Page 100 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

“No.”

“What did you do while you were there? Did you get a chance to try that Cuban coffee?”

I shrugged. “Nah, went to the beach. Went on some party yacht. Not much.”

“Party yacht? Alright, fancy pants. Did Merritt come back with you?”

I frowned. “She came back to Dallas, yes.”

“Ah,” he said.

“What does that mean?”

He laughed. “You went to Florida together but you came back separated. No wonder you’re acting like such a downer.”

I took a deep breath. “She wants me to quit riding.”

“She told you that?”

“Basically.”

He chuckled. “Did she ask you to sell your bike?”

“No.”

“Did she ask you to give her the keys, pop the tires, or park it?”

I knew what he was driving at. “I’m not on a suicide mission. I ride for fun and freedom. That’s it. I don’t have a death wish.”

“Ah, that little wreck freaked her out,” he said.

“It was fucking minor.”

Riggs shook his head, still chuckling. “To you, maybe. But you know how it is with people who don’t ride. Every scratch is a death sentence in their eyes. Plus, you were pretty fucked up.”

“Yeah, well, maybe she’s not cut out for this,” I said.

“Maybe not,” Riggs agreed. “But don’t be too hard on her. Fear does funny things to people.”

The sound of a bell ringing pulled Riggs away.

Soon, my burger was delivered. Riggs kept his distance. I heard the door open, but it didn’t faze me. But it was the expression on Riggs’s face that said it all.

I felt the presence next to me. I took a deep breath and put my burger down before I turned my head to look at Merritt. I was about to ask what she was doing there when she held up her hand to stop me from saying a word.

“I thought you might be here,” she said, taking a seat on the stool next to mine. Her voice was calm, but her eyes betrayed the storm behind them. “Can we talk?”

“You can,” I said, leaning back on my stool and crossing my arms.

Riggs let out a low whistle. “Another asshole flare-up? Dude, what’s with you lately? Finish your burger before you make any rash decisions.”

I scowled at him. “Mind your business, Riggs.”

He smirked and turned to Merritt. “Save your breath, sweetheart. Might as well be talking to a turd on a log right now. This one gets his panties in a twist and lashes out like a wounded animal.”

Merritt didn’t even blink. “Thanks for the advice,” she said. “But I’m not going anywhere. This turd on a log needs to hear this.”

Riggs shrugged, giving her a sympathetic look. “Your funeral,” he muttered, wandering off to the other end of the bar.