Page 25 of Diesel

“Please.”

I pressed my lips to his. He made a low sound in his throat that shot straight through me. His other hand gripped my vest, as if I might vanish if he let go.

The kiss deepened. He parted his lips, and I swept my tongue inside, tasting coffee and something sweet. He pressed closer, and I eased him back against the bike, pinning him gently with my body.

When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. His eyes were dark, pupils wide, and his lips were pink and swollen.

“Wow,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“That was…wow.”

I chuckled. “You already said that.”

“I know.” He kept his fist tangled in my vest, reluctant to let go. “I should get back to the shuttle—make sure everyone’s actually on board.”

“Probably.” But neither of us moved as cars passed on the street, people lingered close by, and the faint sound of an airplane could be heard overhead.

“Diesel?”

“Yeah?” I brushed my knuckles across his jaw, mesmerized at the way he instinctively leaned into my touch.

“I really like you.”

Warmth spread through my entire body. This had become more than trying to get Ollie in my bed. I wanted him on the back of my bike, permanently. “I really like you too.”

“Okay. Good. Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.” He released my vest and stepped back, putting space between us that neither of us wanted. “I’ll text you about the Paint and Sip?”

“You better.”

“I will. Promise.” He started backing toward the shuttle, nearly tripping over his own feet. I reached out to steady him, and he laughed. “I’m fine. Totally coordinated. Nothing to see here.”

I swiped my thumb over his cheek. “Get in the shuttle before you hurt yourself.”

“Yes, sir.” He gave a mock salute then turned and headed toward the vehicle.

Halfway there, he glanced back. Our eyes met across the parking lot, and color flooded his face again. He ducked his head, but I caught the smile before he turned away.

Watching him walk away felt wrong. Like I should’ve followed him, kept him close, made sure he got where he was going safely. But the shuttle was right there, and Ollie was perfectly capable of handling himself.

The seniors filed on ahead of him. He climbed in last, pulled out, and was gone. I stood there until the taillights rounded the corner and disappeared.

I was grinning like an idiot.

My phone buzzed. It was a text from Crowbar: How was sad bingo?

Me: Won something better than a gift card, I typed back.

Crowbar: What?

Me: A second date.

Three dots appeared then: Good. I suck at interventions.

I pocketed the phone and swung onto the bike. The ride back was all streetlights and cold air and Ollie—his laugh, the flyer he’d tucked into my pocket like he was leaving a note.

Saturday couldn’t come fast enough.