Page 16 of Fire Me Up (Front Range Motorcycle Collective #2)

Gael

I couldn’t stop pacing. Two days since Dylan had turned my world upside down, and I still felt him everywhere—the phantom press of his body against mine, the lingering ache between my legs that reminded me with every step that I’d finally discovered what I’d been missing.

This morning, he’d texted to say he was coming to pick me up, and I had no idea what it meant. Were we just friends who fucked? Was this a casual hangout? Or was it something more, something I truly wanted?

Liv peered at me over the edge of her tablet. “You’re making Bacon nervous.”

I glanced down at my orange cat, who watched my back-and-forth with lazy interest, tail flicking. He didn’t look nervous at all. He was sprawled across the coffee table like he owned it.

Still, I didn’t want him anxious, so I stopped pacing and picked up Bacon’s backpack carrier from where I’d left it by the door. “Come on, buddy. Adventure time.”

“Adventure time? He’s a cat,” Liv said.

I unzipped the front panel and set the carrier on the floor.

Bacon perked up immediately. His ears swiveled forward, and he leapt down from the coffee table with surprising grace for his slightly thick physique.

More evidence that his chonk was probably mostly muscle.

He sniffed at the entrance, then walked right in like he was boarding a first-class flight and settled down.

“At least one of us is excited.” I lifted Bacon a little and fitted his harness, checking each clip twice.

“You’re excited too,” Marisol said, emerging from the kitchen with a mug of her disgusting herbal tea. “You’re just hiding it under a mountain of anxiety.”

“I’m not anxious,” I lied, zipping Bacon securely into his carrier. He settled, purring loud enough that I could feel the vibration through the fabric. “I’m just… thinking.”

“About Dylan’s dick?”

I choked. “Jesus, Liv!”

“She’s right. You keep zoning out with this dopey smile that can only mean you guys… hit it off.” Marisol fixed me with a knowing look. “It’s cute, actually. I’ve never seen you this sprung over anyone.”

“I’m not sprung,” I protested weakly, knowing it was a lie. “We’re just… friends. Who are… exploring things.”

Liv raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of tea. “Friends don’t look at each other the way Dylan looks at you.”

My heart skipped. “How does he look at me?”

“Like he wants to climb you like a tree,” Liv said.

“Like he sees something special,” Marisol corrected, shooting Liv a look.

I sat on the edge of the couch, Bacon’s carrier in my lap. “He doesn’t feel the same way. He told me it’s just lust. That it burns hot and then it’s done.”

“I’m just saying

The doorbell rang, cutting her off. I froze, eyes widening.

“Oh shit, he’s here.”

“Yes, that’s generally what happens when someone is picking you up.” Liv rolled her eyes. “Go get the door, you big dork. Who cares if he says it’s a fling? Win him over with your cute smile and your ridiculous backpack cat.”

I stood, gripping the carrier like a lifeline. My palms were sweating. What the hell was wrong with me? I faced burning buildings for a living, but opening the door to Dylan Kim had me weak in the knees.

“You look great,” Marisol assured me, taking pity on my obvious panic. “Go.”

I nodded, took a deep breath, and crossed to the door.

I opened it, and there he was, leaning against the frame in a faded black T-shirt and jeans that hugged his thighs in all the right ways.

His purple-tipped hair was slightly messy as always, and he wore a leather jacket that made him look so handsome and cool I forgot how words worked.

“Hey,” he said, his eyes running over me.

“Hey,” I managed, embarrassingly breathless.

He grinned, and my heart did a somersault. “Ready to go?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Behind me, Liv snickered, and I shot her a death glare over my shoulder. I looped Bacon’s carrier over my left shoulder, then winced as it pulled on my injury.

“You okay?” Dylan asked, eyeing me.

“Yeah, it’s fine. They want me to work on range of motion, so that wasn’t a bad wince,” I said in a rush.

Liv stood and bustled us out. “Be good to my brother, Dylan. I know where you work.”

Dylan’s grin widened. “I’ll have him home by curfew, Mom.”

“Make sure you don’t,” Marisol countered, appearing beside me. “We don’t mind at all if Gael is gone all day on this adventure. Frees up our couch.”

The way she emphasized “adventure” made me want to disappear through the floor. I pushed past, stepping into the hallway and pulling the door closed behind me.

“Sorry about that,” I said. “My sisters think they’re hilarious.”

Dylan laughed, the sound making my stomach flip. “They are. And they care about you.” He glanced down at the carrier. “Hey, Bacon. Ready for a ride?”

Bacon meowed in response, and Dylan tapped the mesh window with his fingertip.

“So,” I said, struggling to sound casual. “What’s the plan for today?”

Dylan’s eyes met mine, and the spark there made my breath catch. “I thought we’d try something different. If you’re up for it.”

Different. My mind raced with possibilities, each more explicit than the last. Was this a date? Another lesson? Did it matter, as long as I got to be with him?

“I’m up for anything,” I said, and meant it.

The spring air hit my face as we stepped outside, a welcome relief. Dylan walked ahead toward the curb where his motorcycle waited, and I forced myself not to stare at the way his jeans hugged his ass.

I failed miserably.

At least I had the excuse of carrying Bacon’s backpack—something to focus on besides the urge to slide my hand into Dylan’s back pocket.

“So I was thinking we’d go for a hike,” Dylan said, stopping beside his Yamaha. “There’s this trail up in the foothills with an amazing view. Not too many people this time of year.”

I blinked, trying to process. “A hike? Is that, uh I cleared my throat, heat creeping up my neck. “Is that part of the lessons? Or just as friends?”

