Phoenix:
Dinner had been perfect—chaotic in the best way. Laughter, teasing, Ryder still fighting me over the final rangoon.
I’d been wrapped in warmth all night because Ryder never left my side. His hand on my back, on my thigh, fingers laced in mine. Like he needed constant contact just to prove it was real.
But even after the dishes were washed— I wasn’t done.
The night was too beautiful. The air too still. That part of me that never stopped craving the road—the hum of a throttle, the rhythm of wind—was wide awake and aching.
I watched Ryder loading leftovers into the fridge, sleeves rolled, forearms flexed, looking way too good in a plain black tee.
I bit my lip. “Hey, baby?”
He looked up, instantly alert in that way he always was with me. “Yeah?”
“Let’s ride.”
He smiled, slow
