Page 15 of Egg Me On

“So Cash is coming, great!” Marcus said, drawing a laugh from the group.

Without another word, I stalked out of the room, my heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to escape. I needed air. Needed to get the fuck away from the intensity of whatever this was before I did something I couldn't take back.

Footsteps hurried after me. "Cash, wait," Aiden called, catching up to me in the hallway.

I stopped but didn't turn, my hands clenched at my sides, every muscle in my body tense with the effort of not grabbing him.

His hand landed on my shoulder, light but unmistakable, sending heat spiraling through me from that single point of contact. I finally turned, meeting his eyes.

"You're the only one I'd ride with, okay? The only one I trust," he said quietly, his gaze steady on mine. "You don't have to be angry.”

My voice caught in my throat, words that wanted to get out slamming up against each other, forming a dam that seemed impenetrable.

He kept talking. “Did you want me to sit next to you? You looked a bit irritated, that’s all, so I was trying to give you space. But I definitely would have sat next to you if I’d known it would hurt your feelings."

Fuck. Had my feelings been hurt? That sounded so…

“I’m so excited to go on a longer ride with you. Is it a rush? Riding through the mountains?”

The sincerity in his voice, the open trust in his expression—it was too much. I wanted to slam him against the wall and kiss him until he never looked at another man again. Wanted to mark him as mine in ways I'd never felt compelled to do with anyone before. The intensity of it terrified me.

Before he could wreck me even more with his adorable excitement, I gave him a curt nod, then turned and stalked toward the garage, needing the familiar sanctuary of engines and tools, things I understood, things I could control.

Dylan was already there when I entered, looking up from the carburetor he was cleaning with that knowing smirk that made me want to break something.

"Fuck off," I growled, heading for my bay. Oh, great. So now my voice worked again. Kind of.

"I didn't say anything," he replied, the smirk growing wider.

"And leave Aiden alone," I added, knowing my tone was too harsh, too revealing, but unable to stop myself.

Dylan raised his eyebrows, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Relax, man. I'm not after your crush. Just offering the guy a ride."

"He's not my—" I started, then stopped, the denial dying on my lips. Because what was the point? Dylan had seen right through me, just like Silas. Just like probably everyone except Aiden himself. "Just back off," I finished weakly.

"Whatever you say, boss." Dylan held up his hands in mock surrender. "But for what it's worth? I know he’s yours. I see the way you look at him, and he looks at you the same way. Well, the same way, but a lot less cranky. It’s kind of cute, how he’s all cheerful and chipper and just rolls with your grumpy scowls."

I turned away, unwilling to let him see the hope that flared in my chest at his words. Because even if it was true—even if Aiden did want me—I had no fucking idea what to do about it.

Chapter 6

Aiden

When the low rumbleof a motorcycle engine vibrated through the windows, my stomach performed an Olympic-level gymnastics routine. I swallowed hard, shouldered my bag, and headed for the door, grabbing the bag I’d packed for the campout. I’d tried to be efficient, knowing space on the motorcycle was limited, but it still seemed like a lot.

"Is that him?" Mira appeared from the kitchen, coffee mug in hand, her expression halfway between concern and resignation.

“You know it’s him. He’s been driving me to work for two weeks.”

“Yeah. That’s weird. He keeps giving you rides, even after he fixed your car. Why is that?” Mira asked. "Is it because you’re part of a motorcycle gang now?"

"They’re not a motorcycle gang, Mira. Just a group of people with the same hobby.” I couldn’t actually explain why Cash was still driving me to work, why he showed up like clockwork every morning at 7 am, sometimes when I wasn’t even sure he had to be at work himself.

She rolled her eyes. "Well, have fun sitting on the back of a death machine with Mr. Personality."

"He's a good rider," I defended, feeling heat creep up my neck. "And he's... not that bad."

"How would you be able to tell? He doesn’t do anything but grunt." Her knowing smirk made me want to disappear through the floor.

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