs.

“Is it? Or do I look like a track bunny who’s been rode hard and put away wet?”

“I’d never put you away wet,” I teased.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” she replied with a smile and I felt a shift between us. That wasn’t the first sexual reference that had been made that day, and she sure hadn’t minded me holding her hand at various points during our ride. “What about the rode hard part?” she asked, taking a step toward me somewhat seductively. It was before noon, so I knew she hadn’t been drinking again. This was clear headed, sober Nora making advances. Something she wouldn’t have done if she wasn’t one-hundred percent sure that she wanted to.

“I’m fully prepared to show you exactly what rode hard means,” I warned, closing the distance between us. Her lips parted as we stood toe to toe. “But you might want to stop me, if this is something you are going to regret.”