Alex:
The night had settled into that dangerous quiet that always makes me feel more alive. City lights bled across the wet asphalt as I coasted to a stop beside Luke’s truck.
“Home stretch,” he said, voice low enough to vibrate against my chest.
I kicked the stand down on my bike. “Not quite. You’re not off the hook yet.”
One brow arched. “That a threat?”
“More like an invitation.” I jerked my chin toward the shadowed road. “Follow me back to the garage. Girls are at the bar. Place is dead quiet.”
Something flickered in his eyes—hesitation, maybe, or anticipation. “And if I say no?”
“Then you miss the good whiskey.”
That earned a half-smile, crooked and dangerous. He slid behind the wheel without another word.
The ride was a blur of streetlamps and low rumble. I kept checking my
