Honda Boy was holding his helmet
under an arm while he flirted with the girls surrounding him. He was blond,
with a short, shaggy hairstyle that probably took a lot more effort to create
than it looked like. I could tell from the way the girls around him were
tittering like teenagers that he was charming; with seemingly little effort on
his part, he had all of them eating out of his hand. When a break in the crowd
gave me a clear view of his face, I realized another thing: He was smokin’,
someone-hold-on-to-my-ovaries- before-they-explode hot.
There was a perfect symmetry to his
rugged features that made it seem unreal that he was standing just a few feet
away from me. He should be plastered on a billboard somewhere, half-naked,
selling overpriced cologne to men who wanted just a fraction of his sex appeal.
As if he could feel my eyes on him, he turned his gaze my way. Our eyes met and
locked, and I was helpless to turn away. There was something carnal about him,
primal and dangerous. Exotic. I was instantly captivated, and I hated that I
was. This guy was neck-deep in a world that twisted my stomach, a world that
spat in the face of my sport. My career.
As his light-colored eyes bored
holes into mine, one edge of his lip curved up in a devilish crooked grin that
was both playful and promising. He was practically shouting, with just that one
deadly smile, that he would satisfy my every desire, satiate every craving I
could possibly have. My heart started thudding in my chest as sensations that
had been dormant for far too long swirled to life in- side me. Luckily for me,
the big man taking the guy’s bets clapped him on the shoulder, breaking our stare
down. Once I was free of his steamy gaze, I instantly turned around so my back
was to him. Jesus, was I breathing
harder? Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. I was twenty-two, not twelve.
“Damn,” I heard Nikki say. “You
were right. I should have bet on him from the get-go. I didn’t really get a
good look at him before, but he is freaking hot!”
Inhaling a deep breath, I attempted
to force my body back in line with my brain. “This guy is undefeated?” I asked Nikki. “Really?” She nodded in
answer and I had to close my eyes for a second. A face like that with racing
skills to boot? Jesus.
Clearing my throat, I nonchalantly
asked, “What did you say his name was again?” I could at least label the guy in
the fantasy I was surely going to have later.
“Hayden... something. He’s been around for a while, from
what I gathered.”
I risked a glance over my shoulder
at... Hayden. He’d slipped his helmet on, thankfully, although his visor was
popped up. The big guy taking bets had been joined by a skinny Hispanic guy who
seemed to be giving Hayden instructions. Or maybe a pep talk. The little guy
was acting out the race that was about to happen with his hands, complete with
swerving and explosions. God, I hoped there weren’t going to be explosions.
While he was going through his dramatic highlights, the big guy looped a camera
over Hayden’s helmet.
When the two competitors were
ready, they backed their motor- cycles onto the street. A cheer ripped up and
down the sidewalk as the hopeful gamblers prepared for another round of racing.
I didn’t want to feel anything but contempt for what I was witnessing, yet the
energy of the spectators, the roar of the bikes—I couldn’t help the zing of
excitement that raced up my spine. Against my will, my mouth twisted into a
wide grin, and a yell of encouragement left my lips. Hayden’s helmet swiveled
my way as he revved his engine. My pulse quickened as our eyes met. Then he
winked at me and slammed his visor shut.
As the riders moved into position,
Nikki grabbed my arm. “Come on. We can watch the action from the van.”
I had no idea what she was talking
about. Before I could ask her, though, she yanked me toward a black van parked
on the sidewalk. The back doors were open, and a giant monitor attached to a
swinging metal arm was sticking out above the hovering crowd. The screen was
split in two, each half showing the footage from one racer’s helmet cam. Hayden
and his opponent were both looking straight ahead, and the dual feeds showed
similar stretches of barren road. Looking down the street, I saw that the pair
were stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change.
Returning my eyes to the monitor, I
found myself holding my breath as I waited for the signal to change colors.
When it turned green and the bikes surged forward, I stepped closer to the van,
like that would somehow release my pent-up energy. In unison, the crowd around
me started hooting and hollering. Swept up in the moment, I bounced on my toes
and prayed for speed. But after watching the screen for just a few seconds, I
was struck with the harsh reality of the situation I was watching. This was no
closed-off track with well-defined paths. This was down and dirty, anything
goes, just get to the finish line first racing.
The bikes blew through red lights
like they meant absolutely nothing. The streets were fairly empty at this early
hour, but they blurred past the few vehicles on the road like they were
standing still; they had to be going 100 miles per hour, easy. They dodged
obstacles by hopping onto the sidewalk, they fishtailed around slick corners,
and they came close to colliding with oncoming traffic more than once.
I turned to Nikki with shock clear
on my face. “This is insane! Someone’s going to get hurt. Maybe killed!”
