Page 33 of A Little Complicated

“I see we’re back to yourlet’s-make-Ophelia-as-uncomfortable-as-possiblegame,” I point out. “Which means I’m leaving.” I give him my back and continue heading down the path.

“Aw, come on, Opie!”

“My name isn’t Opie!” I call over my shoulder.

“Come on, Lia,” he yells back. “Stop pouting. It was only a game.”

My heels dig into the ground, and I face him again. “Since when do you play offense? And did you really have to make me look a complete newbie in front of everyone after telling them I could hand them their asses?” I throw my hands in the air and march closer to him. “Like seriously. At least pick a side. Do you hate me or not? Because this back-and-forth bullshit is driving me insane.”

His chin drops to his chest, and he swings his leg over the motorcycle and leans his hip against it. “Trust me, no one thinks you’re a newbie. And youdidhand Cameron his ass. The guy didn’t score on you once.”

“Yeah, but you did,” I remind him.

“So?”

“So?” My voice cracks, and my muscles vibrate with frustration. I turn on my heel and keep walking.

“Come on, Lia,” he begs. “Let me take you home.”

I twist around again and give his death trap a pointed glare. “On that thing? No, thank you.”

“The sun is setting,” he pushes. “You shouldn’t be walking home by yourself in the dark.”

“Why not?”

“It isn’t safe.”

“It’s safer than climbing onto the back of your Harley or”—I wave my hand at his motorcycle—“whatever.”

His mouth lifts. “It’s a Ducati, and I think that’s debatable. Come on.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because…?” His voice trails off while his eyes dare me to give him a legitimate excuse.

“Because my parents wouldn’t want me on the back of a motorcycle,” I tell him.

“Pretty sure they’d prefer it to you walking home alone in the dark and winding up on the news. This is a prime location for creepers, Lia, especially during the off-season.”

I look around the shadowed, rolling hills and rub my hands up and down my arms. Whether I want to admit it or not, the guy has a point. Kind of. But even so, I’d rather take my chances on the sidewalk than spend five minutes pressed against Maverick’s back. It’s a bad idea on a good day. After last night, then him acting like an asshole during practice? No, thank you. For so many reasons. No. Thank. You.

“Look, I’m sorry I was a dick,” he continues, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And for the things I said. It was wrong. I shouldn’t stick my nose in your sex life. I should’ve gone easy on you—”

“I don’t want you going easy on me,” I snap.

Exasperated, he drops his hand. “Then what do you want?”

“I want to walk home by myself, in peace.”

“Can’t let you do it, Lia.”

“What about Archer?” I press. “What would he think of me riding on your motorcycle?”

“Pretty sure he’d prefer it to you walking home alone, Opie.”

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