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My eyes feel like they weigh a metric ton as I stare blankly at him.

He just shakes his head, turning partially around and patting the seat.

My head angles toward the ceiling of the garage as I throw up a silent prayer to not let this be how I die.

Taking two steps forward, I place my hand on his shoulder and swing a leg over the side.

“Watch the pipe, it’ll get hot.” He motions to the rumbling pieces of silver that run the length of the bike.

“You’ll feel the heat on your ankle since you don’t have boots on.

Just don’t rest up against it.” I nod because what else can I do?

He hands me a helmet, and I quickly buckle it under my chin as he does the same.

My mind cannot comprehend the fact that I’m on a freaking motorcycle with Tatum Wilder, who, up until a few hours ago, I was convinced was the bane of my existence.

I don’t know what to do with the softer side of him.

The side Hannah swore up and down was in there, but I never believed actually existed.

He said he was going to get me out of my head, and it’s not very fun in there at the moment, so I thought, why the hell not?

If I’m being honest, this is certainly not the first or even the hundredth thing that came to my mind when he said that.

A decade of a dry spell being woken up all of a sudden puts your brain on a one-lane track.

Straightaway, no turns. Just get me to the end as fast as you can. HA! Right.

I don’t get to read into it much more as the bike starts to move, and I let out a squeal, quickly wrapping my arms around his waist. My head finds a place on his back, and I feel the vibration of his laugh on my cheek as he reaches back and pats the outside of my thigh.

My body heats at the intimacy of the movement. I’ve seen it on those motorcycle club shows, the man resting his hand or arm on the thigh of the woman behind him in a display of possession or affection. Who knows, probably the former, men and their pissing contests.

As we take off down the road, I find myself relaxing into him.

We head in the direction of Long Boat Key, one of my favorite places in the world.

The wind sends my low ponytail flying in all directions as we go; the freeing feeling is like nothing I’ve ever felt.

Like I’m flying but still on the ground.

I laugh as he takes a curve, one of his hands moves to cover mine, which are still clasped tight at his waist. Like he’s offering me a lifeline, letting me know he’s here.

He pulls to a stop at The Beach House. I start to let go so I can get off, but I’m stopped by a squeeze of my hands. “Stay,” he grunts as he puts the kickstand down, leaning the bike slightly to the side. My surprised yelp dies in my throat as he pulls his leg over the seat and offers me his hand.

“Abby,” I say as I slide my hand in his, “And you are?” I ask because I’m going with my abducted-by-aliens theory. He just looks at me, but unlike his normal stare, this one isn’t filled with annoyance. It’s filled with concern. Deflect, you idiot. Right .

“Ahh, you’re a rowdy one, huh?” I joke as I take my hand from his and turn toward the front door of the restaurant. I feel like a fish out of water. How does one deal with seeing a side of someone that is vastly different from the way he’s been for the entirety of the time you’ve known him?

There’s been enough system shock for one day; adding a personality adjustment is going to send me over the edge.

He’s so much easier to dislike when he’s a jerk.

My hand meets the big, brown door handle, but before I can wrap my fingers around it, his hand gently swats mine away as he swings the door open with ease.

I look up at him over my shoulder, his scowl firmly back in place.

“Thanks, Sunshine,” I say as I give him my sugariest smile.

His nostrils flare at the name, but his face softens ever so slightly.

I skip inside and wave to the hostess, who takes in the two of us with wide eyes.

I’m sure the vast differences between us are shocking to people we don’t know.

Me with a wide smile, him with a deep scowl.

My skip to his heavy-footed walk. My blonde hair to his jet black. The list is endless.

I head out the back to the patio, my favorite part of this place.

At night, it’s tranquil; the smell of the salty air fills me with a level of peace I’ve only ever associated with this place.

My aunt and I used to come here every time she came to visit when I was a kid.

When I turned twenty-one, she flew out just so we could have a margarita together.

Her smile and the animated way she told her stories will always be one of my favorite things.

She’d been my safe haven most of my life.

Not that my parents were absent or mean, but she understood me better than anyone else ever had.

