Page 36 of Twisted Trails (Rogue Riders Duet #2)
“No, it’s not just you. I’m probably thinking about that boy more than he thinks in general.”
But he shares that space in my head with you and Finn.
Mason throws his head back and laughs loud and hard.
He looks fucking adorable when he laughs.
Yeah, I’m so fucked.
Luc seems to have heard him, too, because he glances over, still grinning like sunshine, and gives me a little nod of approval.
I grin back at him, everything in me feeling lighter.
But then a shadow falls over us as a guy steps right in front of the sun, phone already up like we’re on stage, and he’s filming a goddamn documentary.
“Allen Crews!”
The UCI social media guy. Of course it is.
Fuck.
His eyes flick to Mason but don’t linger, like he’s not important. Fucker. “We were all wondering if you’re coming back for the race.”
“Yeah,” I say flatly, already annoyed. “I’m back.”
“Perfect.” He grins wider, still filming. “Can you tell us a bit about what happened and how you’re planning to come back to this race?”
I glance at Mason, who shrugs like it’s your call .
“I’m going to race as usual.”
The guy laughs like I told a joke, then lowers the phone, stopping the recording. “No, my guy. I know you’re a privateer, so you’re not media trained, but we can’t go with that.”
“We can’t?”
“No.” He clucks his tongue. “DH lives off the fans. Fans live on social media. We gotta hype this up. You crashing like that while being so high in rank, and now coming back? It’s a story , and we need it.”
“It’s not a story. It’s my life,” I bite out, the good mood from earlier cracking even more at the edges.
“Exactly,” he says, like I’m agreeing with him. “The story of your life.”
Mason snorts beside me.
I sigh. “Fine. What do you want me to say?”
He brightens. “Dramatic flair, baby. Say you didn’t think you could come back, but now you’re here, broken fingers and all. Those are broken, right?”
I lift my hand without answering.
“Perfect. Hold them up to the camera and say you’re trying to grab that title anyway. Even if it kills you.”
That knocks the breath out of my chest.
Because I have thought that, over and over, but hearing it out loud, pitched like a trailer for a movie, it sounds deranged.
My breaths become uneven, but then I remember what my therapist said. Breathe through it.
I close my eyes and breathe.
“Is he okay?” the guy asks, like I’m a broken doll that stopped responding.
When I feel up to it, I open my eyes, but all I see is Mason’s back. He’s standing in front of me like a fucking wall. “He’s not in the headspace for an interview. Go make content with somebody else.”
“But we need a story about him ,” the guy snaps.
“And he’s not up for it right now,” Mason repeats, sharper this time.
“Who even asked you , fucking scum?”
“Didn’t you hear him?” I lean over to look past Mason and the social media guy and find Luc standing behind him like a pink shadow with teeth. “He said non .”
The guy pivots, suddenly excited. “Delacroix! Perfect. Stand with Crews and say something like you’re gonna show no mercy even if he’s broken?—”
“Fuck off,” Luc says flatly, cutting him off.
Everything goes still. Luc never talks like this to the media, and I prepare to step in.
I can’t have him ruin his reputation for me.
“What?” the guy says, like Luc just betrayed some sacred code. “Delacroix, come on. This is the game. You know how to play it.”
Luc folds his tattooed arms across his chest, and Jesus, if they don’t call me by my government name.
“You were rude to my friends. So I’m rude to you. Leave. ”
The guy blinks. “Your friends ?”
He can’t compute that Luc, the star of the circuit, is standing up for his so-called rivals—a rookie and a scandal-stained has-been, who are both privateers.
“Yeah. My friends. Problem with that?” Luc asks, close to snapping.
“Luc,” I whisper, hoping to calm him because holy shit.
“Not a good look, Delacroix,” the social media guy mutters, retreating. “ Not a good look. ”
“How about you make a story about how the UCI plays favorites?” Luc calls after the guy, his voice cool as hell.
“Goddammit, Luc,” Mason mutters, grabbing his forearm. He’s probably bracing to hold Luc back in case the dude says one more wrong thing and gets himself flattened, but Luc doesn’t even twitch toward him. He just watches the guy walk off like he’s already deleted him from existence.
When the coast is clear, Luc glances at us and shrugs when he sees how we’re both gaping at him. “What?”
“ What? ” I echo. “You just went full hitman in front of the entire paddock.”
“I’m done with people fucking with you guys.” He looks between us. “ You’re mine. I protect what’s mine.”
A bolt of pure desire shoots through my spine at his fierce expression, his protective words. Judging by the way Mason goes pink? Yeah, that line didn’t just go straight to only my private parts.
My gaze travels down Mason’s body, and yup, definitely some growth happening in the shorts department.
If my socks were real, they’d be doing the same thing.
I choke on a laugh, and Luc raises a brow. “ Quoi? What’s funny?”
He follows my gaze to Mason’s crotch and lets out a low, delighted laugh. “Ah. Speaking of cocks … ”
“Luc,” Mason hisses, eyes wide as he checks if anyone overheard. No one is close, which only makes me laugh harder.
Luc’s grin turns wicked. “Let’s go to my hotel room. I’ve got a present for Petite .” He takes my wrist and starts tugging me along.
Mason groans. “If that’s just your dick and you’re calling it a present, Delacroix, I swear … ”
Luc smirks over his shoulder. “ Idée incroyable , but no. Not this time.”
“Can you even just leave pit setup like that?” I ask, letting myself be pulled because, well, it’s Luc.
“Did you not just see?” He glances back at the chaos behind us and flashes that arrogant grin. “I can do anything.”
Mason groans again, muttering something under his breath that sounds an awful lot like bloody maniac.
Seems like whatever the hell this ‘present’ is, I’m about to find out. And even if it’s just his dick. Um, honestly?
I’m kinda all in.