Page 19 of Frosty the Biker

“It never occurred to me that something like that could be hereditary,” I admitted.

“I’ve never thought that it was something I could pass on to children,” he confirmed.

For a moment, I sat there looking at him. Time had been good to him. He’d filled out for sure, but there was a maturity that hadn’t been there before. The little lines at the corners of his eyes didn’t detract from his good looks one bit either. I realized then that I’d missed him.

Though I’d lived and maybe even thrived, in Chicago, a part of me had always seemed like it was missing. But what if he didn’t feel the same way now? A lot of years had passed. I hadn’t dated a lot because of Anson, but that didn’t mean Dalton hadn’t. It also didn’t mean he wasn’t seeing someone now.

“What did the note mean?” he asked as he leaned forward again, concern heavy in his tone. His brows pinched together as his fingertip traced along mine.

Though it was driving me to distraction, I had no idea if he was even aware he was doing it.

“My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer today,” I replied in a whisper. It was like if I didn’t say it too loud, that maybe it wouldn’t be true.

The soft brush of his finger was replaced with his warm hand engulfing mine. “Ry, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Damn, it really has been a day.”

“But that’s what’s so crazy. I just found out today. Mymomjust found out today. How did that guy know? How did he know Anson loves labradorite? And what’s that key for?” I rattled off question after question.

He lifted the key and read the tag. “I don’t have answers for any of that. But what if we took a little drive by this address? It’s not a bad area so it should be safe. You up for it?”

The thought of riding more with him appealed to me on a soul-deep level. I glanced at the time. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

His grin nearly sent me into a tailspin. I’d always loved his smile. He stood up, tossed a twenty on the table for the cocoa neither of us had drank, and gestured for me to go first.

“Thank you,” I murmured as I made my way to the door.

As we walked out into the cool night air, helmets in hand, I glanced his way. “When did you start riding?”

He chuckled and the sound made my chest clench. “The summer I moved to Montana. Dean had a bike he was selling because he bought a new one. I bought it and started riding. Those times we rode your dirt bike came in handy.”

I laughed.

“Though it didn’t stop me from wiping out a few times. That poor bike,” he bemoaned as he shook his head.

We put our helmets on, lifted the visors, and straddled our bikes. He plugged the address into his GPS, then put his phone on the mount he had on his handlebar He had me put the address into my phone in case we got separated. We both put our gloves on. He glanced over to me with a grin and said, “Here goes nothing.”

I followed his lead since he was actively using his navigation. It took us further into town and down into the Milan area. We stopped in front of a white house on Carondelet Street with a full-length front porch, tall, shuttered windows, and a little wrought iron fence along the sidewalk. There was a driveway, but we parked on the street, killed our motors, and sat there a moment. It was ten-thirty at night, and we were in a quiet area—no need to draw unnecessary attention to ourselves.

“We have a key. Wanna go inside?” he leaned over toward me and asked with a mischievous grin.

“Just because we have a key, doesn’t mean we can go traipsing inside! We’ll get the cops called on us! Someone probably lives here!” Wide-eyed, I glanced nervously up and down the street.

“Only one way to find out,” he countered with a shrug. “It doesn’t look like anyone is home.”

“Doesn’t mean no one lives here!” I whisper yelled. My heart started to beat double-time when he got off his bike, took his helmet off, and sauntered up to the stairs. Adrenaline raced through me at the fear of getting caught and I looked around again, sure we were about to get arrested.

“It’s empty!” he softly called out.

“Like no one’s home?”

“No. Like it’s completely empty. No furniture, no nothing.” He waved me up.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I muttered to myself. I debated leaving, but finally figured what the fuck. This day was already crazy as hell. What was a little breaking and entering after all that had happened already?

I removed my helmet but carried it with me.

Dalton stood waiting at the top of the stairs in his worn blue jeans, a black hoodie with a Nirvana logo on it, and black and white Old Skools. A dimple appeared in one cheek as he watched me climb up. He was too damn good-looking.

When I got to the top, he grabbed my hand and brought me to the door on the far right of the porch. “I don’t like this,” I whispered.

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