Page 27 of Twisted Trails (Rogue Riders Duet #2)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Luc

Kitchen? Empty. Hallway? No sign.

I even peeked into the laundry room, just in case Payne talked Petite into something weird involving soap and wrenches, but I still can’t find them.

“Where the fuck?”

A soft clink of tools comes from outside.

Bingo.

I head out the front door, and there they are.

Mason is crouched next to his motocross bike, elbow-deep in something mechanical and manly, grease on his fingers like he’s trying to turn himself into a thirst trap for mechanics.

Beside him, Alaina sits on a fold-out chair, one leg pulled up, watching him with that quiet calm she rarely ever wears unless she’s riding or breaking people’s egos.

They’re not talking, and it’s weirdly peaceful, like one of those slow-motion moments in a movie right before the explosion. Only the explosion is me.

“Qu’est-ce que vous faites, mes amours?” I ask as I stroll up, stopping just short of Mason’s foot .

He squints up at me through the sun. “You know I don’t understand shit when you speak French.”

I grin. “I was asking, what are you guys doing?”

“Just checking everything over. Gonna take it for a spin in Italy and have to make sure it runs clean.”

I raise a brow. “Why wait till Italy? Wanna go for a ride now?”

His fingers still. “Can we even ride anywhere around here?”

“There’s a dirt track twenty minutes from here. Maybe less if you let me drive.”

“That close?” Alaina asks, tilting her head at me.

“ Bienvenue en campagne . We’re living in the middle of nowhere. It’s mountain biking, motocross, lavender, and sheep. That’s what we have.”

Alaina snorts, and I shoot her a wink.

“Sure.” Mason turns to her, hesitant. “You wanna?” But then his eyes drop to her hand, and his brows twitch. “Or we can do something else.”

“Ah, merde. ” I smack my own forehead. “I forgot about that. Sorry, Petite .”

She blinks. “What?”

“Your fingers,” Mason states as if it’s obvious. “You need your left hand for the clutch. And you can’t brak?—”

“You wanna tell me what I can and can’t do now?” She asks, her voice sharp as she stands, and the sun hits her, no hoodie, no binder, just a tee and bike shorts that hug her like a second skin.

Damn, she’s hot.

Her thighs are thick with muscle and cut from years of racing, flexing with every subtle shift of weight.

Strong. Beautiful.

“Uh-oh.” I smirk. “You made her mad. ”

“No.” Mason puts up his hands in surrender. “But you can’t hold on to a motocross like that. Not properly.”

She folds her arms and pushes her perfect tits up with the movement. “I can hold onto a bike just fine. I’ll have to next week.”

“But your downhill bike isn’t shooting forward at seventy kilometers an hour,” Mason argues, and honestly, I’m impressed he stands up to her like that. I would have already folded.

I tilt my head. “Good thing we brake with our forefinger and middle finger, or you wouldn’t be racing next week either.”

She turns to me, raises a brow with that smug curve to her lips that hits me right in the fucking chest. “You brake?”

Goddamn.

Fuck, I love this woman.

I’m about to kiss her just because I can and because she’s perfect for me, when Mason sighs and stands, wiping his hands on a cloth, looking biteable.

“I just don’t feel like it’s a good idea.”

“Come on.” I throw my arm around his shoulder. “Don’t be like that. If she wants to go, we go. If it doesn’t work, she sits behind you or me.”

Mason glares up at me. “We’re not gonna make her backpack on a motocross, that’s way too dangerous.”

“Yeah.” Alaina grins now. “If anything, you guys are going to backpack while I ride away from you both.”

I throw my head back and laugh, while Mason mutters something under his breath, probably a prayer or a curse, but he doesn’t say no, so we load up the van.

Mason is quiet again, and I’d tease him for it, but he’s hyperfocused, strapping the motocross into the rear hangar.

Alaina rolls her eyes at how meticulous he’s being, but I catch the way her gaze lingers on his hands.

Greasy, skilled, and currently cinching down the last strap with a grunt that’s way filthier than it should be.

Yeah, Petite , our pretty boy is hot as fuck.

“Can I drive?” I ask casually, twirling the van keys around my finger.

Mason wipes his hands on a rag again and shrugs. “I can. It’s my van.”

“But I know the way,” I say, nodding toward the cab. “Easier that way.”

He considers me for a second, then nods. “Sure. Fine.”

We climb in, me in the driver’s seat, Mason opening the passenger door, and Alaina hovering, gaze flicking between the two of us. Her eyes land on the crowded bench of the back row, half buried in tools and spare parts. It’s a death trap on wheels back there.

“I can be in the back,” she offers, already halfway turning.