I remember one year in high school when I wanted to be the cool kid and sleep with the guy I was dating; she ta lked me out of it.

Not in the way you’re thinking, but in the emotional sense.

How would it feel to be tied to that guy for the rest of my life?

Would I be okay knowing he was my first?

Luckily, we had that talk because the week I got back from her house, I walked in on him with some other girl.

Apparently, I wasn’t moving fast enough.

I called her in tears, but her words still act as a hug to my heart to this day.

“Abby, there is nothing you can do to make someone love you. Love is given freely, sweetheart. It’s not earned.

There’s no timeline, fast or slow; each relationship sets its own pace. ”

She sighed wistfully, no doubt thinking of my late uncle, before continuing, “The right one won’t make you question anything, especially yourself.

You’ll just know. They’ll fit into your life like they were always part of it.

They won’t ask you to change or to hurry up.

They’ll love you as you are for the sole fact that you are you.

Nothing more, nothing less. Hold out for that kind of love, my dear. ”

I swipe at my face as a lone tear makes a breakaway, I miss her.

It’s moments like this that I wish I would have spent more time with her while she was still alive.

What I wouldn’t give to have her wisdom over this particular situation.

My walk down memory lane is interrupted by a deep, baritone, “Over here.”

I turn and realize he’s already sitting at the bar, his arm slung over the high back of the barstool he pulled out for me.

My feet feel like they weigh five hundred pounds as I move slowly in his direction.

“I love this place,” I say as I slide into the seat, leaning my forearms against the bar, my gaze locked on the rolling waves in the distance.

“Me too. I’ve been coming here for a long time.” I turn my head slightly to the side so I can look at him. He’s now looking at the oc ean. Who would have thought we had something in common?

The silence that stretches between us isn't heavy. It's peaceful until it isn’t. “Well, well! My night is looking up.” My head turns toward the voice in time to see a guy with a buzzed head move in our direction. His hands rub together like he’s won some ridiculous prize, his eyes never leaving mine.

I flinch only for Tate to place his hand on my knee and give it a light squeeze. “I do like ‘em fiery!” the guy calls as he places coasters in front of us. The ball of dread that had dissipated at some point during our drive here is back with a vengeance.

Tatum’s jaw pops with how hard it’s clenched. I watched the muscle physically jump, it’s impressive. “She isn’t here for you, Tristan.” His low growl a clear warning, but the guy I now realize is someone he knows just smiles. I relax a little knowing I’m safe with Tate. What a weird concept.

“For you, then, kicks?” He says as his eyebrow pulls tight at the center. The hand on my knee tightens a bit, I flex my quad silently letting him know I’m good.

“Can’t I be here for myself?” I ask as my voice decides to cooperate. My eyes land on Tatum’s shoulders, which are pulled up to his ears. His poor trap muscles. I put my hand on them and push down, forcing him to relax. When his eyes cut to mine, I just shrug. “Occupational hazard, kicks.”

Tristan laughs as Tatum’s scowl deepens. “Yup, I stand by my statement from last time. I like her.”

“You’ve been talking about me, Sunshine?

” My voice comes out a raspy whisper as I lean into him a bit.

He rumbles in response, it’s dark and dangerous, and travels straight to my gut.

The warmth intensifies when his hands come together in front of him, h is chin dropping to rest on his thumbs, as his head turns to look down at me.

Tristan's eyes bounce between the two of us, and Tate finally grinds out, “Enough.” I lock eyes with our friendly bartender, a smile spreading across his face, starting a chain reaction. Before I know it, we’re both laughing as the man next to me looks like he’s mentally running through all the ways he can put us six feet under.

“I’ll take water with lemon and chicken tenders with extra honey mustard, please.” My eyes cut to my right. “And whatever grumpy gills here wants.” I slide my card toward him. He grabs it and swipes it into the computer system to keep our tab open before handing it back to me with a wink.

“The usual?” Tristan asks Tate, who just nods in response.

“So, how are you feeling about your brother getting married?” I ask after our waters are placed in front of us.