Page 14 of That One Night (The Heartbreak Brothers Next Generation #4)

Chapter

Eleven

Stepping under the steaming hot spray, Hendrix closed his eyes and took in a long breath.

What was he thinking, offering to teach her to ride?

It had been bad enough touching her. The softness of her skin had made his dick harder than an iron bar.

And the way she’d looked down at him, her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but didn’t know how, made him want to stand up and kiss her until they were both breathless.

She’s taken, asshole.

Yeah, he knew. This whole thing was a bad idea. But then he’d always been the king of those.

It was just his way of making things up to her, that was all. There was no way he was changing his mind and watching her happy expression melt off her face again. They were friends. He was doing what friends did.

It would be fine.

By the time he walked outside, in a fresh pair of jeans and an old band t-shirt, she was waiting for him in his yard, her arms around Frank’s neck, the goat nuzzling against her soft chest.

He never thought he’d be jealous of a damn goat.

“Does this work?” she asked him, turning to look at him. Like he’d told her to, she’d changed into a pair of jeans and a black long sleeve sweater.

He wasn’t sure what he liked more. The fact she’d done as he’d asked her, or the fact that she was still looking at him like the sun shone from his ass.

What else would she do if he asked her? He pushed that thought down.

“Yep.” He held out the helmet he’d grabbed from his room. “Put this on.”

“ You don’t wear one,” she said, looking at the black shiny covering.

“That’s because I’m an idiot. And you have more brains than me. Put it on.”

Of course she did it. He tried to ignore the desire pulsing between his legs.

He took her hand, leading her to the bike he’d left in front of the porch stairs.

He wheeled it into the lane, turning it so that it was facing away from the main road.

They had at least a hundred yards of straight road ahead of them, more than enough for her to learn to ride.

He turned to look at her, gesturing at the bike.

“Sit on it.”

She reached for the handlebars, her fists delicate as they curled around the metal, then hitched her leg up and over the seat, settling onto the leather. His jaw tightened. God, she looked perfect on his bike.

He should have jacked off when he was in the shower. Because right now all he could think of was dragging her toward him and kissing her.

Ignoring the pulse between his thighs, he walked up behind her, so close he could smell the sweet floral notes of her shampoo from the strands of hair below the helmet.

His chest pressed against her back as he reached around her, circling her with his arms so he could hold on to her hands that were gripping the bars.

“You need to have a bend in your arms,” he told her, moving them until he could see the ninety-degree angle she needed for control.

“Okay,” she breathed, moving with him.

“This is the throttle,” he murmured in her ear, twisting the right handle bar. “It makes the bike go faster.” He moved her fingers down. “The front brake,” he told her, squeezing her hands to show her how to hold it. “You use this to slow the bike down.”

“To slow it down,” she muttered. “Got it.”

“The clutch,” he said, moving her left hand. “You use this to disengage the engine. That way you can shift gears with your left foot.” He slid his hands down her denim clad leg, showing her how to move it. Then he did the same to her right leg. “This one is the brake.”

“I’m never going to remember any of this.”

He laughed softly. “You’re smarter than me. You’ll be fine.”

She turned to look at him, a strange expression on her face. “I’m not smarter than you.”

“I think we both know you are. You went to college. Got a degree. I’m pretty sure you can ride a motorcycle.” He stood and took her right hand, pressing her thumb against the red plastic button jutting out of the handle. “Kill switch. It stops the engine. Use it if you need to.”

“What if I crash?” she asked him.

“You’re not gonna crash. You’re careful. You’ll go slow.”

She swallowed hard, like she was taking his words in. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

“What are you afraid of?” he asked her, his voice thick.

“Dying mostly.”

“I’m not gonna let you die, Emery. I’m just teaching you how to ride a bike.” He rocked the handlebars, showing how easily it moved. “This movement means it’s in neutral. A good time to start it up.” He flicked on the kill switch. “Remember where the clutch is?”

“Left hand.”

“You’re a fast learner.” Of course she was. “Now turn it, and I’ll kick on the engine.”

“You won’t let me get hurt, will you?”

“I got you.” He watched as she twisted her hand, and he kicked the engine on, smiling as she jumped at the way it roared to life. His bike wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t smooth. It was an angry beast.

“Okay?” he asked her.

“No.”

Dammit, he could see that from the way her body was trembling. “Listen, I’m gonna climb on the back,” he told her. “I’ll be right behind you. You’ve got this.”

He feel her body relax as he climbed on to ride pillion behind her. He had to get close, his chest pressed tight against her back, so he could cover her hands with his.

“I’m gonna kick the stand away. Then we’re gonna turn the clutch and you’ll press your left foot on the pedal to go into first gear. Once we’ve done that, you’ll hear the engine change and we’re gonna turn the throttle. Okay?”

She nodded and he kicked the stand, keeping them steady with his feet on the ground. He softly covered her clutch hand with his, turning it as she pressed her left foot down.

The engine immediately engaged. “Turn the throttle softly,” he told her.

“Once the bike moves, you put your feet on the rests.” He covered her right hand with his, slowly twisting it.

Her back was stiff against him, her knuckles bleached white from holding the throttle so tight.