“No way,” Mason says instantly. “It’s way too dangerous with all the tools rolling around when we’re in motion. You can sit with me.”

He sits down and reaches out, catches her waist, and pulls her effortlessly into his lap, before he pulls the seat belt over both of them and clicks it into place.

“That okay, Bambi?” he murmurs, voice low and brushed with something that makes my neck flush.

Alaina’s cheeks go crimson as she nods once, eyes wide and shimmering, and damn , she really does look like a startled deer right now. Soft, wide-eyed, a little breathless.

Aaand, I’m hard.

Shifting in my seat, I try to make it look like I’m adjusting my phone or something. Definitely not repositioning myself because my girl just went full shy mode on my man’s lap .

I’m going to dream about this scenario, but we’re all going to wear much less clothing.

I turn the key. The engine rumbles to life beneath us, and the van jerks forward a little too eagerly. Glancing over as we pull out, I catch the sight of Mason’s arms snug around her waist, Alaina leaning back into him like she’s known the shape of him her whole life.

Fuck, those two are dangerous together.

Like cliff edges or lightning.

Like sex you feel three days later and still want more of.

And maybe, if I’m patient enough, if I play it right, there’s a way I could slide right into the middle of them.

Mason said he’s a top, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since, because yeah, thanks to Petite , my brain has done more than flirt with the idea of gay sex.

I’ve imagined it, messy sheets and moaning and a lot of butt stuff, but I always figured Petite would be the one with the knees up, flushed and begging.

Now it seems that if I want that ride, I’m the one getting it. It’s not like I’m opposed to it. I’m just new, curious, maybe even cautious.

Hell, I should order some toys, do some test rides by myself, and learn the terrain. I don’t want Mason to think I’m a clueless virgin who doesn’t know what he does or doesn’t like.

My eyes flick to him again, and how he’s tracing slow circles on the flowers on Alaina’s forearm, lips ghosting the side of her head.

And fuck me, I just know Mason would be nice about it. Gentle, patient. He’d make it feel good for me. I trust him.

I mean, I’m letting him hold my girl like that, while I’m driving and we’re all squished in the front seat, pretending it’s not the weirdest, most intimate throuple moment of the year .

That’s how much I trust him.

I trust him with her.

So I’ll have no problem trusting him with my ass too.

Way too quickly, we arrive at the track. I park the van on the edge, kill the engine, and we all pile out. The air is dry, the earth damp and solid, and I can already smell the adrenaline.

We unload the motocross bikes, and Mason checks them again because, of course, he does .

“Come on, Payne,” Alaina teases. “Let’s get moving.”

Mason smirks but doesn’t rush. Finally satisfied, he swings one leg confidently over the bike, settling into position. “You sure you can handle this?”

Without hesitation, Alaina steps closer, swings her leg effortlessly over, and parks herself right in front of him like she owns it. And him . Feet on the stand, hips tilted just enough, her ass pressing flush to his waist like she’s daring him to hold on.

“See?” she throws over her shoulder. “I can handle myself just fine.”

Payne’s hands come up and settle on her hips, thumbs grazing the waistband of her pants like it’s muscle memory, his gaze glued to her ass.

I lick my bottom lip, watching the whole thing like it’s my personal cinema screening. Mason is pretending to behave, but I see the way his cheeks pinken and his fingers tighten, just slightly.

Possessive little thing.

Fuck, they’re hot.

So hot I don’t even try to pretend I’m unaffected as I yell, “You guys look hot as fuck.”

Mason flinches like he forgot I was there, mutters something under his breath, and slides off the bike to give her space.

The second she’s seated properly, Alaina reaches for the helmet, pulls it on, guns the throttle once, and shoots off, making the tires spit gravel in her wake.

I step up next to Payne, whose eyes are still on the trail where she disappeared. His jaw is tight, and I just know he’s thinking way too hard. So I wrap my arms around his waist from behind, chin resting on his shoulder.

“She does that to you, too, huh? Sets your blood on fire.”

He doesn’t answer.

“You good?” I murmur into the space between his neck and shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, leaning back just enough to let me know it’s okay. “You good too?”

“I so am.” I pause, tracking her line across the ridge. “We’re together now.”

He eases out of my arms, brows knitting as he stares at the dirt near his boots. “I understand.”

“No, you don’t.” I step in front of him and nudge his chin up so he looks at me. “I want to be with you too.”

That makes his brow pull tighter. “Luc, I will not compete with her, and I won’t take you away from her.”

“You don’t have to,” I say softly.

“What are you even saying?”

“She said I can have you both.”

His eyes snap wide. “She did?”