The Boy Next Door Is Trouble.

Chapter 7: The Motorcycle Ride.

Three weeks later, the rain finally showed up.

And when I say showed up, I mean it arrived like it had been personally offended by the town's existence.

All day, the sky had looked wrong.

Heavy.

Dark.

That weird purple-gray color clouds get right before they decide to ruin everyone's plans.

The kind of sky that makes you check the weather app every twenty minutes even though you already know what's coming.

I was sitting across from Zane in the library during our usual Thursday study session, pretending to focus on my notes.

Pretending.

Because every few minutes, I found myself glancing out the window.

The trees outside bent slightly in the wind.

The clouds kept getting darker.

A storm was coming.

A bad one.

"Your car's going to be fine."

I looked up.

Zane hadn't even glanced away from his book.

The Remains of the Day sat open in front of him, one hand resting against the page.

"I didn't say anything."

"You checked the window four times."

I immediately looked offended.

"I did not."

"You did."

A pause.

"Maybe three."

That earned the smallest smile.

I hated how proud I felt about causing it.

"I'm just watching the weather."

"Hm."

His eyes stayed on the page.

"It's going to be fine."

I looked outside again.

The clouds looked like they were plotting something.

"I don't trust that."

"You don't trust anything."

"That's not true."

Zane finally looked up.

It took exactly one raised eyebrow to prove me wrong.

I looked back at my notes.

"Fine. Most things."

"Thought so."

I kicked his shoe under the table.

He didn't even react.

Which somehow made it worse.

---

The rain started at 5:15.

Not gradually.

Not politely.

One second there was wind.

The next, the sky basically exploded.

Water slammed against the library windows so hard that several people looked up at the same time.

"Wow," somebody whispered.

Outside, the parking lot disappeared beneath sheets of rain.

The world turned gray.

Everything blurred.

The sound on the roof was deafening.

I stared.

"That's not normal rain."

Zane packed up his books.

"It's October."

"October isn't supposed to be angry."

"It disagrees."

---

By the time we reached the parking lot, we were already getting soaked.

Rain bounced off the pavement.

Water rushed along the curbs.

My sneakers were wet within ten seconds.

I hurried toward my car.

My trusty silver Civic.

The car I'd had exactly zero problems with until that moment.

I unlocked it, climbed inside, and slammed the door shut.

Rain drummed against the roof.

For a second, I just sat there.

Safe.

Dry-ish.

Then I turned the key.

The engine coughed.

A horrible sound.

A sound no engine should ever make.

Then silence.

Followed by a clicking noise that immediately filled me with dread.

I stared at the dashboard.

"No."

I tried again.

The same awful cough.

The same clicking.

The same refusal.

"No, no, no."

I dropped my forehead against the steering wheel.

The steering wheel offered no solutions.

Typical.

I pulled out my phone.

Called Mia.

Straight to voicemail.

Of course.

I called Dad.

Voicemail.

In a meeting. Leave a message.

Wonderful.

Perfect.

Exactly what I needed.

I was halfway through considering whether I could simply live in my car forever when something tapped against the passenger window.

I jumped.

Zane stood outside.

Rain soaked his hair flat against his forehead.

His leather jacket looked darker than usual.

A motorcycle helmet rested under one arm.

I lowered the window slightly.

Rain immediately sprayed inside.

"My car won't start."

"I gathered that."

His tone was dry.

I glared.

He looked toward the dashboard.

Then back at me.

"I'll take you home."

I blinked.

"On the motorcycle?"

He looked down at the motorcycle.

Then at me.

"That's usually how it works."

I hated him a little.

Just a little.

Rainwater dripped from his hair.

"So?"

I looked at my dead car.

Looked at the storm.

Looked at him.

And sighed.

"Fine."

---

The helmet was warm when he handed it to me.

Warm from his hands.

Or maybe from where it'd been tucked under his arm.

Either way, I noticed.

Unfortunately.

"Here."

I struggled with the strap for about four seconds before Zane reached over.

"Hold still."

My heart immediately forgot how to function.

Because suddenly he was close.

Very close.

His fingers brushed beneath my chin as he adjusted the buckle.

Quick.

Practical.

Nothing remotely romantic about it.

Which didn't stop my brain from making it weird.

"There."

He stepped back.

The cold air rushed into the space he'd left behind.

I immediately felt ridiculous.

---

The motorcycle looked much bigger when I was actually standing next to it.

"Just get on."

"That's easy for you to say."

"You'll survive."

"Very reassuring."

