I step to my bike, about to throw a leg over, when Zoey’s hand on my arm stops me.

“Where’s yours?”

“My what?”

She gives me an are you trying to be dense look. “Your helmet.”

“I’m good.” I flash her my most confident smile. My lady-catching smile, as my sister dubbed it.

Must be losing my touch because Zoey crosses her arms and glares at me.

“No. Anyone riding a motorcycle should be wearing a helmet.”

Sure. Any human should wear one, I want to say.

But I keep that distinction to myself.

“Really, it’s okay. I ride without one all the time.”

If I thought she was glaring before, it’s nothing compared to the intense smolder that furrows her brows. Zoey steps forward, placing a hand flat on my chest, almost in a caress. Then, she fists my shirt and drags me close.

“Put on a helmet. Now.” Her growl is impressive for a human.

“Zoey—”

“Warner, I swear to whatever biker gods you pray to, if you do not wear a helmet, I will find a way to superglue one to your head.” She gives another tug, rising on her tiptoes to get in my face, voice dropping low with menace. “And trust me when I say, however much superglue you think I have”—her fierce eyes scorch—“you are underestimating.”

That last threat sounded like she was spelling out how she planned on murdering me.

In my entire life, I’ve never wanted to kiss a woman as badly as I do Zoey Gunner in this moment.

As I stare down at a scowling Zoey, my mind fixates on the idea of kissing her.

Would she taste as sweet as honey straight from the comb?

Better not risk it. She might superglue my mouth shut too.

Instead of sliding my arms around her waist and nipping at her tempting lips, I step back, forcing her to release her grip. I raise my hands in defeat.

“All right. Holster your glue guns. I’ll find another helmet.”

As I make my way down the line of bikes, she calls out to me, “A spare one! I don’t want anyone else riding without one.”

Damn it. She’s making it really hard not to turn around, scoop her up, and kiss her senseless. There aren’t many people in this town who would talk back to a member of The Dark Moon Riders, much less lecture them about motorcycle safety and threaten them with crafting tools.

If I thought talking to Zoey would make me less curious, I was naive.

Roderick often carries extra supplies. When I check his pack, I sigh in relief, spotting two helmets. After holding them both up for Zoey to see, I tuck one back in his bag.