Page 5 of Revved up & Ready

It’s tempting to focus on the fact that she recognizes me, but then I remember how it’s tied to her boyfriend—who left her standing outside a restaurant on the verge of tears.Not surprising.My brand of internet shenanigans attracts assholes.

“Boyfriend loves them, but not you?” I ask.

“Oh, they’re funny. I didn’t mean to—You’refunny.” She stumbles over her words, her cheeks going even pinker as she tucks a strand of golden hair behind her ear. “I just hate motorcycles.” She winces. “No offense.”

“None taken,” I laugh. “I might be some people’s poster boy for motorcycles,”and if this meeting goes well, I literally will be. “But there’s more to me than that.”

“Of course. I’m sure,” she says, offering a genuine smile. Dimples appear in her rosy cheeks.What a babe.“If you wouldn’t mind, I’m sure he’d love to meet you.”

Right—the boyfriend.“Happy to. He around somewhere?” I ask.

“Just inside.” She points over her shoulder toward the restaurant’s entrance.

I bite my tongue, holding back from asking why the hell he’s inside without her. Instead, I hold the door open and enjoy the view as she walks through. The light blue dress she wears is sweet with its floral print, but it clings to her curves in all the right ways.Damn, that’s a nice ass.

“What brings you to Portland?” she asks.

I shrug. “Motorcycle race.”

“Oh, of course. I’m so dumb,” she apologizes, looking around the restaurant for her idiot boyfriend.

“I’m sure you’re not du—”

She waves me off, asking, “Did you win?”

“Sure did.”

“Figured you would have,” she says, looking up at me with another genuine, dimpled smile.

My chest swells with pride.She figured I’d won.

Sadie

Three years ago, Sadie & Jared’s house– Portland, Oregon

Jared’s friends pause to sniff the lemon bars cooling on the counter as they pass through the kitchen to the living room.

“You’ll have to wait a while for these,” I say, shooing them away. “But there are chips and dip on the coffee table if you’re hungry.”

They disappear into the other room, followed shortly by the sound of a televised motorcycle race.

“You good, sweetie?” Jared asks, opening the fridge to grab a drink. “I know you don’t like it when we have the races on.”

“I wish you wouldn’t watch that stuff,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s sodangerous.”

“Don’t forget, if it wasn’t for motorcycle racing, we never would have met,” he reminds me, referring to the Halloween costumes that brought us together by accident.

“I remember,” I admit, sighing.

Jared knows about the motorcycle accident I was in back in high school. Ever since, I can’t wrap my mind around how anyone would risk their life just to go fast on two wheels. But healways tries to point to the time in college when I used to laugh at thatRace Nakedvideo as proof that I like motorcycle racing.I don’t.

I’ve given up trying to explain that the video was an exception, a silly moment among friends while stoned—one I could control, where I knew exactly what would happen. Cam Hacker wins the race, and no one gets hurt. It’s something else entirely to watch a live race, knowing someone could crash and end up devastatingly injured, or worse.

Don’t they know cars with seatbelts are an option?

“It’s not like I’m going to get hurt from the couch,” my boyfriend says, kissing my cheek. “Still better than me riding them, right?”

“Of course,” I answer with a tight smile.

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