Page 52 of Twisted Trails
Heat blooms in my cheeks, and I’m about to look away when Finn barrels back into view, grinning like an idiot, and scoops me up and over his shoulder before I can escape.
I squeal, pounding my fists against his back. “Finn!”
“You’ve got a race in five, baby girl.” He’s already walking back toward my bike. “Can’t have you spending all your energy trying to murder me.”
“Put me down!”
“Say please.”
“Fuck you.”
“That’s my girl.”
“I swear to God,” Dane pants, his chest heaving as he finally catches up, “I’m going to staple your feet to the ground, Speedbump.”
I’m pushing myself halfway upright, and the blood isroaring in my ears from the run and the view, which, unfortunately, includes Finn’s very smug ass.
“Oh, don’t act like you’re the fun police,” he throws over his shoulder to Dane with a grin, turning to face him.
Which also turns me, and I catch movement too close to my setup.IsaacRaine is crouched low beside it, gloved hands brushing over the rear linkage. Checking something?
What the actual?—
“Finn—” I start, but Raine has already straightened and dusts off his palms before sauntering back toward Isla.
She’s off to the side, arms crossed, face twisted in that permanent scowl she wears.
Raine starts talking to her, gesturing sharply, but she just rolls her eyes, flicks a dismissive hand in his direction, and turns away, heading for her own bike.
Was he checking my suspension settings?
Trying to give her an edge?
Typical Raine bullshit, probably thinks she can match my line if she copies my setup.
I snort.Good luck with that.
Finn shifts again beneath me, and the motion makes my stomach lurch.
“Getting sick here,” I mutter, elbowing him hard in the shoulder.
“Yeah, man.” Dane grunts, finally catching his breath. “Put her down before she pukes on your back.”
Finn laughs, then he sets me down way too gently for someone who just hauled me over his shoulder like a sack of gear. When I’m back on my feet, he catches the end of my braid and tugs at it, and my traitor of a diaphragm seizes on instinct.
Hiccup.
Of course.
His smirk widens. “There she is.”
Fucking butterflies, a full-blown stampede in my stomach.
I glare at him, or at least I try to, but it comes out more like a flustered squint. “I hate you.”
“You’re welcome.” He’s still smiling like he’s the reason the sun decided to come out this morning. “You needed to loosen up.”
I hate that he’s right.