A corner of his mouth twitched.

I climbed on behind him.

Awkwardly.

Very awkwardly.

Then froze.

Because now I had a new problem.

Where exactly was I supposed to put my hands?

The answer was obvious.

Unfortunately.

I placed them lightly around his waist.

Immediately became aware that he was warm.

Very warm.

Through the leather jacket.

Through the rain.

Through everything.

My brain chose that moment to become completely useless.

"Comfortable?" he asked.

"No."

"Good."

I could hear the smile in his voice.

Jerk.

The engine roared to life beneath us.

A second later we were moving.

---

I'd never been on a motorcycle before.

Not once.

And it felt nothing like being in a car.

The rain hit differently.

The wind hit differently.

Everything felt sharper.

More immediate.

The world rushed past in streaks of headlights and water and blurred colors.

Rain sprayed around us.

The air smelled like wet pavement and gasoline and cold autumn leaves.

I tightened my grip slightly.

Purely for safety reasons.

Obviously.

The motorcycle turned onto the main road.

Water streamed across the asphalt.

Streetlights glowed through the storm like blurry gold smudges.

And somewhere in the middle of all that chaos, I realized something strange.

I was having fun.

Actual fun.

The kind that sneaks up on you.

The kind that catches you smiling before you realize you're doing it.

"What?" Zane shouted over the rain.

"What?"

He laughed.

Then called back, "See? Not so bad."

I rolled my eyes even though he couldn't see it.

"Maybe."

The wind stole most of the word.

At some point, I leaned closer so the rain wouldn't hit my face quite as hard.

My forehead brushed the back of his shoulder.

The leather of his jacket was cool and damp beneath my cheek.

I felt him notice.

Not because he said anything.

Just a tiny shift.

A slight relaxing of his shoulders.

Like he'd settled into the moment too.

Neither of us mentioned it.

---

The ride felt both impossibly long and way too short.

Then suddenly we were turning onto Ridgeway Lane.

The familiar houses appeared through the rain.

Our houses.

Home.

The motorcycle rolled into my driveway.

The engine rumbled once.

Twice.

Then went quiet.

The sudden silence felt strange after all that noise.

For a second, neither of us moved.

Rain continued falling around us.

Steady.

Relentless.

I climbed off carefully.

My legs felt weird.

Unsteady.

Like the ground was moving even though it wasn't.

Zane took the helmet back.

Rainwater dripped from his hair onto his jacket.

We stood there facing each other.

A foot apart.

Both completely soaked.

"Thank you."

The words came out softer than I intended.

He turned the helmet in his hands.

Once.

Twice.

Like he was thinking.

His gaze settled on me.

And there was something different about it.

Something careful.

Like he was trying to decide whether to say something.

The rain filled the silence between us.

Finally—

"Avery."

My stomach immediately flipped.

Because he'd never called me Avery before.

Always Collins.

Always.

The sound of my actual name in his voice felt strangely important.

"Yeah?"

He looked at me for another second.

Then shook his head slightly.

"Get inside."

I blinked.

"What?"

"You're soaked."

A beat.

"So are you."

"I ride motorcycles."

As if that explained everything.

Then he smiled.

Small.

Real.

And my brain completely stopped working.

I pointed toward the house.

"Right."

"Right."

I went inside.

---

A few minutes later, I was standing in the hallway dripping rainwater onto the welcome mat.

The house smelled like laundry detergent and dinner leftovers.

Safe.

Warm.

Normal.

Outside, I heard the motorcycle start again.

The sound faded down the street.

I found myself listening until it disappeared completely.

Then my phone buzzed.

I looked down.

Unknown number.

My stomach immediately knew who it was before my brain caught up.

Car's a starter motor. I can fix it Saturday if you have the part.

I stared at the message.

Read it twice.

Then a third time.

Finally, I typed:

You can do that?

The reply came almost instantly.

Don't overthink it.

I laughed out loud.

Actually laughed.

Alone.

In my room.

Which felt mildly embarrassing.

After a moment, I saved the number.

Then stared at the conversation.

And stared.

And stared.

Like somehow the right response might magically appear.

Eventually I typed:

Okay. Saturday.

I hit send.

Then immediately dropped backward onto my bed and covered my face with both hands.

Because somehow agreeing to let him fix my car felt far more dangerous than riding on the back of his motorcycle through a storm.

The message sat there on the screen.

Two words.

One day.

Saturday.

And for reasons I absolutely did not want to examine, it felt like the most reckless thing I'd agreed to in eighteen years.