Page 9 of Salto

“But, like, your chances are a million times higher,” I said, biting my lip and eyeing the death machine.

“It’s a toxic trait,” he admitted, reaching for the helmet hanging from the handlebar. His fingers adjusted the straps. “I have a habit of seeing if I can beat the odds.”

I stared at him.

He'd said it so casually, so confidently.

It should've made me roll my eyes.

But somehow, I could tell it wasn’t for show. He genuinely meant it. Like he’d faced the odds already…and won.

It intrigued me, and it really shouldn't have.

“I think I’ll settle for walking,” I chuckled. But there was a strange urge to step outside the boundaries I'd spent years building for myself.

Gymnastics was dangerous, sure, but it was calculated danger. There were mats, spotters, and techniques to follow. There was an illusion of control.

A motorcycle driven by a handsome stranger?

Not so much control there.

“Not the risk-taking type, I see.”

I smiled, already backing away. He really had no idea just how wrong he was.

But my adrenaline-rush parameters didn’t include motorcycles and handsome blond men that made my brain feel fuzzy.

“Not with strangers on motorcycles.”

His grin widened.

“Well, if I see you again next Sunday, you wouldn’t be a stranger anymore.”

My stomach twisted with a sensation I could only describe as butterflies on Pop Rocks.

I shook my head, a laugh escaping me as I failed to find words.

His grin faded slightly. “Hopefully I'll see you again.”

I bit my lip, fighting a smile. “Goodbye, Rove,” I said.

“See ya later, Red.”

He pulled on his helmet, then started the engine. It roared to life beneath him.

I didn't have a chance to react to the nickname he'd thrown at me. The growl of the exhaust made any response entirely futile.

With one last glance in my direction, he lowered the visor over his face and took off.

Then he was gone.

The rumble of the motorcycle faded as he disappeared onto the main road and out of sight.

CHAPTER 4

Every three months, we had a mandatory athletic trainer checkup. And so, when Monday rolled around, it was time for my dreaded quarterly check-in.

I didn’t particularly like meeting with the AT, but I didn’t have much of a choice. If I wanted to stay on the team, I had to follow the rules. That was just how it worked.