Page 13 of Edge
Swinging a long leg over the seat and settling like he belonged there, he crooked a finger at me. “C’mere, baby.”
My heart hammered as I climbed on behind him. The bike shifted under my weight, and I stiffened until his big hand wrapped around mine, guiding my arms around his torso.
“Don’t overthink it,” he murmured over his shoulder. “Just hold on tight.”
I did.
The world roared to life as he twisted the throttle, the vibrations shivering up through my body until I couldn’t tell where the machine ended and he began. We shot forward, the wind whipping against my jacket, tugging at my hair where it spilled out beneath the helmet.
I gasped, equal parts fear and exhilaration.
Tatum laughed, and the sound carried back to me over the rush of air. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
It really did.
The streets blurred, palm trees streaking past as I clung to him. His body was a solid wall beneath my hands, everyshift of his muscles steadying me. The fear ebbed, replaced by something headier. Freedom.
When we finally coasted to a stop at the beach, my legs were shaky as I slid off. Tatum caught me before I could stumble, his grin smug.
“First ride.” He brushed his thumb over my cheek. “And you’re the first woman I’ve ever let on the back of my bike.”
I blinked at him, breathless from more than the wind. I didn’t understand the weight of that confession, not yet. But I felt myself falling faster—and deeper—than I ever thought possible.
The next fewdays blurred in a haze of work, stolen hours, and the constant pull of Tatum.
On Monday, I dragged myself through my shift at Bookshell Cove, only to find him waiting outside when I closed up. Leaning against his bike like he had all the time in the world, he made my pulse race with nothing more than a look. I didn’t even argue when he took my tote and guided me to his Harley. Although I was surprised when Aunt Gloria waved goodbye with an approving smile.
Tuesday wasn’t much different. I went straight to his place after work, promising myself I’d only stay for dinner. Instead, I ended up falling asleep in his bed again, tangled in his arms, any thought of returning home long forgotten.
By Wednesday, I stopped pretending I wanted to be anywhere but with him.
I was in his kitchen, stirring a skillet of chicken and vegetables, when it hit me just how much had changed since I met Tatum. Just days ago, I’d been settling into a new job in a new town, unsure of where I fit. Now I was barefoot inTatum’s apartment, wearing one of his T-shirts knotted at my hip, making dinner like I belonged there.
“You sure you know what you’re doing, baby?” he asked, lounging at the table with a bottle of beer in front of him.
I shot him a look over my shoulder. “I can manage stir-fry without burning down your apartment.”
“Good.” His grin widened. “’Cause I’d hate to have to break in a new place when you’ve finally gotten comfortable here.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks at the way he said it, as though I’d marked his territory without even realizing it. But I figured he had no room to complain when he kept pushing me to bring more stuff over every day.
I plated the food and carried two dishes over, sliding one in front of him. “I hope it’s up to your standards.”
Tatum reached over to tug my chair closer to his. “You cook for me, you’ll never hear a complaint outta my mouth.”
Thinking about how my dad always grumbled over my mom’s meals, I beamed a smile at him. “Thanks.”
He dug in with zero hesitation, chewing slowly before giving me a look that made my stomach flutter. “Damn good. You been holding out on me?”
I ducked my head, trying to hide how ridiculously pleased his compliment made me. “It’s just stir-fry.”
“Doesn’t matter.” His hand covered mine on the table, his thumb rubbing slow circles against my skin. “You made it for me. That’s what counts.”
My chest tightened, warmth spreading through me that had nothing to do with the food. I knew exactly what he meant because I felt the same each time he did something for me.
We ate in comfortable silence after that, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel awkward or forced. Just easy.
When the plates were empty, he leaned back in his chair, eyes gleaming. “You cook, I clean. Fair trade.”
