Walk the Edge (Thunder Road, #2)(58)

I’m blinded when Razor places a helmet on my head. He adjusts it so I can see, then snaps the strap under my chin. It’s not one of those full helmets, just the type that covers my head.

He straddles his bike, eases his cut back on and glances at me. After wiping my palms against my jeans, I hop on behind him. Razor reaches back, gathers my arms, and I close my eyes when my fingers touch a very hard stomach. I slowly breathe out. Oh my God, this is happening.

He squeezes my fingers, lets me go, and within seconds the motorcycle roars and vibrates between my thighs. A fleeting moment of panic becomes a hiccup in my brain. I could pinch his thigh. I could jump off the bike. I could run.

But I do none of those things. Instead, I rest my chin on his shoulder, readjust my hold on his waist and press closer to him. When Razor turns his head to look at me, I swear he’s smiling.





RAZOR

BREANNA COVERS HER face with her hands. “This is impossible!”

It’s not, but knowing any response I have will annoy her, I avoid commenting. Instead, I grab the paper she had been murdering with an eraser. She slams her hand on her notebook in an effort to capture it, but I’m too fast.

“I can do this,” she says. “If I get a new brain maybe, but I can do this.”

“Let me try.” I also steal the notebook and pencil.

“Fine,” Breanna huffs, then collapses back onto the tall grass. Beside us are the remains of our three rockets. Our job now is to mathematically prove why one went higher than the other.

“It really is pretty here,” she says, and I glance over at her. The early autumn day is warm and the brittle grass surrounding her is green and yellow. Above us are trees colored with orange and red leaves. I agree it’s a sight under the clear sky, but not for the reasons she believes. Breanna’s the one who’s pretty.

“I can’t believe I’ve never been here before,” she says.

“No one comes here.” It’s why I like it. This meadow is a quarter mile from my home. I stumbled across it the summer after Mom died. I couldn’t stomach being home, especially on those days Dad brought a girl to the house. Since that summer, this place has been my refuge.

It’s encircled by trees, and during the spring and summer, flowers of multiple types bloom. But what I found interesting as a kid was the abandoned railway trestle. I’ve walked over that bridge more times than I can count. I’ve even climbed to the top.

Breanna’s a vision with her black hair sprawled around her. There’s not a soul around for miles, which means this place is perfect for the two of us.

A distant rumble and the ground vibrates. Breanna rolls over to her stomach and I have to tear my gaze away from her tight ass to watch as a train flies around the bend and crosses the current railroad trestle farther down from where we’re settled. It’s because of the newer trestle that I was able to bring Breanna here. There’s an access path off the main highway. It’s dirt and it was bumpy, but Breanna rode the back of my bike like a pro—like she belonged there.

Like she belonged with me.

“It seems impossible, doesn’t it?” she asks.

My heart stops. Is she also thinking about us?

Breanna points at the paper in front of me. “The math. It’s impossible.”

The math. Get your shit together. “If acceleration is equal to gravity, then the number would be...”

“Negative 9.81 meters per second squared,” she rattles off. I’d give up my bike for a week to be inside her head for a minute.

She’s quiet while I focus on the problem, which I appreciate. When I solve the equation, her face brightens. “Wow.”

I prop my arms on my raised knees and pretend to admire the field. Yeah. Wow. If only everything in my life came as easily as it does with numbers. I wasn’t just admitted into AP in science, but in math, too. School told Dad my science score teetered on admission to the program, but it was my knowledge of numbers that pushed me over.

“You’re the anti-me, aren’t you?” she says.

I chuckle and it comes out bitter. I am. She’s beautiful and smart and all that’s good with the world. “Yeah.”

Her forehead furrows as she reads my expression. “I mean with math and the hacking stuff. Your brain is built for math whereas mine isn’t. Like how you knew how to apply the kinematic equation. I know the equation, but I have a hard time applying the knowledge. I’m saying you’re smart.”

“It’s a small town, Breanna. You’ve heard the rumors about me. Some of which are true.”

Breanna sits up, then regards the old abandoned trestle. It’s not the first time today she’s studied it with curiosity. “Do you ever go on the trestle?”

I nod.

“Is it safe?”

Evidently not for trains. I stand and extend my open palm to Breanna. She’s eager to explore and I like seeing her smile. Breanna slides her fingers into mine and our eyes meet. We stay that way, staring, our hands twined together. I’ve never held a girl’s hand before. Not in a way that means something.

Her skin is soft. Very soft, and I begin thinking thoughts that would cause Breanna to demand a restraining order—like how the skin of her stomach might also be this soft.

The pressure of her delicate fingers is heavier than most weights I’ve lifted. It’s like holding on to a promise and it causes me to be nervous. Me nervous. About what? About kissing her? About touching her? I’ve done things with girls a million times over, but not with Breanna.