Falling for my Biker Roommate

13

The courtyard had become our second full-time job.

Every night after the last customer left and the kitchen was scrubbed down, Leo and I hauled tools, bags of soil, and boxes of string lights out the back door.

The space behind Harbor Flame used to be nothing but cracked concrete and weeds. Now the pergola frame stood tall, planters lined the edges, and the gravel path was starting to look intentional. We worked until our backs ached and the only light came from the bulbs we had already hung.

We fell into an easy rhythm without talking about it. Shared water bottles got passed back and forth. When one of us needed a second pair of hands, the other was already there. Sometimes we laughed at stupid things—like the time I dropped an entire box of screws into the dirt and spent ten minutes crawling around with a flashlight while Leo made fun of me.

It felt almost normal. Almost like the tension that had been building for weeks had taken a night off.

“A little higher,” I said, stretching on my toes to reach the next beam.

Leo set the step stool aside like it was useless. His hands settled on my waist—warm, firm, sure—and he lifted me straight up.

My stomach flipped at the easy strength in his arms. I clipped the string of lights into place, fingers working fast, but I was more aware of his hands than the task. His thumbs rested just above my hip bones. He didn’t set me down right away.

“Got it?” he asked, voice close to my ear.

“Yeah. You’re good.”

He lowered me slowly. My body slid against his for a second on the way down. Neither of us stepped back immediately. The air between us felt charged again, the same quiet pull that kept showing up no matter how hard we tried to ignore it. His hands left my hips a fraction of a second later than they should have.

We both pretended not to notice.

We kept working. The night air was cool and smelled like coming rain, but we pushed through. Leo handed me the stapler when I needed it. I passed him the level.

At one point he wiped sweat off his forehead with the bottom of his shirt and I caught myself staring at the strip of stomach it revealed. I looked away fast and focused on the next set of lights.

An hour later the sky decided it was done being nice.

Rain hit without warning—thick, cold sheets that turned the dirt to mud in seconds. One minute we were dry. The next we were soaked. I yelped and grabbed for the nearest canvas tarp we used to cover the tools. Leo was right behind me.

We scrambled underneath it together, laughing and swearing at the same time.

The tarp was only big enough if we stood close.

Really close.

My back pressed against one of the pergola posts. Leo’s chest was inches from mine. Rain hammered the canvas above our heads and poured off the edges in heavy streams. We were both dripping.

My shirt clung to my skin. His black T-shirt was plastered to his shoulders and the hard lines of his stomach. I could feel the heat of him even through the cold water.

A drop of rain slid from my hair down the side of my neck and along my collarbone. I felt the cold trail of it clearly.

Leo’s eyes followed it.

Everything went still. The laughter disappeared. His gaze locked on that single droplet as it traced the line of my collarbone and disappeared under the edge of my wet shirt. His breathing changed—shorter, rougher. I watched the pulse jump in his throat. My own heart was slamming so hard I was sure he could hear it.

He leaned in.

Like he was giving me every chance to stop him.

I didn’t move, I didn’t want to.

His mouth hovered a breath away from mine. I could feel the heat of him, the faint mix of rain, leather, and the kitchen that always clung to his skin. His hand came up and hovered near my waist, not quite touching. My fingers curled against the wooden post behind me. One more inch and we would cross the line we had been dancing around for weeks.

Just a little closer—

A car horn blasted from the alley, long and loud and completely wrong for the moment.

We jerked apart so fast the tarp almost slipped off our heads. Cold rain slapped across my face and shoulders. Leo stepped back, running a hand through his wet hair, eyes everywhere except on me.

“Damn delivery trucks,” he muttered. “They never use the front entrance.”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice unsteady. “Rude.”

We stood there under the dripping tarp for another few seconds, both of us breathing too hard, both of us pretending the last minute hadn’t happened.

Then Leo cleared his throat and nodded toward the back door of the restaurant.

“Come on. We’re already soaked. Might as well call it for tonight.”

We gathered the tools in silence. The rain kept coming down steady. Inside the restaurant I headed straight for the stairs without looking at him. My collarbone still felt the path of that single raindrop. My lips still tingled like he had actually kissed me.

Upstairs I changed into dry clothes and sat on the edge of my bed in the dark, staring at the wall that separated our rooms. I could hear him moving around on the other side—drawers opening, the soft thud of boots hitting the floor.

We were getting better at almost.

And worse at everything that came after.