Page 10 of Egg Me On (Front Range Motorcycle Collective #1)

Aiden

When the low rumble of a motorcycle engine vibrated through the windows, my stomach performed an Olympic-level gymnastics routine.

I swallowed hard, shouldered my bag, and headed for the door, grabbing the bag I’d packed for the campout.

I’d tried to be efficient, knowing space on the motorcycle was limited, but it still seemed like a lot.

"Is that him?" Mira appeared from the kitchen, coffee mug in hand, her expression halfway between concern and resignation.

“You know it’s him. He’s been driving me to work for two weeks.”

“Yeah. That’s weird. He keeps giving you rides, even after he fixed your car. Why is that?” Mira asked. "Is it because you’re part of a motorcycle gang now?"

"They’re not a motorcycle gang, Mira. Just a group of people with the same hobby.” I couldn’t actually explain why Cash was still driving me to work, why he showed up like clockwork every morning at 7 am, sometimes when I wasn’t even sure he had to be at work himself.

She rolled her eyes. "Well, have fun sitting on the back of a death machine with Mr. Personality."

"He's a good rider," I defended, feeling heat creep up my neck. "And he's... not that bad."

"How would you be able to tell? He doesn’t do anything but grunt." Her knowing smirk made me want to disappear through the floor.

I flipped her off affectionately. “You’re always telling me I need a life outside the food truck. Now I get one and you’re mad?”

“I didn’t expect it to be a motorcycle gang!” she said. “I meant, like, go to some gay bars or something. There’s one that does line dancing!”

“I’m not into line dancing. I’m into camping.

” That was a lie and she damn well knew it.

“Besides, they’re paying me to be there.

Best of both worlds—a job that’s fun! Deal with it.

” I stuck my tongue out at her, then stepped onto the porch, whatever I was about to say dying on my lips as I caught sight of Cash and his motorcycle.

Holy. Fucking. Shit. Why was that sight always so sexy?

He’d driven me to work just two days ago, but today, his Harley looked different, and it took me a minute to realize it was a different bike.

This one had bigger hard-shelled saddlebags on it, and a backrest on the passenger seat.

Tucked behind it, there was another luggage box. He was ready to carry a lot of stuff.

He often wore a half-helmet while commuting to work, but today he had a matte black full-face helmet that made him look like even more of a badass.

He tugged it off and hung it on the handlebars, then looked my way, his expression as inscrutable as ever.

He wore full gear — protective gloves, black motorcycle pants out of some techy-looking fabric, and heavy boots.

His protective leather jacket was zipped halfway up over a black t-shirt.

The morning sun caught in his dark stubble, highlighting the strong line of his jaw.

I swallowed hard and tried not to trip down my own steps.

"Morning," I called, aiming for casual and missing by about a mile. My voice came out an octave too high.

Cash nodded once, his eyes taking me in with that laser-focused intensity that always made my skin tingle.

Without a word, he reached into the box on the back and pulled out a sleek, full-face helmet—it was dark purple with a subtle shimmer, with a thin rainbow stripe running down the middle.

It looked brand new and expensive as hell. And perfectly my style.

He held it out to me.

“You bought me a helmet?” I took it, running my fingers over the smooth surface, something warm unfurling in my chest. "Or like… for all your passengers to share?”

He rolled his eyes, already turning back to the bike. He pulled a leather jacket from beneath it, holding it out.

The jacket was gorgeous—supple black leather with subtle pockets that held protective pads on the back, shoulders, and elbows. When I took it, our fingers brushed briefly, sending an electric current up my arm. I held the jacket to my chest, suddenly overwhelmed by the gesture.

"Cash, this is too much. You didn't have to—"

"For safety,” he cut me off, but he wouldn't meet my eyes, and I could've sworn I saw the faintest hint of color on his cheeks.

Right. Safety. Not because he cared or anything.

Except for my safety. I bit back a smile and shrugged into the leather jacket, inhaling the rich scent of new leather and something distinctly Cash-like that clung to the collar.

It fit perfectly, hugging my shoulders and tapering at the waist like it had been custom made.

"How did you know my size?" I asked, flexing my arms experimentally.

Cash's eyes followed the movement, lingering on where the leather stretched across my chest. He didn’t answer.

I stepped closer to the bike, admiring the imposing machine.