The bike jolted forward, and she let out a soft yelp.

He kept his hand steady on hers as it jumped forward again, slowly turning it more, until the bike was moving smoothly, his body caging hers as they went.

“Hendrix Hartson, don’t you let go,” she screamed at him. He could hear the fear in her voice.

It made him want to hold her tighter.

“I’m here, sweetheart. I’m not letting go.” He squeezed her hands. “But we’re gonna need to brake. You ready for it?”

“No!”

He started to laugh again. Damn, he liked this woman way too much. “Squeeze the brake,” he told her. “Softly.”

“I hate this,” she cried out, but she still did as she was told.

A little too hard, actually. She started to yell as they lost speed too quickly, making them skid.

He took control of the handlebars, riding into it, feeling the bike turn as their speed dissipated, her body cradled by his as the wheels kicked up dirt.

And when they finally came to a stop, he could hear the way her breath was rapid and out of control.

He kicked the stand down, Emery caged between his arms. He was still holding her hands as her body slumped back against his.

“I hate motorcycles,” she muttered, her helmet hard against his chest.

“That’s a shame, because we need to turn around and ride back now.”

“I’m not riding anywhere. I’ll walk.”

He threaded his fingers into hers, squeezing them. “You’ve got this,” he told her. “It’ll be easier this time. And then you can mark another thing off your list.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” He was still grinning. “Now, I’m going to turn us around, then we’ll try again.”

It was almost midnight and she couldn’t sleep. Adrenaline was still coursing through her, despite it being hours since her bike lesson. Her mom was home now. Emery could hear the soft hum of the television coming from her bedroom. Another thing they shared – an inability to sleep.

Not that she cared right now. She was too busy feeling like she could conquer the world, thanks to Hendrix.

He’d spent almost an hour with her, teaching her to ride, before she’d heard the rumbling in his stomach and realized he hadn’t eaten dinner yet.

So he’d gone back to his house and she’d strode happily back to her place, feeling like a new Emery.

A badass motorcycle-riding first grade teacher with a tattoo on her ankle.

She couldn’t wait to tell Maisie that she’d ticked another item off the list. But she’d do that tomorrow. Her mom’s bedroom was too close for her to get away with that discussion right now.

Rolling onto her side, she pulled out the white t-shirt that was still under her pillow.

There was no excuse for it to still be there.

She’d changed the bedding more than once since the skinny dipping incident.

Yet each time, she’d tucked it back where it had come from because she didn’t have the energy to wash it and give it back to him.

Or that’s what she told herself.

It was warm from where she’d been lying on it. And it still smelled of him. If she closed her eyes she could picture herself sitting in his car, the two of them listening to loud rock music as he drove her to the supply store.

Almost like she’d conjured it up just by thinking about it, the rumble of a car engine outside cut through the silence of her bedroom.

It was getting closer, enough for her to hear the thrum of music coming out of the vehicle’s open windows.

She rolled over and got to her feet, padding across the floor and pulling the corner of her curtain open.

Because, no, apparently she wasn’t above spying on her super hot neighbor.

But instead of seeing Hendrix’s car pulling into his earthy driveway, she could see a small convertible. Red.

With a woman driving it.

A glance at her watch told her it was right before midnight. Her mouth felt dry as the woman – a blonde wearing a tiny, strapless black dress and high heels – walked up the path to the farm cottage. She looked young, though it was hard to see from here.

It gave her the smallest sense of satisfaction to see those ridiculously high heels get caught in a dried up divot of mud, making the blonde stumble.

But before she could even relish in it, the door to Hendrix’s cottage opened and the man himself was standing in the frame, the glow of his living room light behind him. There was a smile pulling at his lips as he said something to the blonde who giggled.

And then threw herself into his arms.

Emery’s stomach twisted. And she knew she didn’t have any reason to feel jealous. If he wanted to entertain young, blonde women in the middle of the night, he had every right to. Just because he was helping her with her list, it didn’t mean he owed her any kind of loyalty.

He also had every right to expect she wouldn’t be spying on him, yet she couldn’t look away.

The blonde pulled back from him, saying something that made him laugh. Then he grabbed her hand and pulled her inside, closing the door so that Emery couldn’t see what they were doing anymore.

Which was a good thing. A really good thing. She shouldn’t care. He was single, unattached. He didn’t owe her any explanations, and he absolutely didn’t owe her any loyalty.

But it still felt like a knife in the gut as she let the corner of the curtain drop, and walked back to bed, her heart feeling heavy.

Pulling the covers back over her, she stared up at the ceiling, at the cracks in the white paint, her eyes wide open. If she thought about it hard enough, maybe this would be a good thing.

It was obvious she had a crush on the man.

One she shouldn’t have, not just because everybody thought she was engaged, but because her life was a mess.

She had no relationship, no home, and until she managed to figure out how to clear her mom’s debts, she had no way of untangling herself from the man she hated.

Hendrix was with somebody. Whether it was casual or serious, it didn’t matter.

He was just trying to be her friend. It wasn’t his fault that she’d read more into it.

It was fine. Tomorrow was another day. The sun would rise, the world would wake up.

And somehow, she’d find a way to stop having feelings for Hendrix Hartson.