Burnout (The Holland Brothers Book 1)

The sound of engines revving cuts through the night as Quinn throws her arm out the passenger window of my Bronco and points to an empty spot in the fairgrounds parking lot.

“There,” she says.

“I thought you said this was a small event?” I cut the wheel and head toward the parking space.

“My man is a big deal.” She shrugs and flashes me a smile.

A glint of shiny black and silver in the corner of my eye causes me to slam on the brakes. I yelp as the motorcycle stops directly in front of me. It looks brand new, sleek and gleaming under the lights.

The rider is in all black, the same color as his motorcycle, from head to toe. The only sliver of skin visible is his knee from a rip in his black jeans. I can’t see his eyes through the dark visor of his helmet, but a shiver rolls down my spine as we’re locked in a stare-off that feels intense and heavy.

“Asshole,” I mutter and hit the top of my steering wheel.

He speeds off and disappears between the rows of vehicles.

Once I’m parked, Quinn leads me into the event. The stadium is outdoors with bleachers on two sides of the track.

There are a lot of people here. Families with small kids wearing ear protection, some couples, and along the fence that separates the crowd from the track, motorcycles are parked in groups, their owners standing next to them watching the action.

A large ramp is set up in the center of the track and around it, smaller ramps of varying sizes. The riders are taking turns racing up the main ramp and performing tricks: flipping upside down, twisting around in the air while holding on to only the seat or handles with their feet flung out to the side or above their head, and then landing seconds before they scramble back to a seated position.

“Are we late?” I ask Quinn as I follow her to the far section of bleachers.

“No. They’re just warming up,” she says, shouting over her shoulder to be heard over the noise.

I get some looks as we approach another big group of people along the fence. More guys with their bikes and girls crowding around them. The girls are all in short shorts or tight jeans. Black is the popular color choice on all of them. I bypassed Quinn’s outfit suggestions in favor of one of my own. Maybe my light pink lacy dress and white sneakers weren’t the right choice for an event like this, but I haven’t gone out since the first week of school and I wanted to look cute.

One guy in particular catches my eye. I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s the guy from the parking lot, but they all look similar. He’s abandoned his jacket, and the black tank top he’s wearing shows off his muscular arms and back and the ink that decorates everything from his back down to his fingers.

He’s sitting on his motorcycle with one hand resting on his thigh and the other holds his helmet. Something about the pose screams confidence and ease.

A crowd has formed around him, guys and girls all vying for his attention. By my best guess he’s in his early to mid-twenties. His hair is a medium brown, short and wavy, with a sort of tousled look probably thanks to the helmet, or maybe he was running his fingers through it. Or more likely, judging by the woman standing closest to him eyeing him up like a prize, someone else was running their fingers through it.

It’s clear they’re all excited to see him, but I can’t hear enough to know why he’s important enough to have people focusing on him instead of the track. He must feel me staring at him because as Quinn and I get close, he glances back at me.

He doesn’t quite meet my stare. Instead, his gaze sweeps over my dress and bare legs lazily, and then down to my feet where he focuses so long you’d think I was barefoot or wearing six-inch heels covered in pink glitter.

Self-consciously, I look down. My plain white shoes are already collecting dust from the track, but otherwise I’m not sure why they’re getting so much attention from mister tattooed motorcycle hottie.

When I glance back up, his stare has finally made its way to my face. My breath catches as his eyes narrow and dark brows lift. A cocky challenge with a hint of intrigue like he isn’t sure what to make of me. I just caught him checking me out and he looks at me like I’m the one that should be embarrassed.

I’m too stunned by his reaction to do anything but stare back. When I pass him only a few feet separate us. The air is charged around him. He hasn’t moved at all and something about it has me feeling like I’m walking a catwalk in front of him. Or a plank.

I don’t like the way my heart races or my face flushes under his scrutiny.

As soon as we’re past him, I hurry to walk side by side with Quinn.

“Are you sure I’m dressed okay?” I ask my friend as she finally finds a spot in the bleachers she likes and starts to ascend the stairs.

With a quick once-over, she nods. “You look hot. Nobody else I know could pull off that dress. And I don’t know how you still have your summer tan.”

It’s because I lived in the pool this summer while rehabbing my knee.

We sit in an empty row about halfway up. We have a nice view of the riders who are still taking warm-up jumps on the track. I spot Colter, as does Quinn, judging by her smile.

“I feel like I should have worn something…”

“Something what?” She arches one brow at me quizzically.

“Less pink and lacy.”

