Page 162 of A Little Broken

“Oh.” I pause, attempting to hide my disappointment. “Okay. Well, good luck, I guess? Will you at least let me know how it goes or whatever?”

“You could always come with me,” he suggests.

“Come with you?”

“Yeah. Although, if you want me to be able to focus tonight, you might want to change.” He takes in my bare legs and bites his knuckle like he can hardly keep his hands to himself.

My lower belly heats with the simple look, but I ignore it, challenging, “And why would I need you to focus?”

“So I don’t get my ass kicked?”

My spoon hovers an inch from my mouth. “You’re serious?”

“You mentioned a raincheck, remember?”

Giving in, I unfold myself from my bed. “Here.” I hand him my barely touched shake. “Hold this. I’ll be out in ten.”

I takemy time with my makeup, making sure it’s on point before I exit the bathroom. When Pax sees me, his lips part and his eyes trail down my body, taking in my black crop top, low-slung jeans, leather jacket, and cherry-red heels—the same ones he purchased for me.

When his gaze meets mine, a muttered, “Fuck,” slips past his lips, and I smile.

“You like?”

“I like a lot.” He stands from the edge of my bed and strides toward me. When he reaches me, his hands slide along my waist, pulling me into him. “Maybe a little too much.”

“So, it works?” I prod. “For wherever you’re taking me? You didn’t give me much to go off?—”

“Trust me, it works.” His attention dips to my cherry-red lips. “It works perfectly.”

“Good.” My teeth dig into my bottom lip as I fight back a smile. Reaching for his hands around my waist, I unwrap them from me and step back. “Now, where’s my shake?”

“Freezer,” he answers.

“Perfect. I’ll eat the rest later. Let’s go.”

When we reach his bike parked outside, he slips one of the helmets onto my head, bringing with it a strong shot of deja vu. The memory of all those nights ago at the concert where we first met. Maybe it’s the darkness enveloping us. Maybe it’s the smell. Or maybe it’s me and how much I’ve changed since we first met. Since I first climbed onto the back of his bike.

I had so many walls back then. So many barriers. So many fears. And now? Now, all I feel is peace, and it’s because of the man in front of me.

“Fuck, you look hot,” Pax rasps. Gripping the bottom of the helmet, he drags me into him and steals a kiss through the gap from the open visor. And even though it’s quick, my toes curl in my heels, and my knees go weak before he pulls away and snaps the screen closed.

I’m not sure how long we drive, but by the time we pull off the main road, my butt feels like it’s being poked with pins and needles, and any glimpse of the ocean is long behind us. Is this The Drift? Is this where Pax grew up? He’s told me things here and there, but we’ve never visited. I’ve never asked him to take me here. Not unless he was ready. And even though I know one of the main reasons we’re making this visit is because Roman set up a fight, Paxton didn’t have to invite me to tag along. He didn’t have to open that door. The reminder makes me feel like I’m being wrapped in my favorite blanket, and I squeeze his waist a little tighter in silent thanks. That he trusts me. That he wants me here. In his life.

A few minutes later, we pull off the road into a large parking lot filled to the brim. Half the spots are lined with expensive cars. The other half is brimming with motorcycles like the one I’m on. Interesting. Paxton made it sound like there wasn’t a lot of money in The Drift. This parking lot proves otherwise. Bright muscle cars, exotic black luxury vehicles, suped-up bikes. They’re peppered around the lot, making me feel like I stepped into a James Bond movie.

Seriously. What is this place?

Pax pulls into an empty spot, then cuts the engine as I stare up at the old industrial building. After he climbs off the motorcycle, Pax lifts my helmet, undoing the strap beneath my chin. I kind of like how he takes care of me like this. Without a request. Without a suggestion. Like he’s so aware of my needs, he can anticipate them before I even recognize them myself.

Oof. That’s a little scary, isn’t it? Or at least, it should be. If I’m being honest, a lot of scary things have seemed less terrifying with Pax around, and I can’t decide if I’m getting braver or if Pax is the culprit behind the change.

I stick a pin in the realization and turn to the cinderblock building. A heavy beat filters from the dimly-lit windows. It also reminds me of the first time we met, when I snuck into Paxton’s performance, though this time it’s a completely different event, and I’m not sure I’m ready for it.

“You nervous?” I murmur.

“About the fight? Nah, it’ll be fine.” He tacks on a rueful smile. “Besides, even if I lose, you can take care of me after.”

I roll my eyes, attempting to keep my rising—and completely misplaced—anxiety at bay. “Well, isn’t that comforting.”

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