Page 3 of Filthy Rock Stars

“You must read a lot.”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s for a project.” Why am I telling him that?

“What project?”

The motorcycle hums between our legs.

Very distracting.

“Is this your thing?” I ask, deflecting by throwing a question at him, like he did earlier. “You’re some kind of rich, tattooed bad boy who drives around the city saving people from their exes?”

“Who said I’m rich?”

“The motorcycle?”

“Maybe I stole it.”

My mouth falls open. I try to discern whether he’s messing with me, but his voice is the same gravelly tone as always, and I can’t see his face.

Finally, he turns and flips his helmet visor up. His eyes flash with inky blues and rich browns. “I know you’re not the kind of guy to hop on a stranger’s motorcycle, but we already did that part. I’m in a mood, and you’re exactly what I need.”

I lick my dry lips, scared to believe I heard what I think I just heard. “I am?”

Brilliant response, Nico. Great job.

“Tell me where you want me to take you.”

I don’t know what to say. It’s like his words cut through my logical thoughts.

I’m headed home, but that’s not right. I’m not going to invite a stranger into my house. I’m supposed to say something spontaneous and exciting right now, but I’m choking, and when the silence stretches on too awkwardly, I force out an answer.

“The park,” I manage. “The water. If you take a right here and follow the road for a couple of miles, you’ll see it.”

“Park,” he says coolly. “Got it.” The stranger reaches back and pulls me to him, one hand on my hip as he faces forward. “Hold on.”

We take off, flying again, and I grab his sides. It’s still raining and cold, so I don’t know why in the hell I just sent us to the park, except that it’s only a few blocks from my apartment, and I didn’t know what else to say.

Damn it. If he is a cannibal, the park was a horrible idea.

The city blurs past and wind whips my jacket, but the warmth of the man’s body roots me in the experience. I’ve never ridden a motorcycle, and the thrill catches up with me. I feel alive, and for a glorious moment, I don’t give a single shit about Smith.

The bike rumbles, and I realize my cock is rock hard.

I pull my hips back, trying not to rub up on the guy.

Trying not to think about what he said—that I’m exactly what he needs. Because we don’t even know each other, so that’s just nonsense.

Serial killer nonsense, probably.

When we hop off, I’m shaky, and the world keeps moving for a minute. It’s stopped sprinkling, at least, and the sun has come out. The man watches me with a half-smile as I regain my bearings and hide my erection.

“Now you’re staring,” I tell him.

“I’m just waiting for you to return my helmet.”

I pull it off and hand it to him. “Thank you for the ride. Although I still don’t understand why you did that.”

He shrugs. “We both like old sci-fi novels. Like I told you, I’m in a mood.” He cast his eyes around. Across the green grass and behind the maple and pine trees, the water is visible, deep and dark today. “You want to show me this park or what?”

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