She laughs softly, only tearing her gaze from her boyfriend for a second. She takes off her leather jacket and holds it out to me. “Put this on.”

“Are you sure?”

“You look amazing as is, but if it makes you feel more comfortable.” Another shrug.

I slip my arms into the buttery soft sleeve and shrug into it. The leather is warm from her skin and at least on the top half now I look more like the rest of the crowd. “Wow. I automatically feel like a badass. You might not get this back.”

Quinn snorts. “I know where you live, bitch.”

Everyone gets to their feet when the announcer’s voice crackles over the speakers. He welcomes everyone to the event as the riders sit impatiently on their bikes. I can almost see the adrenaline coming off them. My own excitement builds. I haven’t seen Colter in action since last spring. He’s talented and fearless. Also a smidge crazy, but in a truly loveable way.

When he first switched from racing dirt bikes to freestyle, he worked out a bunch with me and Quinn. The control and strength required to pull off some of the tricks he does is insane.

The announcer calls out each rider, introduces them and provides a list of accomplishments as they take off around the track waving at the fans, then circle back to speed up the ramp.

It really is incredible, some of the things they’re able to do. When it’s Colter’s turn, he does a backflip, then brings his legs up behind him so he’s flying horizontally above the bike.

Quinn screams next to me, bringing both hands up around her mouth. When he lands it, he circles around, riding close to the fence, standing upright. He kisses his fingertips and then points at her before speeding off.

The event continues with the riders, seven of them in total, doing synchronized tricks while loud music pumps from the speakers. Their timing, technique, even the height they soar in the air is nearly identical. They do backflips, and a bunch of other tricks that look terrifying.

The only other time I’ve seen Colter in action was at a small track where he practices. I went with Quinn once and that was fun, but this…this is so much more than I imagined. My own heart races with excitement as their feats get more and more jaw-dropping.

After some time, they pull out of line and stop at one end of the track, then one-by-one they each take their turn on the track, alternating between all the ramps, performing stunts and getting the crowd into it.

It smells like fumes and burnt rubber, with a touch of gasoline, and the music is so loud I can feel it vibrating in my body. It’s electric.

The announcer calls out the tricks after they complete them. The names make me chuckle: Hart Attack, Kiss of Death, Rigamortis, Holy Grab, Oxecutioner, and a bunch more.

“Whoever named these has a sick sense of humor,” I yell over the noise.

But also, it’s a good reminder that one wrong move and these guys could get seriously hurt. These guys are bonkers.

“Most of them are named after riders,” she replies without removing her gaze from the track.

When it’s Colter’s turn, my eyes are glued to his every move. He’s good. The best of the group, maybe. And because of all the time we spent together while he was working on handstands and upper body control, I notice that he’s improved a ton in that area. His lines are straight and his movements smooth.

When he flips the bike and lets go with everything except one hand gripping the seat, I hold my breath with everyone else. And when he lands it cleanly, I feel a shot of pride that I had some small part in helping him make it look so effortless.

I stand with Quinn when he’s done, clapping and cheering loudly. Colter drives by us again, this time going up on one wheel and showing off for his girl. The guys in the front yell and heckle him as he goes by. My attention is drawn back to the guy from earlier. He still hasn’t moved from his bike, but he looks as comfortable on it as if it were his own personal throne. His gaze flicks to me and for several long seconds we’re locked in another stare-off.

I glance away first and take a seat back on the hard bleacher.

“Wasn’t he fantastic?” Quinn asks, her smile as wide as her face.

“Yeah. He really was. I can’t believe how much he improved over the summer. Did you keep working with him?”

“Me?” She scoffs. “No. I’m not patient enough. That was all you.”

“You were there too.” For months Colter worked out with us. It was nice because I got to know my best friend’s boyfriend and give him the stamp of approval. He’s really great and Quinn is absolutely gone for him.

“Yeah, but I mostly sat around and gawked at him.”

“You still mostly sit around and gawk at him.”

She beams. “He’s hot. Gawking is required.”

Without thinking, I chance another look down at the guy on his bike. Speaking of hot…he has a whole bad boy, break your heart but look good while doing it vibe. He reaches forward and wraps his fingers around the handlebar. The movement makes his shirt strain against his back and side and his bicep flexes under all that ink. If danger had a look, it’s this guy in his all-black ensemble and matching motorcycle.

“Damn,” I mutter.

He looks back and catches me staring. A smug smile tips up the corners of his lips. I quickly glance away and back to the track, but not before heat creeps up my neck.

