Page 30 of Roaming Holiday

I push it in his chest. “No.”

“You won’t knock me out.”

“Wanna bet?” I challenge, shifting closer. I quirk my brow. “Pick one, Wesley. Will you hold onto the handles—or me?”

His jaw ticks at my use of his first name. I admit, I like the way his name sounds on my tongue. His eyes bore into mine for another few daring moments before he grumbles, “Put the helmet back on.”

I smirk in triumph before sliding it over my head. The moped sputters as I get the hang of it. When he tries to reach forward and help me steer, I smack his hand away.

“I got it, I got it.”

The moment I turn us back onto the road, the tension inside of me begins slipping away. The wind against my body is like a massage wiping off my worries if only for the time being. Most of all, it’s the safety and comfort building up that calms me. And it’s not from the element of control but from the begrudging bodyguard enclosed around me like a cocoon. His hold on my waist is firm but respectful, making it as hot as if he was full-on grabbing my tits. I selfishly pull a U-turn at Moritzi’s and head back down the hill because I don’t want to move. Beck doesn’t say anything as I drive us toward the city.

Our interaction replays in my mind. I may have only wondered what he looks like naked once or twice, but now the possible image burns in my mind at everything I feel pressed against my ass. I can’t detect the precise size, yet I can tell he’s not lacking anything.

I drive us through an eclectic neighborhood, the homes on the skinny road bursting with color. Yellow, pink, and blue flank us. If only he wasn’t a buzzkill, I would have the helmet off and the wind blowing through my curls. The breeze would bring unruly frizz, but it’d be worth it. Cracks and vines crawl up centuries-old buildings, their iron balconies exploding with colorful flowers and greenery.

After checking the rearview mirror, I jerk the moped to the right to stop in front of a gelato stand.

“Karító,” Beck curses—shit in Maldanian—while the moped skids to a halt. My stomach lurches as his grip around my waist tightens, the momentum shoving him into me. I would’ve flown from the seat if not for his hold. Shivers run down my spine at the feel of his chest against my back.

“A new gelato place!” I exclaim, peeking at him through the sun visor.

He glares, then shows me his watch. “Ten minutes and then we have to return the bike.”

Days later, I hear Maia’s muffled voice as she approaches my room. I unravel my nightly braids and eavesdrop on her talking to Beck.

“Good morning, Beck!” she exclaims.

“Madam.”

“I have a question.”

“What is it?”

I roll my eyes at his monotone, almost curt, answers. It sounds… fake—and I realize he speaks that way to everyone but me. When we’re alone, at least.

“Are you like a cop?” Maia blurts.

“No, I’m not.”

“So… if you see us committing a crime, would you arrest us? Turn us in?”

“Depends on the crime I suppose.”

The absurdity of her questions has me opening the door. “Maia, why are you talking about committing crimes before I’ve had coffee?”

My sister grins ear-to-ear and holds up a bag of green clumps—weed. “Because I got the good-good.”

Excitement fills me. After the stressful week I’ve had, that’s exactly what I need. “Oh, hell yeah.”

I pull her inside and notice something different about Beck. I lift my brows. “You shaved.”

He shaved his scruff to stubble, and while I still wouldn’t mind sitting on his face, his scruff was my favorite part.

“I did,” he says simply, and I hum with a pout before slinking back into my room. My grogginess got the best of me, and my manners slipped; what he does to his own face is none of my business.

Ten minutes later, a joint is rolled and Maia and I are on my balcony passing it back and forth. Since we’re the only hotel guests, I’m not worried about the smell disturbing anyone. She told me the marijuana is a complement from our cousins Vanessa and Jace.

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