Seth

Her hands clung tightly around his waist, the warmth they gave—and the tension—felt different. Better. But he couldn't forget how much she resented him. She hated him; she'd made that clear enough. Every sharp word and stubborn refusal to accept his help had been a reminder that she didn't want him involved. Not with her ex, not with her life.

He blinked hard a few times as he rode, trying to shake off the weight of her resistance. Glancing cautiously in the mirror, he saw her watching the scenery as it blurred by, her face calm, as though none of it bothered her. As though the past hadn't left its mark.

It was almost impressive, the way she locked him out, how fiercely she guarded her independence—even if it meant refusing the help she clearly needed. She suited the black helmet, though. Fierce. Determined. And impossible to read.

He pulled into the large parking lot and parked the motorcycle.

"What the fuck is this?" she said, her eyes landing on the motorcycle parked next to them.

Her sharp tone pulled a smile from him.

"It's yours," he said simply.

"You rented me a motorcycle?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I bought it. For you. Now we both have one," he replied, searching her face for any hint of approval.

"Why?"

"So we can ride together when you're ready to hit the road," he said, his voice dipping into a protective tone he hadn't intended.

"Did you really think I'd let you ride off without being able to follow?"

"Ah, I see. You're just afraid I'll wreck your bike, aren't you?" she teased, a sly grin tugging at her lips.

Her joke earned a smirk from him.

"Mhm. It's my most prized possession," he replied.

She walked toward her new bike. It was a bit smaller than his, built perfectly to fit her frame.

"I'll admit, I'm actually looking forward to this. Getting away from the stable for a while," she mumbled, throwing her leg over the bike and studying the handlebars.

Her words struck something in him. The smile he gave her felt tight, forced, but she wasn't looking to see it.

"Well, I brought some cones. You'll practice weaving through them, along with starting, stopping, and shifting gears. Once you've got that down, we'll move on to turns," he said, watching her closely.

"I want to pick up some speed today too. The parking lot's big enough, right?"

Her ambition caught him off guard, and it sparked something else—a flicker of irritation. The hint of recklessness in her tone unsettled him.

"We'll see. First, I want to make sure you have enough control," he said curtly, stepping toward her handlebars.

"You can't hold me back from learning, Seth. If I want to push myself, I will. Isn't that the point of being here—to learn how to ride?" she shot back, her voice cutting through the air.

"And as your instructor, I'm not letting you skip ahead to something you're not ready for," he said firmly, his tone calm but his eyes locked on hers.

"Don't pretend this is just about riding. You're not putting yourself in danger because of him."

She let out an exasperated sigh, throwing her hands up.

"Not everything has to be about him, Seth. Can you please just forget he exists? I don't want to hear another word about him. Whatever happens, happens."

Seth crossed his arms and stayed silent. It seemed like no matter what he said, he set her off.

Why did he have such a knack for pushing all her buttons? Or maybe the real question was—why did it bother him so much when he did?

  ~*~*~*~*~

The hours flew by, and he felt a strange flutter in his stomach as he watched her progress. It almost felt like pride—but he quickly shoved that thought aside.

Because pride wasn't what he needed right now. What he needed was to win. Not just win—crush her. Fair and square, no shortcuts, no excuses. He wanted to see the look on her face when she realized she couldn't beat him, no matter how hard she tried. That was the whole point of the bet.

But watching her now, weaving through the cones with surprising confidence, his jaw tightened. She was picking it up faster than he'd expected—faster than he liked. The ease with which she handled the bike irritated him. She wasn't supposed to be this good, this quick.

He shook off the thought. This was his game, and he wasn't about to lose—not to her. Winning wasn't just about the stable or the bet; it was about proving himself. He needed to see her face when she realized she couldn't beat him, no matter how hard she tried.

But as much as her progress annoyed him, he forced himself to stay calm. He wasn't worried—not really. He always had a way of staying ahead, even if things didn't go as planned. That reassurance kept him steady, though the idea of her standing there smug, thinking she'd won, still made his fists clench.

She pulled the bike to a stop beside him, moving as if she'd been riding for years. He refused to let it impress him. They were still in a parking lot—alone, with no traffic to navigate, and far from the speeds she'd need to handle on the open road. That thought offered him some reassurance.

"Oh my god—did you see how good I am?" she exclaimed, pulling off her helmet with a triumphant grin. "You better watch out, because I'm going to crush you."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," he said with a low chuckle.

"Aw, are you afraid of losing?" she teased, her lips forming an exaggerated pout. "What are you going to do when I take the stable from you? Will I bankrupt you too?"

He smirked, though the irritation simmered just beneath it.

"Fuck off," he muttered, his tone sharp but steady.

He glanced at her as she looked away, still basking in her supposed success. She was good—he'd give her that.

But if she thought this bet was straightforward, she didn't know him at all. Not yet.