“Right?” Quinn asks with awe in her tone. “She’s the only chick on the team, but she is representing the ladies well. Also, she’s so sexy. Her red hair really does it for me.”

“Huh?” My head snaps toward my friend in confusion.

She motions to the track where a woman takes off her helmet, freeing her red hair with a shake of her head, and waves to the crowd.

Quinn continues, “You think I could talk Colter into sleeping with her and letting me watch?”

“Seriously?”

“I’m mostly kidding, but I have thought about it. Colter’s open to all sorts of things in theory but I think he’d kill any guy that came at me naked. And I’d probably do the same with anyone who tried to put hands on my man. What about you?”

I shake my head with a laugh. “You two are perfect for each other.”

“You’ve never thought about hooking up with multiple people?”

“No, not really. My sex fantasies are more one-on-one,” I admit. “I can barely find one person I want to hook up with, so the odds of finding more seem unlikely.”

“True. You are very picky. Except Tristan.”

I wrinkle my nose at the memory. He kissed like it was a competition and he was determined to win. My lips hurt just thinking about it.

The woman on the motorcycle stands on the seat of her bike and raises her arms.

“She’s hot though, right? When she first joined the team, I was so jealous that Colter was spending so much time with her, but he says red hair doesn’t work for him. Something about being traumatized by the Chucky movies as a kid.”

“She is pretty hot.” I nod.

The crowd loves her, men and women alike. Speaking of men, I feel his stare on me and glance back down at the hot asshole to find him watching me again. He’s not ogling so much as staring like he’s amused by me. I lift my chin defiantly, then turn my face toward Quinn. “That guy down there keeps looking at me.”

She pries her gaze from the redhead and scans for him. “Which one?”

“Black shirt, tattoos, hot as sin?”

Her laughter is muted by the noise of an engine revving. “In this crowd, you have to be more specific.”

“The one sitting on his motorcycle.”

A few seconds later, I know she’s found him when her voice croons, “Oooh. He is pretty.”

Pretty? The man is all hard edges and tough demeanor. Handsome and striking, yes. Pretty? Not exactly.

“Is he still looking this way?”

“No. Well, maybe he was, but now he’s a little occupied.” Her voice takes on a playful singsong tone.

I look back at him in time to see a stunning brunette straddle the seat of his motorcycle, facing him. Her arms dangle over his shoulders. He isn’t touching her at all, but he’s eating up the attention, judging by the way he leans closer to her. Almost lazily he cups the back of her head and brings her mouth to his, kissing her in a way that makes my stomach bottom out.

“Do you know him?” I ask Quinn.

“No, but I recognize some of the guys with him. They’re local riders. Colter will know. We can ask him later. Maybe Colter can introduce you and we can double date!”

“No thanks. He is so not my type.”

“That man is everyone’s type for at least a night.”

She’s probably not wrong about that.

The rest of the event goes by quickly and before I know it, Quinn is dragging me to a side area of the parking lot where Colter and the other riders are loading their equipment into trailers. A small crowd has formed nearby, and I spot my tattooed bad boy among them, but I’m careful not to get caught staring at him again.

Quinn takes off in a run toward her man. He’s still dressed in all his gear, minus the helmet. He catches her and holds her up to kiss her, which he does, quite thoroughly. I walk slowly toward them, closing the distance while they say hello to each other like it’s been months instead of hours since they’ve seen each other.

Colter lowers Quinn back down to stand in front of him, but keeps his arms locked around her. He’s a head taller than her and uses that height advantage to smile at me over her. “Hey, Avery.”

“Hey, yourself.” I smile at him. Colter is really easy to like. The fact that he makes my friend so happy is just a bonus.

“What’d you think of the show?” he asks.

“It was incredible. Your lines were straight and clean. I’m so proud.”

His smile widens. “Thanks.”

More of the crew is working around us. Colter drops another kiss to Quinn’s lips. “I gotta help the guys. Are you two sticking around for a bit? There’s a cooler of drinks in the back of my truck.”

My friend looks to me hopefully.

“Yeah.” I lift one shoulder in a small approving shrug.

“Cool. Grab a drink. I’ll be back soon.” He kisses Quinn again. Seriously, these two can’t get enough of each other and it’s as heartwarming as it is nauseating to witness. When Colter is gone, Quinn turns on her toes to grin at me. One look at how happy she is makes it hard to be anything but happy for her.

I’m not looking for that, but it would be nice if the universe could send me a gorgeous, sweet man that wants to make out occasionally. After the crappy year I’ve had, that doesn’t seem like too much to ask for.