Throttled: Dirty Air (Book 1)(49)

“Then go on a date with me. Tomorrow?” I can’t tell if she wants to shut me down.

“My brother can’t know. He would lock me up before killing you,” she sputters.

All right, she didn’t say no. I can work with it.

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him. We’re only having a good time together.” I want to tell her to stop making a big deal of this. Hasn’t she tried no strings attached? But she agrees, making it a win for me. If there is something I live by, it’s how there’s no time like the present.

I stride away, throwing a victorious grin over my shoulder.





19





Maya


“No way. I’m not getting on that thing.” I cross my two index fingers in front of me in an X. If only my mom could see me making responsible decisions. She’d be proud.

“Live a little.” Noah’s eyes gleam while mine narrow, not sharing his amused look. He looks eerie with a flickering light above our heads, foreshadowing this bad idea.

A shiny motorbike brings a frown to my face, the steel gray paint polished and sleek, like an alien spaceship. It should come with a warning label.

Hell, Noah should have a walking, talking warning sign.

We wage a battle of wills in the parking garage of the hotel we’re both staying at with Bandini. The garage makes the perfect place to meet up for our date since we can avoid the paparazzi and my brother. Just Noah, me, and a dimly lit lot. I don’t have my usual chaperones keeping me in check. Much to Sophie’s dismay earlier, I declined her invitation to third wheel our date. Appreciate her loyalty though.

“Come on. It’s not scary. I promise.”

I roll my eyes. Anyone will say that to get me on the back of a contraption.

He steps toward me, wearing down my defenses. He talks low and slow to me like I’m a scared dog in an alleyway.

I push my lower lip out and cross my arms, not above pouting to get my way. If it works on my parents, then it could work on Noah.

But he doesn’t take the bait. I need to work on my delivery because it sucks.

“Don’t make me carry you onto it. I’ve driven motorcycles since I was thirteen. I’m still alive.” He waves down his body, bringing my attention to his leather jacket and dark jeans. His outfit screams bad boy in every good kind of way. Instead of making me feel better, he distracts me with his tight-fitting shirt, which accentuates his firm muscles.

How does he make casual look so good?

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? That’s illegal! Who in their right mind would let a child on a motorbike?” Did anyone ever watch over him as a kid?

He chuckles, not bothering to address my comment. Instead, he grabs a black helmet from the seat and puts it on my head, adjusting the straps to fit my chin. I’d consider it a lovely gesture if my heart wasn’t in my throat at the moment.

I wasn’t exactly expecting this when he told me to wear jeans and a comfortable top earlier.

“You’re one hard date to please,” he grumbles.

I’d rather not have my body splayed across a street like roadkill.

“Have you even been on a real date? Usually normal people go to a restaurant, have dinner, and end it all with a kiss. Stay within the comfort zone.” I paint a picture for him since he seems like a visual kind of guy.

His chest rumbles with laughter. “I’ve dated before, but I’m far from normal. Why wine and dine you? I’m going to get what I want anyway.” He waggles his brows.

Well, excuse me. I can’t ignore the pang of jealousy when he mentions other dates. For once, his arrogant attitude wears on me.

Who does he think he is? Sex with me is not a given because I am not one of his bimbos. I don’t hand that shit out like Halloween candy.

“That’s one of the worst things a first date has ever told me.”

Another hand tugs through his hair as he sighs. He may be sharp on the racetrack, but his people skills suck. I withhold the temptation to stick my tongue out at him because it’ll encourage him more.

“It gets cold with the wind. Take my jacket.” He slides the leather jacket off his back and passes it to me. The moment I put it on, a smell that’s distinctly his with a hint of leather surrounds me. It calms me down a teensy bit.

“Please do this for me? It’ll be fun, I promise. If you hate it, I’ll park the bike and order us an Uber.”

His sincerity does me in. I accept my fate and walk up to the spaceship.

It’s one date.

I sigh. “All right. Because you asked nicely.”

He gives me a wicked grin.

I’m so screwed.

Five minutes later, we speed down one of Baku’s seaside streets. The smell of the ocean relaxes me as the city lights blur past us. Lucky for him, I don’t suffer from motion sickness because this bike hits maximum speeds. I grip onto Noah’s waist for dear life as tires tear across the pavement. My hands accidentally brush up against his abs, and I casually run a finger across them, interested in counting the ridges. He laughs at my failed attempt to be subtle. The rumbling sensation of the motorbike beneath my ass and touching his abs is turning me on.

Did he plan this on purpose? My body presses up against him and my arms wrap around him, leaving no space. Even my legs plaster tightly against his to make sure I don’t fall off. If it wasn’t risky, I’d wrap them around him as an extra safety precaution. The whole situation comes across as intimate despite my bubbling anxiety.