Page 16 of A Little Broken

Tuke laughs and collapses onto the couch with his plate of junk food.

“Food poisoning?” Judge challenges.

I shrug. “Yeah, why not?”

“Man, something’s gotta be going around. Isn’t that right, Tate?” Tuke asks.

Tatum nods. “It’s a real shame, let me tell ya.”

“I think you guys will survive without me,” I say. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.” Grabbing Tatum’s hand, I tug her down the hall before Judge or Dodge has a chance to second guess the decision.

By some miracle, she follows without complaint, matching my pace as we race toward the exit and slip past a few more security guards. Maybe she’s even more desperate to get out of here than I initially pegged her for.

“Come on,” I urge.

She doesn’t say a word as we walk down the back hallway toward the same door I snuck her in earlier tonight. When I hold it open for her, she steps over the threshold, something swirling in her pretty eyes as she waits for me to guide her through the parking lot. The warm breeze ruffles her hair, giving me anotherwhiff of her shampoo. Or maybe the scent is all Tatum. Not sure it matters. My mouth waters regardless.

Digging in my pocket, I find a cigarette and light it, letting the sweet nicotine fill my lungs to take the edge off the guilt I’ve been suffocating in since before the show. She peeks at the cigarette in my fingers. I offer it to her, but she only shakes her head and folds her arms.

When we reach my bike, I take one more drag, drop the cigarette, and put the bud out with the toe of my shoe before offering Tate my spare helmet.

She frowns. “You weren’t kidding about the bike?”

“Is it a problem?”

Her lips thin.

“You got a thing against bikes, Birthday Girl?”

Her attention cuts to mine. “Only the men who own them.”

“Damn.” I press my hand to my heart like it just took a knife to it, then grab a piece of peppermint gum from one of the saddle bags. Crinkling the wrapper in my palm, I shove the gum into my mouth, adding, “Two strikes to the ego in one night.”

“Again, I think you can handle it.”

I snort. “You’re probably right. The question is, can you handle being on the back of my bike?”

Her lips purse. “I’m debating.”

“We could always go back inside.”

She grabs the helmet from me and slips it on her head, her expression twisting with annoyance. Her fingers fumble with the strap beneath her chin, and I swat them away.

“Here.” Slowly, I lift her chin. She follows my silent request, raising her head so I can see the strap underneath. When my fingers brush against her soft skin, her lips part, and my own lift with satisfaction, as I slide the buckle into place. “There. Much better.”

I put my helmet on, swing my leg over the seat, and wait for Tatum to join me.

She doesn’t.

Glancing at her, I tilt my head. “You coming or what?”

“Still debating.”

“It’s me or Dodge inside.” I shrug. “Your choice.”

Folding her arms, she points out, “You say it like you weren’t trying to get out of there, too.”

Damn, the girl got me.

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