Nikki’s face was pure elation as
she watched the screens. Her expression changed as my words sunk in, then she
looked at me like I had a foot sticking out of my head. I supposed it was odd
to hear that type of statement coming from someone who routinely hovered around
the 150 mark on the speedometer while riding, but that was a completely
different kind of environment. Believe it or not, what I did was safe,
relatively speaking. Millions of dollars were spent to make it that way. This was not safe. At all.
“They’re breaking every traffic law
there is,” I added, feeling like a giant stick in the mud. Someone needed to be
the voice of reason here, though, because everyone was clearly out of their
ever loving minds.
Nikki smirked at my comment. “It’s
a race, Kenzie. They can’t exactly drive cautiously. Why do you think this
happens so late at night?”
“Because it’s illegal,” I
deadpanned. I got a couple of odd looks from the crowd after saying that,
including a particularly nasty glare from Hayden’s bet collector. Maybe this
wasn’t the best place to be talking about the law. Shutting my mouth, I quickly
refocused on the screen.
Just as I noticed a familiar
section of street come into view on the monitor, one side of the screen started
wobbling, then the camera showed asphalt, sparks, spinning scenery, and a
rapidly approaching telephone pole. The crowd around me hushed as it became
clear that Hayden’s competition wasn’t going to finish this race. I heard
Hayden’s bike rounding the corner seconds later, then Nikki was once again
pulling me along like a rag doll. She shoved us into a good position to see the
finish line right as Hayden’s Honda whizzed past. He was alone. Cheers erupted
mixed with a few groans from the people who’d bet on the other guy.
Just as I was wondering if anyone
was going to go check on the Ninja rider, Nikki grabbed my shoulders and
started shaking me with uncontainable joy. “We won, Kenzie! We frickin’ won!”
“Great,” I said, clenching my teeth
so I wouldn’t bite my tongue.
Releasing me, Nikki let out a
squeal of excitement. “I just made enough money to pay you back and cover my loss. See, aren’t you glad
you came?”
I narrowed my eyes into poisonous
daggers that would hopefully drill some sense into her. “I hate you,” I
murmured. Nikki held a hand over her
heart. “I know by hate you mean love, and I love you too, Kenzie. Now let’s
collect my winnings and go home so you can rest up. Big year this year!”
I opened my mouth to scold her with
some biting remark about how I’d wanted to leave ages ago, but she turned on
her heel and left me there, gaping. Just as I was forcing the muscles in my jaw
to relax enough to contract, Hayden pulled up next to where I was standing on
the sidewalk. It felt like the world suddenly shifted into slow motion as I
turned my head to look at him.
He was still hunched over his bike,
hands on the grip and throttle; the only indication that he was looking at me
was the direction of his dark helmet. Then, like some freaking Prince Charming
in a fairy tale, he slowly removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm. I
swear the air around me condensed as his tilted smile came into view. Jesus
Christ, this guy was sex on a stick.
Reaching up, he roughly ran a hand
through his sweaty dirty- blond hair. The short, sexy shag he’d had going on
earlier was destroyed from the helmet, but somehow after just a few scruffs of
his hand, the carefree style was back to utter perfection. I kind of wanted to
mess it up again, run my hands through the strands, grab a handful and clench
it tight while I outlined those incredibly kissable lips with my tongue.
Whoa. No. I didn’t want that.
His penetrating gaze studied my
face for a moment. There was something there in his eyes that I couldn’t quite
grasp. Interest, sure, but almost... sadness too. Then he smiled, and the look
vanished so fast, I was sure I’d imagined it. “Haven’t seen you here before,”
he said, his voice low and easy, like he hadn’t just risked his life. “I hope
you bet on me. It would be a shame to see someone as beautiful as you... lose.”
His grin turned suggestive, and
warning signs started flashing in front of my eyes. Danger! Do not proceed! Rocky road ahead! Turn back now! The
warnings flared even brighter when he stood from his motorcycle and began
approaching me.
When he was directly in front of
me, so close that I could smell the subtle spicy aroma of his cologne, my heart
was hammering so hard, I was positive he could hear it, positive he could see
my T-shirt lifting and releasing like a frantic hummingbird was hiding under
the fabric. What the hell was he doing to me? Was I nervous or excited? Because
the sensation was so similar to both, I honestly couldn’t tell.
Extending a hand, he smoothly said,
“Name’s Hayden. Hayden Hayes.” I was just about to lift my hand and touch
him—my fingers even twitched in response—when he added, “And what should I call
you, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart?
With those two simple syllables he had just dumped a bucket of ice water over
my head and killed any fantasy I might have had about him. I lived, worked, and
breathed in a world where men looked at me like I was a second-class citizen.
To prove my worth, I had to work harder, longer, and with everything I had
inside me, all the fucking time. I felt like he’d just tried to take all of
that hard work away from me with that one demeaning word.
“Leaving,” I said, walking away.
