Page 53 of Rogue Riders Duet
His head jerks up, eyes wide. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”
I shrug. “Hate the guy.”
Luc searches my face, and I almost squirm under it. I should give him more, probably should say something to smooth the moment out, but I’m not here to make friends. Especially not with the golden boy who lights up every room like a flare, but then leaves people singed.
Still, I feel sorry for him.
“You’re better than Raine. Don’t let the dickhead ruin your life.”
Like I did.
“He is a dickhead.” Luc leans back a little. “But so is Payne.”
My spine stiffens. “He’s not.”
His brow furrows. “Haven’t you heard what he did last year?”
“Allegedly,” I argue. “Just rumors. There’s nothing confirmed.”
“Are you one of those assholes who thinks victims have to prove they were raped?”
“If it’s as conveniently timed as hers was,” I say before I can stop myself.
Luc’s whole face shifts. “What do you mean?”
I look away. “Never mind.”
“Anyway.” He exhales like we’ve finished the heavy part, but I’m still reeling from what almost slipped out. “Now that we’ve settled that we’re friends, to make up for almost breaking your spine, I’ve decided to share my physio hours with you.”
“Never said we’re friends,” I mutter before I even register what else he said. “Wait, what?”
“Physio hours. I’ve got double sessions because of my back, and you’re a privateer. You don’t have a physio, and I hurt you pretty bad. The way it looked, anyway.” He stands, tossing the empty energy drink can into the trash. Then he turns and grabs my wrist. “I’m here to escort you to your first session.”
“No,” I say automatically.
“Yes.” He tugs as if that settles it. “You need a massage after that crash, or your muscles will cramp down so bad you’ll wake up feeling like you got hit by a truck. I don’t wanna hear you fucked up qualifying tomorrow because of me. Then you would have a reason to hate me, and my fragile ego cannot survive that.”
He pulls me toward the exit, and I dig my heels in on instinct.
“I’m wearing only a hoodie and shorts, man.”
Luc doesn’t even look back. “Yeah, and you’ll have to strip for the massage anyway, so what’s the difference?”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Luc,” I protest, twisting out of his grip, “I don’t want to.”
“I know.” He doesn’t let go. “But you will. Trust me. It’s the best drug you’ve never tried.”
Once my bare feet hit the ground outside the bus, I dig my toes into the dirt as I resist again. “I’m not even wearing shoes.”
I finally manage to yank Luc to a stop, and he turns back to me and glances down.
Then he grins. “Even your feet are petit.”
I expect him to start pulling again, but instead, he drops my wrist, crouches, and grabs my thighs.
The next thing I know, I’m airborne. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, swings me right onto his back, and my legs hook instinctively around his waist.
