Page 45 of Surprisingly Us

Her eyes light up when she sees Rhys.

“Hello again.” She smiles coquettishly at him.

Rhys gives her a casual nod, barely acknowledging her existence, and Mrs. Donahue swoons. Her eyes go hazy. Rhys has triggered something in her and she’s no longer with us in this hallway but in a faraway time fantasizing about a past lover, hopefully the late Mr. Donahue, but if it’s not, I won’t judge.

“I think Mrs. Donahue has a thing for you,” I whisper.

“I only have eyes for you, Princess,” he teases.

A few minutes later we’re out on the curb and I’m staring confused at a large hunk of metal with tires. Rhys hands me a helmet.

“What’s this for?”

Without saying a word, he takes the helmet from me and pushes it onto my head.

I can practically feel the foundation sliding off my face. Isabella would be so mad to know her makeup work is being mistreated this way.

“There you go,” he announces, satisfied that my head now weighs twice as much as it did before.

“Gee, thanks.”

“Safety first.”

He climbs on, making it look effortless.

“You actually want me to ride on that thing?” I whine.

“Yeah, how else are we going to get to dinner?”

“In a car. Thenormalway?”

I catch his smirk before it disappears under his helmet. “You should know by now, that’s not my style.”

“Well neither is this dress, but I’m wearing it, aren’t I?” I motion to the dress that will make it impossible to straddle this motorcycle without showing my underwear.

“Oh, I didn’t think about that.”

“A man in pants wouldn’t, now, would he?” With this new obstacle, the restaurant and dinner feel even further away. I really should have had that banana and peanut butter smoothie.

He gets off the bike and studies me a moment like this is a brain teaser. How to get the girl on the bike without showing her butt to the world.

“I got it.” He pulls a pair of gym shorts out of the storage compartment. “Put these on.”

“Are these clean?” I ask.

“Don’t ask a question you don’t want the answer to.”

“But I do want to know the answer.”

He sniffs them, then sighs. “Do you have a better idea?”

“Yes. We can get a cab. Or walk.”

“That’s not as fun. You said you wanted to try new things. New experiences.” He motions to the motorcycle.

“This dress is a new experience,” I argue, but Rhys just lifts his brows in challenge.

He’s not going to let this go. I can see it in that impish smile of his.

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