Page 22 of Royally Bad

She gave me a blank look. “I got dragged into a jail cell and humiliated, and you want me to believe it’s because some random person orpersons,”she pulled the word out, “are jealous? Nope. Wrong answer.”

“Come on,” I said, tracking after her toward the road. “Where are you going now?”

Waving her phone, she tapped at it. “I’m getting a taxi back to my car. They said they towed it nearby.”

I was getting ready to think of another way to keep this startling woman from exiting my life completely. As I watched her expression fall, her fingers poking frantically at her phone, I found one. “It’s dead, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t get to charge it last night because ...” Blushing, she eyed me, then her phone again.

Because you were fucking me until you passed out.I didn’t say it, she was pissed enough at me. “Let me give you a ride.”

“How? Didn’t they tow your motorcycle, too?”

“My brother brought it here, so I could leave when I was ready.” Jerking my thumb, I indicated the stretch of sidewalk up the street. My bike was shining under the orange sun.

Sammy looked from me to her phone, then back again. Finally, she cupped her cheeks and gave a dramatic groan so loud that the police officer sitting by the front doors sat up like she’d pointed a gun at him. She bent over, head between her knees.

“Are you okay?” I asked, reaching for her.

Before I made contact, Sammy unfurled so quick that her back cracked, her hair finally flying free of the last of the woven wedding design. “Fuck me!” She laughed at the sky. “Can things really never go my way?”

“They can at least go to the impound lot,” I said. Sammy studied me, looking me over like I was some demonic creature she’d unearthed. I did my best to smile reassuringly.

Eyeing my bike, she next looked down at her purse. Carefully, she wove the strap through the loops of the high heels, giving them a place to hang. “Okay. I’ll let you give me a ride.”

A surprisingly airy flutter swam from my toes to my throat. It forced my voice to come out lighter than usual. “Then let’s get out of here.”

She held me like I was the only thing keeping her on the planet. It was a grip reserved for lovers or, in her case, people who had never been on a motorcycle before.

I didn’t have a spare helmet, so I’d forced her to wear mine while I went without. My father would have praised me while my mother would have cracked me upside my temple for choosing someone’s safety over my own.

But she wasn’t here.

And Sammy was.

I mean that. Sammy washere,right here in the moment. Fear is the perfect divider for separating you from your fucked-up thoughts. When you think you might die, clarity shows through better than black clouds on a red sky.

Riding my bike didn’t scare me, though, so unlike her ... I wasn’t free. My skull rampaged with the hoofbeats of my thoughts.Is helping her all right? Does this make any sense? Will Hawthorne care that I’m not at the club yet? Will my father? And Francesca ... how is she holding up? Shouldn’t I be spending time with her instead?

Twins have connections deeper than blood.

My engine crackled, gravel flying away from my front tire as I pulled up outside the impound lot. The metal beast purred between my thighs, then it went silent. “Here we are,” I said, twisting to look at Sammy.

Inch by inch, she eased her hands off my middle. They were bent like claws, clearly cramped. I missed them instantly. When she pulled the helmet off, her hair fell from it in tangled strands.

The sight of her stunned face—wide lips, sparkling eyes, and tomato cheeks—made my cock jump as quickly as my heart. It was a confusing sensation that left me dizzy; did I have enough blood in my body to endure two demanding parts of me at once?

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She focused on me, blinking. “I know how it feels to be a cannonball.”

Laughter exploded from me. “That’s one way to describe it.” My hand came up, stroking hair from her forehead before I could stop myself. We touched through our skin ... but it was more than that.

Heat plucked at the base of my neck. I couldn’t stop how my brushing fingertips became a firm palm cupping her cheek. My mouth tingled; I knew how she’d taste, I wanted to experience her soft lips as they buzzed with the last of her adrenaline.

Sammy started to lean in. In the blackness of her dilating pupils, I saw my half-open mouth. She must have seen her own expression in my eyes, too. My thumb grazed the corner of her lips; her hand closed on mine, pushing me away.

“Come on,” she said, leaving the helmet on the seat. “Let’s go.”

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