Page 6 of Throttle

“Seriously?” A shy, but excited smile sweeps over her, and she tucks that lovely hair behind her ear.

What if she thinks I’m leading her on? Although I am interested. We will never happen.

Is it okay to be friends with this girl? Is it possible for me to be just friends with a woman without wanting to stick my dick inside her?

“Sure thing.” I go to stand, sending her a reassuring wink. “I’ll catch ya later, Tequila.”

Her smile is like a dagger straight to my core. An odd and unfamiliar emotion.

“Hey! This is way too much for a tip,” she yells.

“Keep it. You’re worth the money.” As I turn around to leave, I notice the stunned expression on her face.

If I don't calm down with her, it will end badly.

For both of us.

Cheers to a new friendship, I suppose. One I hope I am capable of.

TWO

Present Time

Tequila

Forty-four… thirty-six… sixteen…

Where is he?

I pull the blanket closer to my chest—the one that carries his scent. It reminds me of a sporty, fall smell that captures the essence of a cool late October day like today.

“Hot chocolate, miss?” A man in a staff shirt, who looks older, smiles at me while holding a vendor box.

“Oh, my goodness. Thank you.” As I take the Styrofoam cup, he nods, and I clench it in my palms for warmth.

Throughout my childhood, my parents discussed moving to a warm place year-round. I personally enjoy experiencing each season, with fall being my favorite.

I was always afraid my father wanted to move back to Puerto Rico one day, taking us with him. New York was our home, and I would have been devastated to leave.

The sound of swarming bees passes by, and my head turns with each bike, trying to find him. The moment I lay eyes on him, I burst into embarrassingly loud cheers and leap out of my seat.

Number eleven. That’s Throttle.

I pump my fist in the air, causing my hot chocolate to go flying, and I feel a tiny burn under my leggings. "Shit." I dab the wet spot with a napkin while continuing to watch.

There's something about a guy on a motocross track that is panty melting. It's sexy, powerful, and I speak for all women when I say I give it my one-hundred percent support. And can we discuss how incredibly godlike he looks in that gear? Yes, he’s my friend, but I can’t deny how good looking he is. And apparently the two behind me agree because they haven’t stopped talking about him since he raced by.

My jealous side rears its ugly head and possessiveness swirls in the middle of my gut.

I wonder if he's in a relationship. I hear one woman say. But he's not interested in dating. Ever. The number of women he has been with is always an unwanted thought. It’s gut-wrenching, honestly. He has zero clue I may or may not have feelings tucked away inside my pathetic little heart. Feelings not reciprocated. His best friend, who has missed none of his races since he invited me three years ago. His best friend who will watch a scary movie with him because he's too scared. His best friend who stays up with him to play video games until we can’t see straight or watches our favorite anime together.

He’s clueless because he doesn’t perceive me the same. He's too preoccupied with the club and its hang-arounds to realize my feelings for him. Which is fine. I'm content with the way things are, I guess. But who was I kidding? There are lies in it, fueled by my fantasies of being with him. Maybe if I keep telling myself that it will never happen, I’ll believe it.

Honestly, right now I just want to dump my hot cocoa down their tank tops. Which would be unnecessary and dramatic.

It’s fall. No way, these bitches aren’t cold.

Tequila, calm down. He doesn't belong to you. He is not yours to claim. If he wanted, he could take one of them back to his club and make their wildest dreams come true.

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