Page 51 of Rogue Riders Duet

I raise an eyebrow. “Why not?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “He never says anything.”

The words hang there, barely a shrug of a sentence, and I don’t know why, but that bothers me. Maybe because it’s true or because Luc is used to winning battles people don’t bother fighting, or maybe it’s because I see that even when Mason should say something, he doesn’t.

“You do that often?” I ask before I can stop myself.

Luc raises an eyebrow. “Do what?”

“Start fights like that.”

He shrugs again, dismissing the question. “Anyway…” his voice lowers just a little, “… I’m here to tell you I’m sorry, even though you’re not ratting me out. Pushing you down the track was shitty of me.”

“Sure.” I reach for the lever again, ready to shut the door and be done with this, but Luc pushes the folding panels open before they can close and steps inside like it’s his goddamn living room.

I step back, scowling at him. “Can I help you?”

He glances around the bus, then back at me with that stupid grin still on his face. “Can I come in?”

I level him with a look. “I don’t know how it is in France, but normally you ask before you’re already inside.”

He smirks. “Oh, I do. I’ve got numbers you could call to verify.”

It takes me a second.

“Ugh.”

“Petit Crews.” Luc chuckles, full of himself and full of shit. “You are so not fun.”

“I am fun,” I shoot back instantly, a little too defensively even to my ears.

He strolls past me like he owns the damn bus and flops down on the bench at the small table, legs sprawling, arms stretching out as if he’s marking territory.

“No, you’re not.”

I fold my arms. “I’m fun with people who don’t make me want to throw them off a cliff.”

Luc grins, infuriatingly unbothered. “Ah, so it’s a you problem.”

I scowl. “It’s an everyone-who-acts-like-you problem.”

He leans back, settling in, and I suspect he enjoys fighting more than peace. “Most people love me.”

I jerk my chin toward the door. “Then go find them.”

He doesn’t move. Of course he doesn’t.

Instead, he leans over, opens the tiny refrigerator beside the table, and pulls out one of my energy drinks.

What is it with pro athletes and stealing my shit?

“Really, Delacroix?” I say as he cracks open the can. “You can leave now. I won’t tell a soul. Not even Dane, okay? So you don’t have to worry about him coming after you.”

That makes him laugh. A soft, real kind of laugh, like the idea of Dane Crews kicking his ass is the most ridiculous thing he’s heard all week, then takes a sip like we’re just two friends having a chill conversation.

“We can go back to how it was before today,” I offer, hoping that’s the last nail in whatever this is.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, still sipping. “And how exactly was it before? Because honestly, you’ve been a cocky little shit to me since day one, and I have no idea why.”