Page 55 of Broken Breath
I dig in harder, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “I will kill you.”
He laughs again, and it vibrates right up my spine.
“Do I make you nervous?” he asks, all mock innocence.
“No.”
“Pity.”
He starts walking again, and soon the team pit comes into view. A big black and pink bus gleaming with sponsor logos, the flaps of the adjacent tent open, and people are milling around—young riders, pros, mechanics, and media.
Fuck.
“Let me down, Luc,” I whisper-shout. “People are going tosee.”
“Good,” he says cheerfully. “Let them watch. I look hot today.”
“You’reimpossible.”
“I’m charming,” he corrects. “Big difference.”
“You’re a menace.”
“That too.”
People are milling about, and among them, I see a cameralift to take a photo of us, and I bury my face in the back of Luc’s shoulder. “Oh my God.”
He laughs again, and this time it rumbles through his back into my chest. I want to scream.
“Don’t worry, mon Petit,” he says softly. “They’re here to filmme.You’re just a very cute accessory.”
Did he just call me cute?
My brain follows the path of my body and short-circuits.
He’s like this to everyone, being flirty, loose, touchy. Full of sugar-laced chaos and half-meant compliments that make people trip over their own sense of reality, right?
God, I hope this is normal for him.
And I also hope itisn’t.
Luc carries me right through the pit, straight past all the people, cameras, and noise, and into the back without missing a beat.
When we come to a stop in front of two narrow doors, he lowers me a little too gently, like I might break if he’s not careful. His hands slowly skim up my bare legs before he lets go, and it feels reluctant.
I take a few moments to tug my hoodie back into place and get my breathing under control, but when I look up, the effort is wasted as I find him already looking at me. Then, he lifts a hand and brushes a strand of my too-short hair away from my eyes.
My breath hitches.
Hiccup.
God.
His eyes twinkle as he chuckles softly, like he’s genuinelydelighted.
“Trop mignon,” he murmurs under his breath, barely louder than the sound of his knuckles tapping the door.
I don’t know what it means.
