Falling for my Biker Roommate

18

The magazine came out on a Thursday.

Someone from the staff left a stack of copies on the bar that morning. The cover was a sunset shot of the harbor, but the big feature inside was all about us. Harbor Flame. The story of two people who turned an old brick building into the busiest spot in Seabreeze Harbor. There was a full-page photo of Leo and me standing shoulder to shoulder behind the pass, arms almost touching, both of us looking at the camera like we belonged exactly there.

The caption under the photo read: The heart of Harbor Flame.

Customers kept pointing it out all night. A few people joked that we looked like a married couple. Leo just grunted and kept cooking. I smiled and changed the subject every time, but the picture sat in the back of my mind like a live wire.

After we closed, the staff went home and the restaurant went quiet. Leo locked the front door, then held up three bottles of the reserve red we usually saved for special tables.

“We’re celebrating,” he said. “Whether we want to or not.”

I didn’t argue.

We carried the bottles and two glasses upstairs. The apartment felt softer with the lights low. We sat on the living-room floor with our backs against the couch, passing the first bottle back and forth because we couldn’t be bothered with pouring. The wine was good. Too good. By the time we cracked the second bottle my cheeks felt warm and the sharp edges of the last few days had blurred.

Leo leaned his head back against the couch cushion and looked at the ceiling. “That photo makes us look like we have our s**t together.”

I laughed. “We don’t.”

“Nope.”

Silence settled for a minute, comfortable and dangerous at the same time. The third bottle went faster than the first two. My thoughts got looser. So did his.

“We should play a game,” I said.

He turned his head and raised an eyebrow. “What kind of game?”

“Never Have I Ever. Keep it simple.”

A slow smirk pulled at his mouth. “Dangerous choice.”

“Scared?”

“Never.”

We both held up one hand, five fingers ready. The rules were easy. Someone said a statement. If you had done it, you put a finger down. First person to lose all five fingers lost.

I started. “Never have I ever forgotten someone’s birthday.”

Leo put a finger down immediately and gave me a look. I kept all five up and grinned.

His turn. “Never have I ever cried during a movie.”

I put a finger down. He looked way too pleased.

We kept going. Little things at first. Never have I ever eaten an entire pizza alone. Never have I ever pretended to be sick to get out of plans. Never have I ever stolen something from a hotel. The wine made everything funnier. Our shoulders kept brushing. Every time one of us put a finger down the other celebrated like it was a real victory.

Then the questions started drifting closer to the line neither of us wanted to cross.

I swirled the last of the wine in my glass. “Never have I ever slept in someone else’s shirt on purpose.”

Leo’s eyes flicked to the flannel I was currently wearing—his—and he slowly put a finger down. I did too. We both laughed, but it sounded a little forced.

His voice dropped lower. “Never have I ever stared at someone’s mouth and thought about kissing it.”

My pulse jumped. I kept my fingers up. So did he. We stared at each other for a long second, both of us lying with our hands.

I took a breath. “Never have I ever thought about the person across from me in the shower.”

The room went completely still.

Both of us had our hands raised. Four fingers each. Neither of us moved. The truth sat right there between us, heavy and obvious. If either of us put a finger down, everything we had been pretending would c***k open. I could see the same panic in his eyes that I felt in my chest.

Three full seconds passed.

Then Leo cleared his throat and dropped his hand completely, pretending he had lost on purpose. “I win. You’re out of fingers somehow. Game over.”

I forced a laugh that sounded fake even to me. “That’s not how it works.”

“House rules.” He stood up a little too fast and grabbed the empty bottles. “We should sleep. Morning’s gonna hurt.”

I watched him walk into the kitchen. My heart was still beating too hard. The question hung in the air even though neither of us had answered it.

I stood up on slightly unsteady legs and headed for my room.

“Night, Leo.”

“Night.”

I closed my door and leaned against it, staring at my hand—the same hand that had stayed raised when it should have gone down. Across the hall I heard him moving around, drawers opening, the quiet sound of his boots hitting the floor.

We had both chickened out.

And we both knew exactly why.