Page 102 of The Aster Valley Collection, Vol. 2

FINN

If anyone had told me six months ago that I'd be straddling something hard between my legs that wasn't a man, I'd have laughed in their face.

Yet here I was, sitting on a bicycle seat that felt like it had been personally designed by the Marquis de Sade, wearing shorts with padding in places I didn't know needed padding, about to follow my boyfriend into the wilderness.

"Are you sure it's supposed to hurt this much?" I shifted, trying to find a position where my ass didn't feel like it was being assaulted by tiny, vengeful elves with pitchforks.

Declan's lips twitched with that infuriating almost-smile I both loved and hated. "Yes, it's completely normal. Your sit bones need time to adjust."

"My sit bones want to file assault charges against this demonic contraption," I grumbled, glaring at the bicycle I’d bought on a whim not that long ago. "And stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" he asked, all innocent sheriff face, which was total bullshit. I knew that face.

"Like I'm a helpless baby deer who's about to get eaten by wolves, but you think it's adorable anyway."

"I have never in my life seen a baby deer in bike shorts," Dec said, his eyes deliberately trailing down to said shorts—the ones that cost more than my first car and somehow made my dick look both prominent and ridiculous at the same time.

"I'll have you know I'm technically a professional athlete," I said, adjusting my helmet for the millionth time. The damn thing kept sliding to one side like it was trying to make a break for freedom.

Dec snorted. "Rock climbing for a TV show doesn't make you a professional athlete."

"Excuse you! I was one of the few child actors who did their own stunts. And, as you know, I still climb for fun. I'm in excellent shape."

"I'm well aware," Declan replied, his voice dropping into that register that usually preceded clothing removal, which was completely unfair when we were in public at a trailhead. "But mountain biking uses different muscles. You're about to discover muscles you didn't know existed."

"That sounds vaguely threatening," I muttered, but my heart wasn't in the complaint.

We were at the entrance to something called Moose Meadow Trail, which sounded peaceful and flat but probably contained actual angry moose waiting to trample me. The September air was crisp, the aspen leaves had turned gold, and everything around us looked like an REI catalog come to life.

"Okay, remember what I told you," Declan said, all serious-face now. "Keep your weight centered, look where you want to go, not at obstacles, and?—"

"Use my body, not my handlebars, to steer," I finished. "I've been studying YouTube tutorials all week, Dec. I've got this."

He raised an eyebrow. "YouTube tutorials?"

“Method acting,” I replied, not adding that I'd spent three hours down a rabbit hole of mountain biking crash compilations that had left me with minor PTSD. "Besides, I wanted to impress you."

His face softened in that way that still made my insides feel like warm pudding. "You impress me every day," he said quietly, leaning over to press a kiss to my temple. "Now, let's ride."

I took a deep breath. How hard could it be? It was just riding a bike, right? People did this for fun. Children did this. I'd survived Hollywood; I could survive a little trail ride.

Besides, if my ass ended up mangled, I knew someone who would happily volunteer to kiss it better.