Page 97 of Race to Me

“She’s always been mine,” Foster grits his teeth, cutting his sharp jaw to him. “Are you trying to get fucking knocked out again?” Quickly, they’re on the ground. Not really fighting, just wrestling like brothers. Foster twists Callum’s arm. “Tell her you’re sorry.”

“Sorry, Blue!”

“It’s Skyler.” Foster snaps. “Don’t call her pet names.”

They stand, a little out of breath and laughing. Callum walks over to me, casually slinking his elbow on my shoulder. For once, Foster doesn’t look mad or worried.

“You know she needs a nickname. You don’t have to go all caveman. She’s family now. Untouchable, Ghost.” He looks down to me. “I’m partial to Blue because of your eyes, but we can call you Freckles like he does.”

“No. Fuck no.” Foster waves his hands in the air, huffing out angrily. “Blue is just fine.”

“So, what are we doing here?” I wonder, my gaze panning around the empty parking lot.

Foster pats the leather seat of his motorcycle. “Teaching you to ride, baby girl.”

Thirty-eight

“Okay, that’s it. Just ease off the clutch.” Foster tells me.

I’m straddling his bike, the purring making my entire body shake from the sheer power of the motor. “Can’t you just climb on?”

I groan when he shakes his head. “Trust me, you can do it.”

“Is this even legal?” I ask, raising a curious brow.

Foster laughs, patting my helmet. “You’re in a parking lot. We’re not going on the street.”

Callum walks up, putting his hand on the gas tank. “Just don’t get whiskey throttle.” he warns.

“What’s that?”

Ryder grins. “It’s when you turn the throttle and keep holding it even when you want it to stop.”

“Why would I ever do that?”

They step back a little. “It happens. Just ease into it. We showed you the clutch system, and all you need to do is ride in a straight line, slowly braking when you stop.” Foster’s terrified, but there’s an undeniable glimmer of excitement twinkling in his obsidian eyes.

I slowly let off the clutch, and the bike dies.

“See? I suck. I can’t do this.” Frustration takes over me. Everything I’ve tried before I usually master. But this? It’s too dangerous to even learn.

“Breathe, Freckles.” Foster reminds me. “You can do this,”

I nod, determined to try even if I’m scared.

I try again, and the bike dies. A cranking metal sound follows my failure. Their faces all cringe, including Foster who is being incredibly patient. “I’m sorry.”

He crosses his inked arms over his chest. “Again.”

This time, the third time, I ease off the clutch and roll forward. I only make it about five feet before I carefully push in the break, but you would think I just won a race with how proud they seem. Foster’s at my side in an instant, helping to steady the bike because my feet don’t touch the ground.

“Again,” they encourage.

The boys disperse, going to different ends of the area. I make it to the end of the parking lot, realizing that going slow only makes me feel unsteady. Speeding up here and there allows for more momentum, thus less wobble. I turn, going left and then making a circle. Foster again grabs ahold of the bike once I stop.

“Okay, now put your right leg down so you can kick out the peg on the left side.” he orders with a victorious smile.

I plant my bright pink Vans shoe against the concrete, using the other foot to push out the rod of metal. “Are you sure that I’m not going tip it?”

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