Page 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

COLLINS

I t’s two days later when I pull my bike up outside Rise Up and push through the door in full leathers. The one good thing about this kind of weather? I’m not sweating my tits off when dressed like this.

Since I’m five minutes early for meeting Kendra, I join the line and put in my regular black coffee and sandwich order with Ed.

The last forty-eight hours has seen my mood improve, thanks to two much-needed days off and binge-watching multiple ’80s movies. With a few exceptions, I’ve concluded that I was born in the wrong decade—’80s music, bikes, movies, and the vibes in general were far superior to anything this century has to offer.

Ed hands me my coffee and nods toward the back of the café. “Kendra called ahead of time and asked if I could save three window seats, so you’re right over there.”

I frown as he sets the chopped cheese sandwich on my tray. “Three?”

He nods. “Yeah, I thought maybe you were meeting her and Jack?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

Ed’s attention snags on my bike parked outside. “Nice wheels. Is it a Glide Ultra Limited?”

“You know your bikes?”

I’d pin Ed as in his forties, so it’s not surprising that he’d recognize my black 1981 model.

“Yeah, I refurbed her a year back. She was in a bad state when I picked her up. The owners were ready to scrap her for parts, but all she needed was some TLC.”

“Wait. You’re the pink-haired girl from the photos.”

At the sound of a young male voice, I turn with my tray. Initially, I only see Kendra, her black Storm beanie pulled low over her blonde hair. Then I set eyes on a much smaller, younger version of a guy I essentially told to fuck off two days ago. Same dark hair, same green eyes. Same everything.

Ezra.

Kendra doesn’t say anything, eyes scanning my leathers.

I take the opportunity to throw my friend a what the fuck glare. She could’ve told me she was bringing him here after soccer practice.

She smiles sweetly, and I pull my attention back to the twelve-year-old giving me a once-over.

He cocks his head to the side and smiles. Jesus , even their facial expressions are identical.

“You are the pink-haired girl.” He adjusts the training bag thrown over his left shoulder. “Do you only wear black?”

Kendra rolls her lips together, fighting back laughter. “That’s the exact same thing I thought when I first met you,” she giggles.

I’m not good with kids. I’m terrible with people in general, but kids? Yeah, I’m at a whole new level of ineptness. They’re a bit like bear cubs—unpredictable, but kind of cute. And I don’t know what to do with that. Other than when I was one myself, I’ve never been around them, and with no experience to guide me, interacting with or knowing what to say to them doesn’t come easily to me.

“I like black.” I lift a shoulder and start for the reserved bench at the window.

“Ezra, why don’t you go ahead and follow Collins? I’ll get our order in.”

“You are the pink-haired girl in the pictures with my dad, right?” He repeats his question as we reach our seats.

The last time I was in this café, Kendra told me Ezra was withdrawn and not very sociable.

Unlikely.

“You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” I bite down on my sandwich as he takes the stool next to me.

While he plays with the toggles on his dark blue hoodie, I take in his profile. He has a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, and I wonder if they’re also from his dad or if his mom had them too.

“The other kids at school, they said Dad definitely had a girlfriend, and he was lying when he denied he knew you. They said he was dating a ‘college girl.’” He studies me for a couple of beats. “How old are you?”

I am so out of my depth right now.

I stir my coffee profusely. “How old do you think I am?”

He twists his lips to the side, deep in thought. “Twenty?”

I scoff. “I wish. I’m twenty-six, meaning your friends are doubly wrong. I’m not a college girl, and I’m also not your dad’s girlfriend.”

His shoulders drop an inch, and I don’t like that they do.

“They aren’t my friends.”

“Okay, I ordered you a grilled cheese.” Kendra sets a strawberry shake down in front of Ezra, and he immediately starts playing with the straw. “I’m going to use the restroom.” She flashes me another smile and heads off quickly.

I turn back to Ezra, uneasy over his last comment. “But you have friends, right?”

He puffs out a breath. “Some, I guess, mainly on Fortnite.”

“As in the video game?”

He takes a pull from his shake. “I’m good at it, so that makes me popular with them.”

