His gaze leveled at me. “I never said I wasn’t going to the bonfire, only that I wasn’t there. And I figured you wouldn’t want me to broadcast to Knox that you were singing for me. It doesn’t seem like something many people know about you.”

The asphalt was interesting at that moment. “You were right.”

“I know.” With a flick of his wrist, he popped open the passenger side door and held it open. “And I’d much rather have stayed listening to you play than gone with him, but he tends to get into trouble.”

My feet moved before my brain could reason my way out of it. Letting him off the hook shouldn’t have been this quick and easy.

His arm dropped across the open doorway like a toll bridge barrier. And I was fresh out of coins.

I unclipped my helmet and held it in my hands, nudging him with it to give me a bit more space.

“Don’t worry, Bay. I’ll take care of you.” The whisper across my ear started that chemical reaction that only occurred in his presence.

He closed the door once I was in the seat and jogged around to the driver’s side.

A few silent minutes later, we sat in the driveway of my house.

“You can drop my bike in front of the garage. I’ll fix it tomorrow.”

“No.” He turned off the ignition.

“Fine, I’ll take it out of the trunk myself.” I flung his door open. This game we were playing was driving me crazy.

His door popped open and he held down the partially-open trunk.

“What the hell, Dare? Let me get my bike.” My attempts at lifting it were thwarted by his nonchalant hand on the top of the hood and the extra eighty pounds of muscle he had on me.

“No.”

“Are we playing the one-word game?”

He laughed. “No.”

“Would you say something else then?”

His smile widened. “No.”

Those butterfly wings were dangerous. They threatened to lift me off the ground straight over a cliff with the way he smiled at me. Like we had been friends for ages and had our own inside jokes.

“Has anyone ever told you they hated you?”

A chuckle. “No.”

“I highly doubt that. Give me my bike and you can be on your merry way. Your good deed for the day is completed.”

He rounded the trunk and took my hands in his, flipping them over palm up.

My heart shot into overdrive.

His face turned serious and his gaze dropped to my hands. “No.”

His fingers traced the roadkill side of my palm.

I winced. The cut on my hand had partially dried giving me a nice moist patch of gravel and blood.

“Let’s get inside.” He said it like we were at his house, not mine, but I followed him anyway, handing over my key and letting him open the door.

“Where’s your first aid kit?”

I pointed toward the cabinet beside the sink.