He stopped and glanced back at me. “Problem?”
“It’s Sunday night. Don’t you have class tomorrow?”
“So?” He shrugged a shoulder. “I’m in college, not high school. I can skip class if I want.”
“Of course you can. You’re rich. You don’t have to work for anything.”
His eyes darkened, and he shoved his hands in his pockets, giving me a long look. “Do you like to be judged for being poor? You think having money saves me from pain?”
Chastised, I fell silent. When I opened my mouth to apologize, he cut me off. “You coming or not?”
I nodded, feeling guilty, and followed behind.
When he stopped in front of a sleek black machine, I stared at him in disbelief. It looked like it ate kids for breakfast.
“Ever ride a bike before?” he asked, tossing his black helmet from hand to hand like a basketball.
I took a step back. “I’m not riding that monster.”
His laugh was low and sexy. He grabbed my wrist again and pulled me close—closer than was necessary.
“I don’t know,” he whispered, his thumb stroking my palm in lazy circles. “I have a feeling you’re going to like it.”
My breath hitched, and he chuckled when I pulled away.
“N-no. I’d like to keep my limbs intact, thank you very much.”
His eyes danced at me playfully. “Yeah? Where’s the fun in that? Rule number one,” he said, gently placing the helmet on my head, “safety first.” He fastened the straps tightly under my chin.
“Rule number two,” he continued, flipping the visor down. I felt slightly claustrophobic so I flipped it back up. “When I’m making a turn, lean your body toward the turn. Never the opposite way. Got it?”
“Sure.”
He smiled down at me, staring for a moment. I wanted to bottle the color of his vibrant green eyes. Realizing I was staring, I shook the thought from my mind and snapped, “What?”
He shrugged, then swung his long leg to straddle his bike. “Hop on.”
When I didn’t, he turned his head, eyebrows raised and eyes glinting with challenge. At that moment, he looked like a gorgeous devil who’d take my soul to hell—and enjoy every minute of it. “You scared?”
My skin prickled with irritation. It would take more than a pretty boy on a big-ass motorcycle to scare me. I’d prove him wrong. I huffed and climbed on the bike, grabbing the sides of my seat.
“Where’s your helmet?” I demanded.
“Only have one,” he replied. He was so close—close enough for me to catch his masculine scent. “Nobody rides this bike but me. You’re the first passenger.”
He turned the engine on, revving it a few times. The bike vibrated angrily.
“Forgot to tell you the last rule,” he said conversationally, looking over his shoulder. I could hear the mischief in his tone.
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
He grinned. “Hold on to me. Really, really tight.”
“No, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.”
I cried out as the bike zoomed forward, and my arms automatically went around him. I could feel his shoulders and hard stomach shaking with laughter.