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“Maybe.”

A satisfied look crossed his face as if that had been the correct answer. Then he handed me the spare helmet. Our fingers brushed as I took it, and his mouth twitched.

“We got somewhere to be.”

I stared at him. “What does that mean?”

Instead of answering, Riot climbed onto the bike. One hand settled on the handlebar while the other drummed lazily against his thigh. The smug bastard actually looked amused.

“Get on, Nurse.”

“You’re irritating.”

“So I’ve been told.”

I moved toward the bike, and his hand found my waist again automatically, steadying me as I climbed on. A second later, the engine roared to life beneath us.

As the city began slipping past in streaks of light and color, I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my cheek briefly against his back.

The clubhouse came into view fifteen minutes later.

I frowned. “What are we doing here? Is someone hurt?”

Riot only smirked, and that should’ve been my warning because the second I stepped through the doors, the room exploded. Cheers bounced off the walls. Someone let off what looked suspiciously like a party popper, and beer sloshed across a table as chairs scraped back.

I stopped dead, my mouth open in shock.

Ghost was laughing so hard he nearly tipped backward out of his chair.

“What—”

“About bloody time.” Reaper appeared in front of me with a beer in hand.

Around the room, the brothers raised bottles and glasses in greeting. Even Shadow nodded once from his usual seat, and the gesture carried more approval than most people managed with an entire speech.

Nobody had ever thrown me a celebration before, like that.

I hadn’t moved, but my gaze drifted across the room. Riot was leaning against the bar, drink in hand, watching.

Before I could think better of it, I was crossing the room. His eyes found mine immediately, following me the entire way.

I stopped in front of him. “You did this?”

One corner of his mouth twitched, but his expression stayed carefully neutral. “Maybe.” He lifted a shoulder. The bastard didn’t even have the decency to look guilty.

The noise of the celebration carried on around us while music drifted from somewhere near the jukebox. Voices overlapped, glasses clinked, and someone burst into laughter across the room, but for a moment it all seemed strangely distant.

Riot reached out and brushed a loose curl behind my ear. It was such a small gesture that nobody else would have thought twice about it. It looked casual, almost absent-minded, as though he hadn’t even realized he’d done it.

My chest tightened anyway, and my breath hitched. I noticed every one of those moments. Every brief touch.

His hand lingered for a fraction of a second before dropping away, and I hated how aware I was of the warmth it left behind. His eyes held mine for a moment longer than necessary. “Proud of you, Nurse.”

Emotion rose unexpectedly in my throat, leaving a lump I tried to swallow around. I had worked hard for it but hearing him say he was proud of me felt good.

A commotion near the kitchen doors pulled my attention away from Riot. A few of the girls were carrying out trays piled high with food, the smell of hot chips, burgers, and something fried instantly cutting through the haze of beer and noise.

The room reacted immediately. Conversations broke apart as people abandoned their drinks and headed for the tables.