Page 110 of Sparks Fly

I blinked and looked over at him. “No…?”

Benji lifted a hand quickly. “Not a big deal,” he said. “But Mom pulled a move. Tried to set her up with some guy. Son of a friend. Lawyer. Whatever.”

I went still for a second, something uncomfortable tightening beneath my ribs. “She didn’t say anything.”

“She shut it down,” Benji replied quickly. “Hard. Told her she wasn’t broken and didn’t need matchmaking.”

Some of the tension in my shoulders eased at that.

Benji narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re not mad are you?”

I shrugged and took another sip of my Coke.

“Nah,” I said. “She’s still figuring stuff out. I’m not gonna freak out every time her mom tries to play heteronormative bingo.”

Benji barked out a laugh. “You’re being very emotionally mature,” he said.

“I hate it,” I deadpanned.

Benji grinned and nudged my boot with his.

“You like her,” he said.

“Yeah,” I admitted, my voice softer now. “I really do.”

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. We wrapped up a couple of jobs, cleaned our stations, and closed the shop a little earlier than usual. By the time I rode home, the sky had softened into that golden stretch of early evening.

I showered and changed, pulling on my favorite black jeans, the ones worn in just right, and a forest green tee that hugged my chest beneath my broken-in leather jacket.

I kept my hair down, slightly tousled from the shower, and laced up my boots with practiced ease.

Tonight was going to be good.

The ride through the city felt easy. The engine hummed beneath me, the air cool, Fall in Boston always arrived like like clockwork as soon as September ended.

When I pulled up in front of Addison’s building, my breath caught.

She was waiting on the curb, already outside like she had been counting the minutes. Her jeans clung to her hips, tucked neatly into ankle boots with a sharp heel.

A low scoop-neck black top showed just enough collarbone to make my throat go dry, and a grey leather jacket pulled everything together in that polished way she always managed. Her hair was twisted into a messy bun that looked effortless but definitely took effort.

Her lips were a soft pink. And she was holding her helmet under her arm.

I pulled off my helmet and lifted one brow as I looked her over.

“Jesus,” I muttered.

She tilted her head slightly.

“That good?” she asked.

I climbed off the bike with the helmet still in my hand.

“You look like every bad decision I want to make tonight,” I told her.

She laughed and crossed her arms lightly.

“And yet I’m the one going to meet your friends” she teased.