The moment it left my mouth, I wanted to punch myself. Could I sound any more desperate?

“I mean,” I backpedaled quickly, “either way is fine. I like hiking. And friendship. And… other stuff.”

Jesus Christ, just shut up already.

Dylan’s lips quirked in that half-smile that made my knees weak.

“It’s whatever you want it to be, Gael.” He stepped closer, voice dropping.

“I figured you might want to try something with all the straights around. Like holding hands while we hike. Just so you won’t be nervous when you have a real boyfriend. ”

My brain stuttered over “real boyfriend” like it hit a pothole. The implication that Dylan wasn’t—or couldn’t be—sent a sharp ache through my chest. But he wanted to hold my hand. In public. With people around.

That was good, right?

“That sounds good. Very educational.”

Dylan laughed, the sound warming me from the inside out. “I try.” He gestured toward his motorcycle, and I noticed for the first time that something was different.

Attached to the right side of his Yamaha was a sleek blue sidecar that hadn’t been there before.

Not one of those vintage rounded things—modern and sporty, matching the lines of the bike.

But what really caught my attention was the small rack mounted at the back of the sidecar, clearly designed to hold Bacon’s carrier securely.

“You…” I swallowed hard, something huge and overwhelming swelling in my chest. “You added a sidecar? For us?”

Dylan shrugged, but I caught the hint of color in his cheeks. “This is a different bike. See? It’s a 2004.”

“Yeah, I have no idea what that means.”

“I bought this bike with the sidecar last year. Usually only use it for camping gear. But I figured it would be safer than having you try to balance the cat while riding pillion.”

I stared, at a loss for words. He’d thought about our safety, about Bacon’s comfort. He’d modified his setup for us. This wasn’t how someone acted who only wanted casual lessons.

“The rack is new, though,” he admitted, running his hand over the custom-fitted attachment near the footwell.

“But it was easy to make. Just some basic welding.” He hesitated, then added with a self-deprecating grin, “ADHD brain got stuck on ‘make it perfect for Gael and Bacon,’ and, uh… I kinda went down a rabbit hole last night.”

“Just some basic welding,” I echoed, my heart doing somersaults. If Dylan Kim kept being this thoughtful, I was going to need cardiac intervention. “For my cat.”

“I mean, he has that leash. He likes hikes, right? Come on, let’s get you guys settled.” Dylan reached into a saddlebag and pulled out a helmet, handing it to me. “This should fit. It’s adjustable.”

I took the helmet, our fingers brushing. Even that small contact sent electricity racing up my arm. I was so screwed.

“And for the adventure cat,” Dylan continued, pulling something else from his bag, “cat goggles. They’re specially made for pets.”

I stared at the tiny goggles—orange-tinted with an elastic strap—and burst out laughing. “You got cat goggles? For real?”

“Hell yeah. Your cat deserves to ride in style.” He looked ridiculously proud of himself.

I knelt and unzipped Bacon’s carrier just enough to try fitting the goggles. Bacon, unsurprisingly, had other ideas. He batted them with his paw, then grabbed the strap with his teeth.

“Okay, buddy, maybe no goggles today.” I zipped him back up, making sure he had room to move. “Some cats just aren’t ready for high fashion.”

Dylan laughed, helping me secure the carrier to the rack he’d built.

The setup was impressively well thought out—padding to minimize vibration and straps to keep everything in place.

Once Bacon was secured, I pulled on the helmet and climbed into the sidecar.

The seat was behind his carrier, so it was like Bacon sat in my lap, but securely fastened to the vehicle.

It was… lower than I expected. Sitting in it, I felt practically on the ground, the asphalt uncomfortably close. The sidecar itself was comfortable, padded with a small windscreen, but the perspective was disorienting. My palms itched for handlebars. I’m a driver, not cargo.

“Everything okay?” Dylan asked, watching my face.

“It’s a little… exposed.” I adjusted my position, scanning traffic, exits, mirrors—habit. “Like a big truck might run me over and think it hit a speed bump.”

Dylan grinned. “No one’s gonna run you over. Just relax and enjoy the ride.”

Relax. Right. I wasn’t built for passenger seats. I’m the guy who drives, who plans, who carries people out. But I made myself unclench my fists. I could let him lead. For a little while.

He swung his leg over the motorcycle, and I tried not to stare at his thigh muscles.

He pulled on his own helmet, slid the key in, and the engine roared to life.

I checked on Bacon, who seemed completely unfazed.

The little traitor was already curled up for a nap, apparently unaware we were about to risk our lives on the open road.

The first few minutes were terrifying. Every car felt too close; every turn had me gripping the sidecar, certain we’d flip.

But Dylan drove with a confidence that gradually eased my fear.

He navigated traffic smoothly, took corners at careful angles that kept the rig steady—hyperfocus in motion, all precision and care.

We turned onto a quieter mountain road, traffic thinning, and I finally relaxed enough to enjoy it. The sensation of speed without enclosure was exhilarating—the cool air rushing past, the scenery unfolding around us in panoramic spring greens dotted with wildflowers.

But the best view was Dylan. From my position, I could watch him control the bike—the steady grip on the bars, the fluid lean into curves, the solid strength of his thighs hugging the tank.

Sun caught in his purple-tipped hair where it peeked out from his helmet, and even through the tinted visor I could see the intensity of his focus, the hint of a smile playing at his lips.

This wasn’t just lust. It couldn’t be. Not when the simple sight of him made my chest ache with something dangerously close to adoration. And not when I realized how much it rattled me to hand over control—and how much I wanted to do it again, with him.