Page 44 of Ride Me Reckless

"You still light up when you talk about engines," I said gently. "Even now—when you told me about Hale—you didn't sound tired. You sounded alive."

She didn't respond.

So, I kept going.

"You think you're done. But it's in you, Tess. Always has been. It's in the way your hands move when you talk gear ratios. The way you still check your mirrors when you're not even driving. That kind of love doesn't just fade."

She let out a long breath as if I'd cracked something open that she wasn't ready to look at yet.

"You don't know what it's taken," she said. "To walk away."

"I know enough," I said quietly. "I know what it's like to pretend you don't need the thing you built your whole damn world around."

She finally met my eyes.

And there it was—every bit of it. The pull. The ache. The war she was still fighting inside.

She wanted to be done.

But she wasn't.

And I wasn't sure which part of that scared her more.

We stayed like that—stuck in something fragile and unfinished. Like neither of us wanted to say what came next.

Because we'd never been good at next.

Especially not with each other.

Tessa shifted, then stood, brushing her palms on her jeans. "You hungry?"

I arched a brow. "Starving. But unless this place is hiding a five-star chef behind curtain number two, I'm not exactly holding my breath."

Her mouth curved just a little. "What do you want?"

"Pizza," I said without hesitation. Then I added with a grin, "And a beer."

She rolled her eyes like I'd said something outrageous. "Not a chance on the beer, cowboy. But I'll see what I can do about the pizza."

She pulled out her phone and tapped a delivery app. Tessa could always order takeout faster than she could start a car. "Still like pepperoni?" she asked.

I gave her a look. "You serious?"

She smirked. "Just checking. People change."

"Not where it counts."

That earned me a glance I couldn't quite read. But she didn't argue.

Twenty minutes later, a kid barely old enough to shave showed up at the door with a greasy box and a single sweating cup of soda. Tessa tipped him, then turned to me with a half-apologetic shrug.

"One Coke. That's it. There was supposed to be two. Hope you're feeling generous."

I chuckled. "Just like old times."

She pulled the rolling tray table closer and popped open the box, the scent hitting me like a freight train full of memories. Greasy, hot pepperoni. Cheese that would burn your mouth if you didn't wait. Crust that could kill a diet in one bite.

Perfect.