Series: Fever Falls Series by Riley Hart
Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“We’re going to go slow. I’ll be okay. I promise.”
With a sigh, I walked around the fence and over to Rush. He stayed on the bike, holding it up as he pulled the helmet over my head. “Holy shit, this is heavy. I feel like a bobblehead, but my cheeks also feel really puffy, so I’m like a chipmunk bobblehead?”
He rolled his eyes. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Well, you have two good hands along with your dick. I should hope you can figure it out, but if not, I have loads of ideas.”
His eyes darkened to a stormy gray. “Mmm. I have plenty of ideas, and we’ll get to that after our ride.” He started the bike. “Get on behind me. You gotta hold your legs out so you don’t get burned on the exhaust.”
“What? Burned? Fuck this. I’m not riding anything except your dick.”
I turned to walk away, but Rush grabbed my wrist, laughing. “You’ll be fine, Red, and if you hate it, I’ll stop. I promise. I just… I wanna share this with you.”
And fuck if those cartoon hearts didn’t reappear. How could I say no to that? So I climbed on the back of the bike, wrapped my arms around his waist, and held my legs out. “If I die, I’m kicking your ass.”
“You won’t die, drama queen.”
He twisted the throttle, and we took off. Just like he promised, we didn’t go fast. He’d pulled off slowly, and that’s the pace we continued as Rush drove me over hills, whoops, and across the track.
We didn’t ride for very long, but I enjoyed it. The vibration of the bike beneath me, beneath us, and sharing this thing with Rush that he loved so much. When he stopped at the gate again, I got off the bike and pulled off my helmet just as he turned it off. “We didn’t whiskey throttle,” I told him.
“No, we didn’t, Red. We got started off just right.”
“We’re so sweet.”
He chuckled. “It’s going to be crazy-busy for the next couple of weeks. I race again next weekend. My trainer will be here every day with me until then, but there’s only three races left of supercross. We have the fundraiser too.”
Shit. It would be back to Rush being gone every weekend. I hadn’t let myself think about it much. But it could be worse. Weekends weren’t the end of the world. “When does the outdoor season start?”
“Two weeks after that. Maybe you can go with me sometimes. Especially since you only work twelve-hour shifts, three days a week.”
Well, shit. I hadn’t thought of that. “We’ll see. I don’t want to interrupt you when you’re working. We’ll figure it out.”
He grinned. “Yeah, we will. You ready to go inside with me?”
I pretended to swoon. “I thought you’d never ask. I had a long day. I was thinking food, then sweets, a movie, and sex—with two hands and lots of touching.”
Rush pulled me to him and kissed me. “I think I can handle that.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Rush
I’m not sure many riders have Rush’s throttle control.
I was riding for shit. It was the second qualifying race of the night, and I was in tenth place. The track was rutty, with big, deep grooves in the dirt. My arm stung slightly, but I ignored it. It was hard as fuck to hold on to a 450 at this speed, for this length of time, but it was something I was used to. Still, my shoulder was adjusting to being used again.
I went around the last corner. The moment I did, I knew I’d chosen the wrong line to follow. My tire twisted in the rut, the bike jerking and making me fly over the handlebars.
Motherfucker!
The second I hit the ground I was back on my feet, heading straight for my bike. I jumped on and pulled the throttle, then was off.
But it wasn’t enough. I came in fifteenth, which meant I had to go into the last-chance qualifier just to make it into the main race.
My body would be even more exhausted, but it wouldn’t stop me. I wasn’t going to let anything stop me. I planned to win.
“What the fuck is going on out there, Rush?” my trainer, Randy, asked the second I pulled my helmet off.
“It’s under control.” He tossed me a water, and I swallowed down the whole thing before being handed a second one and doing it again.
My bike was taken from me, and I fell into a chair in our tent.
“Is it your shoulder?” Randy asked.
“Nah. Little bit of arm pump. Shoulder aches some, but I just fucked up. There’s no excuse. I’m taking the last-chance qualifier, though.” This was my first night back in weeks. If I blew it, everyone would talk about how I wasn’t ready to come back or that I’d let myself get too comfortable while I was injured, and fuck that. I was ending supercross season on a high note.