Taking a deep breath, I swung my leg over the seat, wincing as a sharp ache spread through my lower stomach. I groaned, hating the way the waistband of my skirt dug into my stomach.

But I wasn’t backing out now.

I quickly tied my hair into a loose ponytail, adjusted my skirt as best as I could, and, after one last, resentful glance at my bike and a silent promise to myself, I pushed off.

“This better be worth it, Reese,” I muttered under my breath.

The sun was already beating down, making my skin sticky and my patience thinner by the second.

And, because the universe was cruel, I had barely made it down the street when a car rolled up beside me, creeping along at my pace as if it had nowhere else to be.

I didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Blake.

Coming back from the gym, probably.

The car window slid down with a sharp hiss, and the pounding bass of Still Not a Player by Big Pun blasted from the speakers—loud enough to make the pavement vibrate and my irritation grow with every passing second.

I focused on the road ahead, willing myself to ignore him.

Blake didn’t get the hint.

“Don’t tell me he didn’t even pick you up, Beverly,” he called over the music, his voice dripping with something between amusement and judgment.

I gritted my teeth.

I wasn’t doing this. Not today. Not when I had cramps ripping through my stomach. Not when I had spent the entire morning psyching myself up for this date.

I kept my eyes straight ahead and pedaled harder. Blake was like quicksand—the more I fought him, the deeper I sank.

He revved the engine slightly, inching forward. “What kind of guy asks a girl on a date and doesn’t even pick her up?”

I exhaled sharply, gripping my handlebars tighter. “Go away, Blake.”

“You’re wearing pink.”

I rolled my eyes in exasperation. “What, you think I should’ve worn all black and moped around town instead?”

“No,” he said after a long pause, and I hated how soft his voice sounded. “I think you look good.”

I nearly veered into a parked car, coming dangerously close to kissing its bumper. “Are you trying to kill me?”

I wasn’t going to do this. So I did the only thing I could do.

I ignored him. Pedaled faster. Put distance between us.

Blake drove faster, pulled ahead, and slammed the brakes—parking the damn car directly in my path.

I braked hard, my heart slamming against my ribs as I came to a jerky stop. “Are you kidding me?” I hissed. “Move the car.”

He rested an arm against the open window, tilting his head slightly, scanning my outfit, my bike, my face. “I’ll drive you.”

I let out a sharp laugh, shaking my head. “No, you won’t.”