Page 75 of Rogue Riders Duet

“I’m fine,” I snap, turning my frazzled nerves on him. “Dane has a cold.”

His frown deepens. “Want me to⁠—”

“No.” I cut him off. “It’s fine. I’ll grab some stuff on the way over. See you in Austria.”

I turn away from his concern before I do something dumb, like lean into that steady presence of his and let myself need someone. That can’t end well for any of us.

Ducking into the bus, I take one last deep, germ-free breath before I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator and head straight for the back.

Dane is already passed out, snoring with his mouth open and one hand curled under his cheek like a kid. It makes my chest ache that I’ve come back with nothing for him.

We always took care of each other when we were sick, with soup, movies, and matching flu meds. No big deal. But we’re not home in Snowshoe anymore, and I can’t afford to show any cracks, not even little ones.

I leave the water bottle by his bunk and don’t let myself breathe again until I’m back at the front of the bus. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I jam the key in and twist, and the engine rumbles to life beneath me, the vibration climbing straight through my bones.

Eight hours to Leogang, Austria. Just me, my bad mood, and a thriving colony of bus germs.

Let’s fucking go.

I punch the gas and make it roughly one hundred yards before Finn steps right into my path.

“Jesus!” I slam on the brakes, my heart ricocheting off my ribs.

He grins, entirely unbothered by his near death by bus, and lifts a hand to point at the side door.

I stare at him through the windshield for a full beat before groaning and hitting the switch. I’m already halfway to snapping, What do you want? when Finn climbs on with that same grin still on his face.

“I know I’m beyond my prime, but you didn’t need to try and euthanize me.”

My laugh slips out before I can stop it. Sharp, startled, and way too feminine.

Shit.

I grip the steering wheel and glance at Finn, but the only change in him is that his grin is impossibly bigger.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” I mutter in my deep voice, trying to recover. “There are germs everywhere. Contagion central.”

“Good thing I have more antibodies than you in my advanced age.”

I huff, but he’s already unslinging his backpack and unzipping it.

“You brought your entire pharmacy?” I ask, eyebrows raised as he pulls out a gallon-sized ziplock bag crammed with meds.

“Travel essentials,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Painkillers, electrolytes, anti-nausea, anti-inflammatories…” He digs deeper. “Ah… decongestants and cold meds because I’m a gentleman.”

I blink at him. “You serious?”

“You said Dane has a cold, didn’t you?”

I nod, still staring.

Finn just shrugs. “Then let’s fix it.” And before I can say another word, he’s walking down the narrow aisle toward the back of the bus like he belongs there.

Because elite athletes, especially the men, have one thing in common—none of them believe they need an invitation. They move through the world like everything will make space for them, expecting that doors will open, walls will bend, and people will say yes just because they showed up. And the worst part? They’re usually right, especially the charming ones, and the ones who mean well and don’t even realize how much space they take up.

First Luc. Then Mason. And now Finn, who’s just waltzing down the middle of my life, dispensing meds and comfort like it’s his job to fix everything.

I should be furious, but instead, I sit there in the driver’s seat and let him.