Good.
Then they pale when her eyes return to the bike.
Less good.
Sophie notices because she notices everything. “You don’t have to ride with him. We can take the SUV.”
I push off Widowmaker. “We can.”
Amelia looks surprised I said it.
That irritates me for reasons I don’t care to inspect.
I add, “But every person in town saw us come back here in SUVs and cars and enough security to transport a governor with mob debts. If we’re telling a story, we tell it right. Derby rides a Harley. If you’re supposed to be with me, you show up on the back of my bike.”
Sophie’s brows lift.
Amelia’s eyes narrow. “With you?”
“Our fake relationship,” I correct.
“Funny. That correction did not make it less annoying.”
“Most of my corrections don’t.”
Her mouth twitches, but she looks at Widowmaker again and swallows.
I soften my voice because apparently I do that now.
God help me.
“You ever ridden before?”
“Once.”
“With who?”
“My mother’s boyfriend when I was thirteen.”
I go still. “He have permission?”
“My mother’s? Probably. Mine? No.”
The air changes.
Sophie’s face hardens.
Mine does worse.
Amelia sees it and shakes her head. “Nothing happened. Not like that. He was just drunk and thought it was funny to scare me. Went too fast. Took curves too hard. Told me if I held on tighter, I might learn to like dangerous men.”
I want to dig that man up just to kill him again, and I don’t even know if he’s dead.
“He ain’t me,” I say.
“I know.”
“Do you?”