Page 20 of Courting Danger

“Have you ever skateboarded?” Ocean asked.

“Tried a couple friends’ boards, but my grandparents weren’t big on buying me stuff,” Roan explained. “Their house wasn’t very big as it was, so adding a kid just made the place more cramped. I had what I needed and spent most of my time outside when I wasn’t in school. Gramps had a big trike he and my grandmother loved to ride around on, so on nice days, we just did our own thing. I tried not to ask them for shit or get them called in to the school, and they pretty much left me alone to raise myself.”

“O-oh,” Ocean stammered, thrown more by the note of wistfulness and vulnerability in Roan’s voice than the story he’d told.

“I mean, whatever, right?” Roan said, shoulders resuming the same rigid posture as before, until a wave rocked him and sent him face-first into the water.

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect to end a moment that threatened to wreck the vibe of their morning. He checked his watch as Roan came up, sputtering and shaking the water from his hair, and realized that it was about time that they headed back anyway, since Roan was supposed to report to Danger at noon.

“Come on,” Ocean said, headed for shore. “I won’t make you swim back. This time.”

“That sounded like a threat right there,” Roan replied, wading after him.

“Nah, more like a warning,” Ocean replied. “That way you practice that blading technique, so you don’t show up late and dripping to Danger’s office. Something tells me he’s not the kind of guy you want to piss off.”

Roan’s hand latching around his wrist startled him, but not enough for Ocean to force him to break the hold. Instead, he turned slowly and saw that there were only a few inches between them. Sunlight glittered in Roan’s brown eyes, making them shimmer brighter, then one of them reached for the other. He really couldn’t say which of them moved first, but Roan’s fingers tangled in his hair while he crushed the wet strands of Roan’s in his fist.

No hesitation, their lips connected, and they devoured each other’s moans as they deepened the kiss, hungry and inching towards desperate. All morning long Ocean had been hyperaware of the way the water droplets shimmered on Roan’s skin, at times wanting to lick the saltiness away just to see if he could taste what lay underneath. Now, as they slowly drew away from one another, panting, with the surf lapping around their ankles, all he could think about was the contrast of his tattoos against Roan’s unmarked skin.

It shocked him not to see any hidden beneath Roan’s tank top when just about every other member of the club he’d met so far had at least two.Prospectmeant he was new, though; he’d learned that, among other things, when he’d gotten old enough to research what a motorcycle club was and how they operated.

Ocean wondered how long he’d had to hang around the club before he’d earned that rocker and the chance to earn his full colors.

“You’re gonna be late,” Ocean murmured. “Want me to tell Danger it’s my fault?”

“Nah, if we hurry, and I show up dripping, I won’t be.”

“Guess we’d better go then,” Ocean replied, not that either of them moved.

The urge to kiss him again pushed Ocean to close the distance between them, only this time, he stopped after a brief brush of lips.

“Are you going to be around tonight?” Roan asked.

“Should be,” Ocean replied. “I’m driving up to see Dalton later this afternoon, but I’ll be back tonight.”

“I’ll look for you.”

“I’m never hard to spot,” Ocean replied, chuckling, “just look for the guy at the center of a circle of leather, telling surfer stories.”

“Did they really ask you to get up on a table and demonstrate a technique?” Roan asked as they walked along the beach to collect their clothes.

“Twice now.”

“I’m still blown away by how many of these guys spend as much time on the backs of boards as they do their bikes,” Roan admitted.

“I’ve been on the back of a lot of bikes, and a lot of boards,” Ocean replied. “It’s the rush that’s addictive. Feeling the wind on your face. Not being boxed in. When I’m on my board, it’s not me and the board; it’s us, ya know.”

“I-I guess,” Roan stammered, letting that edge of his slip, vulnerability peeking out again.

“Don’t you feel the same way about your bike?” Ocean asked.

He sighed, their paces picking up when Ocean’s waterproof watch chirped the ten-minute warning alarm he’d set.

“Most days. It’s freedom, but I’m used to having nobody to answer to. I love my bike, but I always liked riding behind someone better,” Roan admitted.

“All those folks up there, I’m sure you can find someone to take you on a ride if you don’t feel like driving,” Ocean said. “I’vehad like seven offers to ride with people, and I haven’t been here half as long as you have.”

“You also haven’t pissed off half as many people as I have either,” Roan remarked. “Mark’s favorite thing to call me is a thorn in his ass, and that’s on a good day.”