“Different bike,” I observed, running my fingers over the padded leather.

"Is this one the one you use for longer rides?

It's fucking comfy looking. I could see how it would be good for a long ride.

I could change position with this backrest." I grinned up at him. “Thank you for wanting me to be safe and comfortable. I’ll be sure to pay you back, okay?”

Cash shrugged but said nothing. The silence stretched between us, charged but not uncomfortable.

I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m serious. Thank you, Cash. For taking care of me.”

When he said nothing, it got a little awkward, so I stepped back and lifted the helmet, sliding it over my head.

The interior was plush and perfectly sized, cradling my skull without pressure points.

The visor locked into place with a satisfying click, and suddenly the world was muted, my breathing loud in my ears.

Cash stepped closer, his hands lifting to adjust the chin strap, fingers brushing against my neck. Then he fiddled with something on the chin of the helmet, an air vent, maybe?

He stepped back and raised an eyebrow, silently questioning, and I knew what he was asking without him needing to say anything.

"It fits perfectly," I said, my voice sounding strange to my own ears. "Like it was made for me."

Something flickered across his face—satisfaction, maybe? He nodded once, then motioned toward the bike with a tilt of his head.

Mira hovered in the doorway, arms crossed. "Take care of my brother, motorcycle man, or I'll hunt you down." Her tone was light, but the threat was real. “I’m going to law school.”

“She watched Legally Blonde one too many times, and somehow thinks the message was vigilante justice,” I muttered. “But she’s my only family, so I tolerate her.”

Cash’s eyebrows shot up as he glanced inside the house.

“My grandma raised us, and she passed last year. This was her house. Ours now. In case you wondered about the curtains.”

“He won’t change them. Says it dishonors her memory,” Mira grumped. “Even her ghost knows they’re like 70 years out of style.”

Cash’s lips twitched like he was holding back a laugh, then he turned and met her eyes. "I’ll keep him safe," he said with a certainty that made my knees weak.

“Make sure he takes a break to have some fun, too. He’s convinced he’s not allowed that,” she added before turning back inside and slamming the door.

Then, with a fluidity that spoke of years of practice, he swung his leg over the bike and settled into the seat, the machine dipping slightly under his weight.

While he adjusted his helmet and pulled on his gloves, I secured my bag in the luggage case the helmet had been in, then stood beside the motorcycle, suddenly nervous.

This wasn't like the quick rides to and from work.

This was hours on the road, my body pressed against his the entire time. My mouth went dry at the thought.

This was going to be a long ride. A very long, very enjoyable ride.

With a deep breath, I swung my leg over the bike, settling into the passenger seat behind him. The backrest pressed reassuringly against my spine, and Cash's broad back loomed before me, solid and warm. I tentatively placed my hands on his shoulders, suddenly unsure where they should go.

He sighed loud enough that I could hear it in my helmet, and reached back to grab me, hauling me close and pulling my arms around his waist, settling my hands against his stomach.

“I know, I’ve been riding with you for long enough that I should have known that,” I said, laughing. “But this is different.”

My chest was now pressed fully against his back, my thighs bracketing his. Even through the layers of technical gear, I could feel the heat of him, the solid strength of his body. I swallowed hard, grateful for the helmet that hid my flushed face.

“Fuck, I’d better not have a hard-on for this entire ride,” I muttered, sure he couldn’t hear me through our helmets.

Cash kicked the bike to life, the engine rumbling beneath us like a slumbering beast. The vibration traveled up through my core, settling in places that made me bite my lip. He glanced back at me once more, like he always did when he wanted to know if I was ready.

“Ready!” I yelled, tightening my arms around his waist, and we pulled away from the curb with a smooth acceleration that forced me to tighten my arms around him.

The city streets gave way to wider roads as we headed toward the outskirts of Denver.

The roar of the engine and the rush of wind made conversation impossible, forcing me into a bubble of sensation—the vibration of the bike, the occasional lean into curves that made me cling tighter, Cash's body solid and steady beneath my hands.

I shivered involuntarily—not from cold, but from the sheer sensory overload of being so close to him, smelling the leather and faint cologne that clung to his jacket.

"Cold?" he asked, voice carrying through the helmet better than I expected.

"No, I'm—" I started, but he'd already grabbed my hands.