Page 4 of Oops! I Fell for the Biker Next Door

"Outside of Ma, no one has called me that in a long time," he says, his voice dropping an octave—raspy and deep, vibrating straight down my spine. It sounds...good. So good, it'll haunt my thoughts for a while.

He taps two fingers against his chest, right over the leather patch bearing his club name.

"You want me to call you Riot?" My voice doesn't tremble like I expect, making me foolishly believe I might be okay overall.

His eyes, a once soft brown, turn to a shade of molten dark chocolate as they drop to track the movement of my lips. "Yeah, I do."

The hum of his approval instantly curls my toes in my sneakers and makes every hair on my arms lift as goosebumps prickle up.

Get a grip, Zoey. He's not even trying to be sexy.

"I'm going to be sticking around for a little longer than I thought," he continues, his gaze rising back to mine. "We should catch up sometime. I'll be right next door while I get her stuff taken care of."

"I'm pretty busy these days," I say, though the protest comes out soft, lacking any real bite. Couldn't I have thought of a proper excuse?

Instead of backing off, he reaches out, his calloused fingers lightly catching a loose strand of my hair and tucking it gently behind my ear. His knuckles brush the sensitive skin of my neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Oh my God.

"Please, Zo?" he hums, the familiar rumble of his voice carrying the exact cadence he used when we were teenagers, tucked away from the rest of the world.

My breath hitches. My skin immediately warms. Not just on my cheeks; I can feel the damning heat seeping lower, too. Now my body is betraying me. It feels like I'm fighting a losing battle here.

How does a guy who looks like a hardened biker soften his voice so much that it's super effective?

He just wants to reconnect—that's all. He wants to be friends like old times, and honestly? Holding onto a decade-old grudge when he's standing right here, offering a fresh start, feels stupid.

"Yeah," I breathe, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through my resolve. "Yeah, Riot. Let's catch up."

When his mouth curves into a smile, I tell myself that I can pretend to forget the past, too.

He won't be here for long. Sure, it didn't take me long to fall in love with him the first time, but this will be different.

I'm a grown woman who's dated a few men. I've got enough experience to know how to keep things platonic.

I'm sure of it.

Chapter three

Riot

Ididn't think I'd ever have my hands so full coming back here. Between Judge coaxing me toward his club to help him with a few easy tasks and helping empty out a cabin that'll soon be put on the market, there's a third distraction that is hanging over my head bigger than everything else combined.

"Are you heading back out again?" Zoey sounds nonchalant as she moves toward the end of her porch closest to me. Leaning over the rail, I catch a glimpse of a sweater with multiple braids running up toward her throat. An inch above her collar is a choker piece that does damned things to my mind.

I can't tell if she's secretly covering something up or if she's simply a fan of having something wrapped around her throat.

Focus, Riot.

"Yeah," I say, clearing my throat. "Just need to go on a ride. Doesn't feel right if I skip a day with winter right around the corner."

She tilts her head, looking me over. Not just at me, but at my bike. Has she ever ridden? Probably not. The girl I grew up with always played it safe—never taking risks, never pushing boundaries.

But the way her eyes linger on the open space behind me tells me a completely different story.

"Do you want to join me?" The invitation slips past my lips before I can stop it. The second the words hit the air, my mind fills with the image of her—her chest pressed tight against my back, her arms wrapped around my waist, her warm breath hitching against my neck with every turn.

My jeans tighten instantly, adding another stubborn problem to the list this woman creates just by existing.