Page 311 of Rogue Riders Duet

Luc shrugs, kicking the door shut behind him. “The fuck I know. I just really love pizza.”

Finn climbs out of the driver’s side a second later, hair messy, sleeves rolled up his forearms in a way that makes my mouth go dry. He’s carrying more boxes, his expression soft, but his eyes flick straight to me like he can feel the pit I’ve been sinking into.

I sit up when Luc starts tossing pizza boxes at everyone, then collapses in a heap beside Mason and me. He presses a kiss to my cheek that makes my whole body flash hot before he steals Toulouse from me with an exaggerated kiss to the rat’s head and sets him on his shoulder like he’s part of his outfit. Toulouse blinks sleepily and yawns, unimpressed.

I stare at the pizza. “What’s all this?”

“We’re celebrating,” he says simply. “Pretty Boy’s first World Cup win this season.”

Mason huffs. “Only managed it thanks to him.” He nods his chin toward Finn, whose eyes are on the ground as he sits down and tears a slice free.

“You’re still the one who rode,” he mumbles. “Still the one who won that shit.”

We fall into that soft silence that only good food can justify. No sounds but chewing, moaning, and someone groaning “holy shit, this is good” around mouthfuls of cheese.

Toulouse settles between Luc’s neck and shoulder like a scarf, and for a moment, everything else—points, pressure, pain—just pauses.

Later, Finn walks the empty boxes across the lot toward the bin, relaxed in a way I haven’t seen in weeks. I watch him go, pizza grease still on my fingers, wondering when the fuck I stopped being mad at him. The sun catches his blond hair as cicadas hum around us, and that heaviness in my chest doesn’t feel as sharp anymore. Just quiet. Manageable.

Maybe this is what it feels like to exhale.

I groan, flopping back into Mason’s lap. “I’m so full I might actually die.”

Luc stretches his arms above his head and rolls out his shoulders like he didn’t just inhale his entire pizza and half of mine. “Come on, I’m buzzing. Let’s do something.”

I lift an eyebrow. “We raced, Luc. We ate. You’re still riding the high?”

“It’s the after-race adrenaline, Petite. Let’s go do some motocross. Mason said there’s a sick track not far from here.”

I look down at my taped-up fingers, my hand aching just from existing. “Yeah, you guys go.”

“Honestly, I’m not in the mood either.” Mason groans. “I could maybe do something low-key. But motocross? No thanks. My arms are still jelly.”

Finn wipes his palms on his shorts as he chimes in. “How about BMX?”

Luc turns to him with narrowed eyes. “What now?”

“There’s a BMX track just past the back lot.” Finn scans the trees like he could point it out from here. “Al and I can chill in the shade. You guys can take turns on my bike.”

“Fuck yes.” Luc lights up like a match. “We’re great at taking turns, aren’t we, Mase?”

Mason chuckles under his breath and mutters, “Sure. Whatever.” I sneak a peek at him, and yeah, he’s blushing. “Get up, please.”

I do, and he and Luc both stand and extend their hands to me like I’m the princess in a Disney movie. I roll my eyes but still take their hands, letting them pull me up, and they do it with so much coordinated strength that I basically launch into the air, my toes barely skimming the gravel before I land.

I glance back toward Dane, Piper, and Jim. “You guys wanna come?”

“No, thanks.” Jim doesn’t even look up from his phone—Mason’s win on repeat for at least the thirtieth time already. “Got everything I need right here.”

Dane and Piper are making out like horny teenagers and apparently haven’t even heard me.

“Figures,” I mutter.

Luc shrugs. “More fun for us.”

Finn pops the rusty car’s trunk, and I walk over with him, catching a glimpse of the pillow and blanket in the back seat.

Has he been sleeping in the car?