Page 57 of Throttle

As I toy with the hem on my sweater, I'm tempted to inquire of his past. His family. Despite our long-standing closeness, I've been clever enough to steer clear of that subject. It’s one matter Throttle loathes discussing.

“Hey. Um... So… I guess I’ve never pushed the topic before because, well, who loves talking about their skeletons in the closet? I know I don’t—”

“Tequila. Your rambling is adorable, but get to the point, babe.”

Babe. Okay, breathe.

“Right. Sorry.” I take a deep breath before articulating my sentence coherently. "What I'm trying to ask is..." Without intending to, my finger glides over his tattoo and up to the chain around his neck. I can't decide if it's a positive or negative reaction, but he hisses. He glances at my hand, and I hastily withdraw it.

“Can you tell me what your parents were like? Do you have those because of them?” I suppose we carry keepsakes of who we once were. Whether they are objects or permanent markings. And he wears his personal reminders like a heart on his sleeve.

“You do not want to hear about my past. Trust me.”

“But I do. Tell me everything. I'm curious to find out who my best friend was during his childhood. The incredible man who sits beside me.”

“You already know me better than anyone.”

“Yes, but—”

“Drop it, Tequila. Okay?”

Our gazes lock, and the sadness in his eyes fills me with regret for ever inquiring.

He lets out a sigh. “Look. While I understand there are kids who had a tougher upbringing, my childhood was anything but normal. Wasn’t like yours.” He clears his throat. “My parents pushed me to become a person I didn't aspire to be. Someone I could never be.” He clasps his cross in his hand. “I wear this, not because I’m a religious man. That part is obvious. It’s a constant reminder of who I don’t want to be. Didn't want anyone dictating my life choices.”

The idea of managing control is unimaginable to me.

“I’m sorry.”

“My father was a person of God. It's not bad, but he resented my dreams and desires. He believed it was unacceptable that I refused to be part of the church.” He runs a nervous finger through his hair and looks away. “The only thing I had that was worth a damn was my dirt bike and when he sold it, I was done. I wanted out of there. Needed to get out. I could taste it.”

Who’s blaming him? It wasn’t fair to have your future predetermined for you.

“I love who you are and am glad you stay true to yourself without letting others influence you. I regret your parents couldn't be what you needed, but I don't regret the person you've become. You are an incredible man and they’ll be sorry one day that they missed out on watching you develop into him.”

The way he gazes back at me makes me mushy.

“Throttle? You, okay?”

“I want to kiss you, Tequila. So fucking bad it physically pains me.”

My heart comes to a halt. Words I have longed to hear. He said he wanted me the night I saw him with the hang-around, but this is different. He’s sober and coherent. Apprehension swirls in my mind. Was this a dream? Because there’s no way Throttle, my best friend who throws more mixed signals than a stoplight, would be asking to kiss me right now.

“What?” I whisper, needing him to say it again. Caleb asked the same thing, but the comparison was unmatched. The heart pounding response wasn’t there before. Not like this.

“Can I kiss you?”

I'm drawn to his touch as his firm hand caresses my cheek. Okay, I’m not dreaming. The flutters happening in my lower belly can’t deny this a reality. Although in his room, we are surrounded by his club on the other side of the door, I’ve wanted nothing more.

“Yes.” My voice sounding a million miles away, while my heart strums in my ears. Those sometimes dark, yet gentle eyes of his will be the death of me.

Our foreheads touch, sending our bodies uniting.

“I’m going to hurt you, Tequila. I’m going to hurt you because this cannot be anything. I can’t give you more. But I’m a selfish bastard and it’s impossible to not fantasize about the way you would taste. It won’t leave my fucking mind, and it’s driving me mad.” Still holding my cheek, he slides his other hand down my arm, creating goosebumps.

Will this break me? Allow him to shatter me into a million pieces. Absolutely because I always do.

“If this is my only chance to have you, I surrender. You can’t hurt me if I’m agreeing.” I bite the inside of my cheek, suppressing the lie deeper within myself. “I wanted you to kiss me when I saw you with that woman. I wanted to be her.”

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