Page 100 of Heart Over Heels

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“Lean with it on the turns,” Mercer said quietly.

My fingers tightened on the handlebars, and the race launched with a roar.

Mercer shot forward while I wobbled off the starting line like a child taking their first ride on a two-wheeler.

I leaned into the first curve exactly two seconds too late and nearly sent my digital bike skidding into a very expensive virtual guardrail.

“Leanwithit,” Mercer reminded, already three places ahead.

“Iamleaning!” I insisted, pitching harder while squeezing my thighs around the plastic bike.

I was leaning, then grinning, and eventually giggling until I couldn’t stop. The screen flashed rainbow skyscrapers and highways that bent like ribbons. I swerved just to see what the city looked like at different angles while the scenery blurred by in bright, dizzying arcs.

Mercer, in contrast, was all focus. Low posture, forearms braced, back straight and sleek.

He looked good like that. Damn good. Which was why I missed the next turn entirely.

My bike clipped a barrier, and my ranking nosedived from sixth to twelfth. My smile turned ornery as I swung my leg off my bike and climbed onto the back of Mercer’s.

The seat was not designed for two people, but I made it work. I snuggled in and slid my arms around his torso and my tail around his waist, clingy and shameless.

Mercer kept his attention on the screen as he moved one hand from the handlebars and brought it to cover mine where they laced over his stomach. His thumb traced slowly along the inside of my fingers.

“You know,” he said, voice and body steady while taking a curve that should have been illegal. “I was just thinking I could make these turns a little tighter with a backpack.”

I smiled with my cheek pressed to his spine, breathing him in.

“For speed?” I murmured.

Mercer’s laughter rumbled through my ribs.

“No,” he said. “For flair.”

Mercer finished the race in first place, while my abandoned bike pulled in dead last.

The screen flashed NO TICKETS AWARDED, but I didn’t care. I clung to Mercer’s back and nodded happily when he asked, “Wanna go again?”

We spent the rest of the afternoon cruising through every course the game had to offer. I watched the scenery, marveled at the sights, and raked in victories that had nothing to do with the game.

When Mercer’s card zeroed out, we peeled ourselves apart and headed to the prize room. I pulled out my humble handful of balloon-pop tickets and surveyed the options while Mercer stood beside me with his hands in his pockets.

He leaned down, breath warm on my ear and voice soft as he asked, “Was there something specific you wanted?”

My gaze darted to the lava lamp glowing in all its pink glory. Dreamy. Bubbly. A beacon of tacky majesty.

When I checked the tag beneath it, I nearly choked.

“Yeah,” I admitted. “But I don’t have enough. Maybe I’ll…” I smoothed the string of tickets then glanced at Mercer. “Can I save these? And we’ll come back sometime? Just you and me?”

Mercer’s brows lifted, and he started to nod when Oz wandered in with ropes of tickets draped around his neck and across his shoulders like a royal mantle.

“You guys need tickets?” he asked, beaming.

I blinked. “Where did all those come from?”

Oz pointed both thumbs at Elliot, who trudged in a few steps behind him with his tail threaded through his hoodie pocket and his hands tucked in alongside it.