When he manages a smooth landing, I’m only able to relax for a few seconds, and then he’s airborne again, his hangtime surreal, while he manipulates his body and the bike sideways.
“Oh my God!” I exclaim, and this time my body reacts on its own, an encouraging fist-pump winning. Unable to help it, I stand, my arms above my head as I scream my praises, as do the floor of spectators—all of them staff. This time his landing is better than the first, and a strange sense of pride fills me for him. I glance back at Joel to see he’s recording my reaction with his iPhone, and I flip him twin middle fingers, knowing Easton will see this footage at some point. Even so, I keep my grin firmly in place before Joel again trains his camera on Easton, who’s owning the track.
When Jedidiah takes off, I spend the next few minutes in a mixed state of anxiety, awe, and slow budding arousal as I watch the two of them navigate the complex path with expertise. Jedidiah does a lot more tricks, but Easton runs through it just as remarkably—and more importantly—in one piece. By the time Easton makes his way back to where I left him, the waiting staff are cheering as he pulls up and huddle around him while he takes off his helmet. His sweat-matted hair falls in a heap across his forehead, his eyes lit with adrenaline. Jedidiah races up next to him as the small crowd parts, and they fist-bump gloved hands before killing their bikes.
Easton and Jedidiah talk animatedly as I take my time descending the few steps, shaking in relief while invigorated by the rush of just seeing him this way. Easton isn’t an all-around grump, he’s just…private, and it seems he saves his smiles for his people.
Just as I think it, his eyes find mine, his lips lift, and he beams at me with the most beautiful of full smiles, and the thunder roaring through my chest increases exponentially. I approach him with a similar grin and ready scold.
“That was reckless, stupid, irresponsible, and fucking amazing,” I say, evident awe in my delivery.
“You’re the only person in my life right now who could appreciate it,” he says with sincerity, pulling off his gloves and again separating some wayward hair from my lips. The gesture seems natural, a little intimate—but not overly—and still, my heart skips briefly as it sputters out rapid beats, and I’m forced to catch myself.
Back, Natalie, back!
Clearing my throat, I will the adrenaline and threatening butterflies to kick rocks. “How long have you been riding?”
“Since I was four. Dad encouraged me, and Mom kicked him in the balls for it, literally. Now when I hit the track, I hide it from her. There’s some ammunition for you.”
“Well, if this singing thing doesn’t work out for you,” I shrug and am rewarded with a half-smile. “So, are you done for the day? Or are we going to base jump off a skyscraper?”
“I’m good for now.” He glances over my shoulder at Joel. “All set?”
Joel nods and hands Easton a fob, which I assume is for the SUV. “Good to go.”
“You’re leaving us?” I ask, frowning.
“Taking a day off,” he answers with a grin. “It was nice meeting you, Natalie.”
“You too, Joel,” I say as he lifts his chin to Jedidiah and disappears into a small tunnel between rows of stadium seats. I turn back to Easton, narrowing my eyes. “So, we aren’t done for the day?”
“File the questions away, would you?” He says, rummaging through his duffle.
“This is me, being me.”
He rolls his gaze up and puckers his lips sourly. “Well, that’s annoying.”
“Kiss my ass,” I sass back. In a sudden move, he stands, grips my shoulders, and tilts my body before his gaze dips.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, craning my neck over my shoulder.
He playfully rakes his lower lip, his brows lifting. “Seeing if you have enough ass to kiss.”
“My ass is perfectly up to par, sir,” I fire confidently, shaking my shoulders free of his hold as he lets out a low chuckle. “I ride real horses, not manufactured death traps.” I deadpan, determined not to let his proximity get the best of me as I scan his face, zeroing in on the sweat trickling down his forehead. Sweat that is quickly wiped away by the shirt, which he rips off his body. I turn slightly and avert my eyes. “Okay, well, modesty is definitely not an issue for you,” I let out a nervous laugh.
“Nope,” he replies dryly, all traces of humor gone as I look back at him with furrowed brows. He shrugs. “Why the hell would I care anymore when I’ve been considered public domain for the last twenty-two years?”
“I’m sorry,” I say softly.
“Not your fault,” he says, pulling out his jeans.
“Well, I apologize on behalf of everyone,” I whisper. Kneeling at his bag, head snapping up, hazel eyes bore into mine, searching for the sincerity of my words—which he finds. He slowly stands and wipes his chest dry, and my own eyes dip briefly before he leans in on a whisper. “Want to know a secret?”
“Sure,” I say as he continues to wipe his body before tossing the towel. Without warning, he fingers his pants and shoves them down midthigh. “I’ve raced a few times.”
“Professionally?” I swallow.
He pulls on his jeans as I admire the bulge of his bicep, the clink of his unbuckled belt again doing more unwelcome things to me.
“Yeah,” he confirms, “I did okay.”
“How did they not know?” I ask, my eyes roaming over his rippling torso as he retrieves a can of body spray, steps back, and unloads it like a deodorant, shooting a few squirts over his muscular chest before pulling on a fresh, long sleeve T-shirt. Even while standing in a stadium full of dirt, the exchange feels intimate. It’s as if we are sharing a bathroom, like a couple chattering as he dresses for a workday.
“Covered from head to foot.”
“Huh?” I ask, completely immersed in my wandering thoughts as he zips his bag and hoists it from the ground.
“That’s how I got away with it,” he says, his eyes catching mine, a whisper of a smile on his lips. “Covered from head to foot.”
“Oh. That’s awesome.”
Easton lifts his chin in goodbye to Jedidiah and the rest of the crew, and I follow his lead and wave my farewell before he gently tugs my arm, ushering me out of the stadium.
“Are you going to tell me your alias?”
“No,” he says simply.
“Of course not,” I grumble, working a little harder to match his long strides.
“Well, I figured since you think I’m ungrateful to be born into privilege, I would highlight some of the perks. And there are a lot of them, Natalie,” he says softly. “I don’t hate it all the time.”
“Just when you want to eat a cheeseburger publicly?”
I’m graced with a featherlight smile. “Yeah. I can still get away with that sometimes, for now.”
“But that might change soon.”
Mixed emotions flit across his features as he shrugs because he doesn’t know his fate—neither do I. Either way, media attention is about to shift in his direction again in a highly invasive way, and that’s the tradeoff. It’s clear to me that he considers it the price he’ll have to pay to share his music. As we make our way toward the SUV, I glance over at him.
“I think I’m starting to understand.”
He meets my watchful gaze briefly. “I think I thought you might.”
Lovesong
The Cure
Natalie
Easton adjusts himself in the driver’s side, fixing the rearview before turning to me.
“What?” I ask as he starts the SUV and raises an expectant brow.
“Seriously, I’ve got a high IQ, but I’m no mind reader—”
I’m cut off by the sheer force of restraint when I come face-to-face with Easton Crowne as he covers my body with his in an effort to buckle me in. Despite being slightly sweaty, his raven hair smells incredible—as does the rest of him—as I’m struck senseless by just how accessible he is at the moment. I drink in what I can—the ridiculous length of his lashes, the dark freckle imprinted near the corner of his jaw, and the texture of his lips, which are at the moment dangerously close to mine.
Don’t inhale. Don’t inhale. Don’t inhale.