Page 76 of Third Time Lucky

I tug my coat tighter around me, as if that’s going to offer any protection against his charms. “Input for what? Where?”

“My real estate agent called. I had her looking at something for me, something inspired by those donations of yours.”

To the youth center? “Not a house with a swing?”

He bites his lip and I almost whimper.

“Nothing feels right yet on that front,” he says slowly. “But this does, and it’s important for me to get your opinion. Will you help me out?”

He’s asking for my help. How is a fixer/masochist supposed to resist that after two days without his company?

Because you said it was a good idea to stay away from him, literally one minute ago?

Who asked you?

“A few hours?”

“That’s the spirit.” He winks, slipping on a pair of sunglasses and adjusting his jacket. His leather jacket. Where the hell has he been hiding that? My fantasy folder is now full of fodder again. Damn him.

“You won’t regret it.”

“Have fun, gentleman,” Mr. Gordon calls as we step outside, but I’m momentarily blinded when the sun hits all that chrome in front of me, so I can’t answer.

The motorcycle is Elliot’s?

“It belongs to George,” he says before I can ask out loud. “He told me to take it out for a spin or two while he was gone, and I haven’t had the chance until today. And if we get an early snow, I’ll miss my window.”

“George owns this?” I check out the leather seat and the clean lines of the machine. “Are you sure? There’s not a naked lady in sight.”

“Don’t give him any ideas.”

“When is he coming back again?” I need to be prepared for this guy’s arrival. And hide Tani.

“I’m not sure. He’s been making noises about extending his stay.” Elliot grins at me, handing over an extra helmet. “You going to take that beanie off?”

“No way in hell,” I say as I struggle to pull the helmet down over the knit hat. To be honest, I’d forgotten about the beanie. I didn’t have the energy to fuck with my hair and my ears were cold, but if I take it off now, I’ll look like one of those troll dolls, and I’m trying to retain a small amount of dignity. “Are you sure you don’t want to call a car?”

In answer, Elliot climbs on the bike, and it might be one the sexiest things I’ve ever seen. I’m a bicycle man, but because he’s my commercial porn, I’d buy a motorcycle right now if I could. Maybe repurpose it as a manly planter because I’d never have the nerve to actually drive it. “I don’t think—”

“Don’t think,” he says firmly. “Hop on and trust me. I know what I’m doing and some fresh air will be good for you.”

I give in with a sigh and straddle the seat behind him. This position is going to get me in trouble. That ass against my dick? There’s no way he won’t feel my reaction.

“Let’s rumble, I guess,” I say dubiously, gripping the edges of his open jacket. He laughs and then we’re roaring away from the curb so quickly I need to get a better handle on him or risk hitting the concrete.

My handle equals his abs. Hard ridges that are too perfect to be real. These are vanity abs I’m feeling up, which makes no sense because, from what I’ve seen so far, Elliot isn’t all that vain.

I submit one pair of flamingo shorts into evidence, Your Honor.

Where is he taking me? Does he genuinely want my input on something, or is he getting me away from potential witnesses for the “I’m not gay even though I jerked you off” conversation I already know by heart?

Maybe he’s missed you as much as you’ve missed him.

The hand covering mine makes me aware of how tightly I’m holding on to him. He taps me and points down the street to let me know we’re close.

It’s not that far from where we started at all. All I can see is an old two-story brick building faced with large multi-paned windows that looks like it could have been a factory or a warehouse in the twenties. What is he up to?

We pull up along the curb, and as we slow to a stop, I see a lovely black woman with a pixie cut clutching a clipboard to her chest. She’s wearing a welcoming smile and a fondly exasperated expression as she speaks to the small figure hiding behind her, clinging to her pants.

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