I gasped, knees threatening to give way. His free hand slid under my rear, bracing me.

“I did debate the skirt,” I said. “Because of the motorcycle.”

“I thought you said they went together very well.”

“Too well. Short skirt. Big bike. Serious vibrations. I have a weakness, as you might have noticed.”

“Sure as hell not complaining.”

“But as much fun as that is outside the city, it could be a bit . . . frustrating inside. I decided, though, that since it would be a short ride, and a slow one, there wouldn’t be any grave danger of you pulling into the parking lot and me swinging around on top of you.”

His hand stopped moving. “Sorry, got stuck on the mental image there,” he murmured, and resumed teasing as he pushed against me, nuzzling my neck. “Damn . . . Can you repeat that?”

I unzipped his jeans and slid my hand inside.

“The part about the short ride?” I said. “Or the long one?”

“Either sounds good,” he said, breath picking up speed. “But that last part? Just . . . refresh that image?”

I kissed his chin as I stroked him. “With added detail?”

“Hell, yeah.”

I slid my lips over to his ear and told him, in detail, what I’d have liked to do to him in the parking lot. I didn’t get very far before my panties were on the ground and I was against the wall and he was inside me, and I don’t really remember much after that, just that those few days apart suddenly seemed like months, and I swear I’d forgotten just how good it was with Ricky, like a tidal wave that washed every other thought from my head.

It didn’t last long. This was sex against the back wall of a diner. It was release—glorious, fast, hard release, and when it ended, we both stayed there, my legs still wrapped around him, braced against the wall as we panted and kissed and caught our breath between the two.

“Missed you,” he said. “Missed you so damn much.”

“Missed you, too.”

“Oh, that’s sweet,” said a voice near us. “I’d give you a couple minutes to cuddle, but Liv’s not really a cuddler.”

Ricky’s hands flew to his jeans, getting them done up as he turned to see . . .

James.

“What the fuck?” Ricky snarled.

“That’s—” James began.

“No, really, what the fuck.”

Ricky bore down, and I ran to stop him. I didn’t need to. He pulled himself up before he was within striking distance.

“You—” Ricky began.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” James said. “It’s a little awkward, admittedly, exchanging introductions right after I catch you screwing my fiancée.”

“She’s not—” Ricky bit it off, knowing it would do no good. “You followed her here.”

“No, I was driving by as you walked out of the diner. I pulled in to talk—”