I sip my coffee, searching for a way to brighten the dejected look on his face. “I get that. I’m good with bikes and refurbishing them. I have an Instagram page dedicated to my girl outside.” I tap the glass in front of us. “I documented her overhaul from start to finish, and my page got popular really fast.”

“Wait.” Ezra leans toward the window, craning his neck to look down the sidewalk. “That black motorcycle is yours?”

I glance down at my leathers. “Who else would it belong to?”

His eyes widen a touch. “That’s so cool. How many followers do you have?”

“Ummm … maybe ten thousand?”

His jaw pops open. “That’s so many. Dad has, like, a million, but he never posts on there. When he does, it’s all boring gameplay and sponsor crap.”

I fight back a snort. The potential for banter with Ezra at his dad’s expense is real, but I resist the urge to keep down this route and change course.

“So, you were at soccer practice with Kendra?” I ask.

He scrunches his face up, pushing away his milkshake. “Dad thinks I need to find a sport to play. He keeps going on about ‘too much screen time.’ Blah, blah. Thing is, I don’t like sports—never have, never will. I’m not that big on going to hockey games either.”

This lunch date has somehow gone from wanting to ream my friend out for turning up with a kid I never thought I would meet to immediately enjoying his company.

Ezra’s grilled cheese is set down in front of him right as Kendra joins us.

“Okay, so your dad will be here in a few minutes. He just finished practice.”

I choke on my coffee. “Like, coming here?”

I didn’t share my and Sawyer’s exchange at the bus stop with Kendra or my feelings about the way he answered the media in Colorado. She wouldn’t get it. She’d just see a guy trying to protect my privacy, along with his own, and doing what we’d agreed. But finding reasons to be pissed at someone is an easy way to keep your distance.

“Jesus.” Kendra stares down at Ezra’s plate, pulling her coffee mug toward her. “You eat faster than Jack.”

His head darts to me, eyes wide. “Can I see your bike before I go?”

A tiny smile traces Kendra’s lips.

“You can look. But I can’t take you out on it or anything,” I say, unsure if I should allow even that.

“Awesome.” Ezra’s already off the stool and heading for the door.

I take a second to look at Kendra. “Did you deliberately set this up?”

She shakes her head, taking a large sip of coffee. “Seriously, Sawyer was supposed to get him straight from practice, but it got delayed, so I offered to bring him here for something to eat.”

I slide off my stool and raise a brow. “Are you staying here or coming out with us?”

She peers down at her almost-empty—and probably cold—coffee. “I need to stay and finish this.”

“Huh, yeah, okay,” I reply, taking off out of the café and after Ezra.

“This bike looks kind of old,” Ezra says as we stand next to each other on the sidewalk, his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie. “But old in a cool way.”

“It was built in the ’80s.”

His jaw drops open. “Wow, that was a really long time ago.”

I nod and suppress a laugh. “Similar time to when your dad was born.”

“Really?” he asks, doubt across his face.

“No lie.” I nod, knowing technically Sawyer was born in the nineties, but he’s old all the same. “She has all her original parts, bar a few pieces that were broken when I got her.”

Ezra just stands, staring at the bike.

I know I shouldn’t, but the passion I see in his eyes overrides all common sense, and I’m speaking before I can stop myself. “Do you want to sit on her?”

His attention whips to me. His pure excitement makes me feel only good things. “For real?!”

It isn’t so busy today, and I guess thirty seconds wouldn’t hurt.

I pinch my thumb and forefinger at him. “I’m talking seconds. That’s it.”

Standing at the front of my bike, I hold the handlebars to keep it steady as Ezra climbs on. Unlike a Low Rider—which I would struggle to ride, given my petite frame—this model sits slightly higher, and since Ezra is tall, like his dad, he doesn’t struggle to get into a comfortable position.

He wraps his hands around the rubber grips, checking out the analog speedometer. “Does it go really fast?”

“Top speed is a hundred and ten miles per hour.”

He drops his shoulders. “That’s kind of slow. Dad’s Lamborghini goes way faster.”

I’m aware from when I last rode in it.

“It’s more built for comfort and cruising, not to race.”

He nods his head, turning over his shoulder at the empty seat behind him. “Is this for another per?—”

“Ezra, what are you doing?” interrupts an unimpressed male voice, and we both turn toward it.