Page 94 of That's Too Pucking Bad

We walk a few blocks until we turn a corner, and there they are— two massive motorcycles parked under a streetlamp.

“You ride?” I blurt out, staring at them.

“Yeah,” Zane says, sounding amused. “We just got these the other day.”

Caleb’s already hopping on one, patting the seat behind him. “C’mon, baby.”

Maya squeals, climbing on without hesitation.

“Remy,” Zane says, his voice steady, “you’re with me.”

“I’ve never done this before,” I admit, my stomach knotting as I eye the bike.

“Exactly. Get on.”

“What if you crash?”

He steps closer, his hand brushing my cheek before tilting my chin up. His gaze is steady, dark and sure. “I won’t crash. You’re mine. I’d die before I let anything happen to you.”

My breath catches, and before I can overthink it, he’s helping me onto the bike. His hands are firm on my waist, pulling me close against him.

“Hold on,” he says, his voice low and rough.

I wrap my arms around his waist, and then we’re moving, the engine roaring to life beneath us. The wind rushes past, cool and sharp, but all I can focus on is the warmth of him, solid and steady.

By the time we pull up in front of a tattoo parlor, my nerves have settled— mostly.

“A tattoo?” I say, sliding off the bike and staring at the neon sign. “Are you serious?”

Maya’s already bouncing toward the door. “I’m getting Caleb’s name tattooed on my ass!”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.

Caleb grins. “I’m getting a hockey puck.”

“What about you?” I ask Zane as we step inside.

He shrugs. “It’s a surprise.”

Of course it is.

Maya’s practically vibrating with excitement as she picks out her design, and I stick close to her while Zane and Caleb talk to the artist.

“You’re not getting one?” Maya asks, raising a brow.

“My mom would kill me,” I say flatly.

“That’s fair.”

She’s grinning so hard when they call her name, and I find myself laughing despite myself.

For once, everything feels easy. Fun. And for the first time, I don’t feel so alone.

The tattoo parlor smells like rubbing alcohol and bad decisions, but it’s buzzing with energy. Maya’s in the chair, grinning like a maniac while the artist inks Caleb’s number on her hip. Caleb watches her, arms crossed, his grin cocky as hell.

“You’re obsessed,” I tease, nudging him.

He smirks. “Can you blame me?”

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