Page 39 of Winning Match
She calls out to ask Bianca whether she needs anything from Ikea.
Luca bursts into laughter, wheezing so hard, he begins to cough. “Ikea?” he howls. “Have you met my sister? She thinks she’s a member of the royal family and her furniture should be custom-made, carved from?—”
“Oh, stop it,” Bianca cuts him off. She pops her head out of the bedroom and rolls her eyes. “I’m good, thanks. But our kitchen supplies are a little light if you see anything good. Just, pick up whatever.”
“For sure,” Marlowe says easily. But her shoulders tense, pinching together. And I note the stress that tightens her features.
For reasons unbeknownst to me, Marlowe isn’t in the best financial situation and she’s too proud, too hardworking, to admit it. It means I need to tread carefully around her and yet, her evasiveness only makes me want to support her more.
We leave the apartment together and I walk her toward the motorbike I have parked on a corner.
She lifts an eyebrow, her gaze darting from the bike to me and back again. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.” I pass her the extra helmet.
“I thought you had some luxury sports car.”
“You didn’t read enough of the tabloids. It was keyed?—”
“When you went on a date with a Brazilian supermodel,” she cuts in, the teeniest sliver of jealousy wrapping around her words.
I smirk. “Yes.”
She narrows her eyes at me and gestures toward my bike. “And this is the consolation prize?”
“This is the easiest way to weave in and out of traffic.”
“How will we get my new bed home?”
I snort. “Don’t you worry about that; I’ll have it delivered.”
She nods but again, a sheen of awareness coats her skin. And I silently swear.
“Marli…” My voice is tense, and she takes the helmet from my hands. “You’re my girlfriend.”
“Fake,” she whispers.
“It doesn’t matter. While you’re here, in my city, in my hometown, I will take care of you. Whether you need me to or not, I will make sure you are comfortable and safe. Do you understand?”
She holds my eyes for a long moment before nodding once. Then she jams the helmet on top of her head, buckles the clasp, and points toward my bike. “Just don’t kill us on this thing.”
“You worry too much.” I straddle the bike and give her a hand as she swings her leg over the seat behind me.
“Tell me about it,” she murmurs as her thighs frame mine.
I grip her thigh in my palm, liking the heat of her body pressed flush against my back. For a heartbeat, I wish I could tug her onto my lap and kiss her senseless. Drive her wild and watch her come apart as she straddles me on my bike. Fuck. I close my eyes and suck in a breath as my blood simmers. “Hold on tight.”
She wraps her arms around my abdomen, her fingers folding right above my belly button. I give her thigh one final squeeze before turning my eyes to the road, revving the engine, and heading toward Ikea.
“Mm, they’re so good,” Marlowe groans as she chews on a Swedish meatball. “I love the consistency of Ikea. It always delivers.”
“I’ve never met anyone who knows the menu by heart.”
“I come here a lot with the Sewing Circle.”
“For furniture?” How many throw pillows and towels are these ladies purchasing?
“Nope, for lunch. Judith is partial to their rhubarb crisp.”
