Page 53 of Fly's Path

Which is fair, but I don’t have time to worry about it. I whisper, “Scratch,” in his ear as I slide the tip of my finger up his hand and across his arm before stepping away.

Wow, that was cringy. I seriously need to work on my sexy flirting skills. Or just give up trying to be something I’m not.

The question is, did it work?

Fly’s eyes lock on me as he takes his shot. The level of passion in them takes my breath away. The cue ball goes spiraling past the eight ball straight into the pocket.

He scratched.

He actually lost the game.

Was it because I asked? Or was I sexier than I thought?

Probably the former.

“You won!” Savie jumps up and hugs Bram.

I definitely made the right choice.

Except Fly doesn’t look happy as he sets his cue stick down on the table and slowly stalks over to me.

Uh-oh. Does he hate losing that much?

This seemed like a friendly game. But that’s definitely not a friendly look he’s giving me.

Like the mature coward I am, I back up until my butt hits the wall.

Fly stops right in front of me, close enough that we could sync our breathing. One hand goes onto the wall next to me as he leans in. “Why did you do that?”

“Because I don’t need you to win a game in order to kiss you—” That sounded so brazen for a woman who has barely kissed one man.

“What?”

“You heard me. Even though I would have enjoyed winning that forfeit, I knew my friend wanted Bram to win more.” I don’t know what gets into me, but I place a hand on Fly’s chest.

“That’s all it was?”

I nod.

“Do you want to get out of here and talk somewhere privately?”

“As long as talking involves kissing you, I’m in.” Wow, have I become completely brazen. Grammie would hate it. I kind of love it.

He takes my hand in his and leads me out of the clubhouse and to a massive SUV. It’s only slightly disappointing that it wasn’t a motorcycle, but considering the chill in the air and the light dress I’m wearing under this coat, an enclosed vehicle was the right choice.

Vehicles usually aren’t a thing for me. As long as they get you from point A to point B without losing their mind, I don’t care what I drive.

Fly cares about what he drives, and he has money.

Or a lot of debt.

To afford a car like this, most people would have to sell their soul or mortgage it to the hilt. Is Fly the type to live life on the knife’s-edge, owing everyone money to have a flashy car?

I shift my body to watch him as he climbs in. Nothing about him makes sense.

The man just helped me up into the car like a gentleman. He lost a game without a word of complaint. He kisses like it’s his calling.

But he’s a biker.