Jane

“Buying a bike is a one-way ticket to a brain soup.” Jane muttered her complaint as she shimmed and squeezed and wormed her way through the row of fans seated in the open arena, struggling to balance her large coke order and an overflowing popcorn bowl.

Her best friend since high school, Amanda, was wearing a crop top that barely covered anything, with glitter on her cleavage spelling out the name of her favorite biker.

She was the reason Jane was here—in a crowd of overzealous fans that were screaming their heads off, begging her eardrums not to go kaput.

Because of a stupid bet she made.

Amanda plopped down two seats beside an overweight man wearing a trucker hat and a hi-vest. Jane fought the urge to roll her eyes when he winked at her.

Eugh.

She could clearly see the cheap wedding ring on his finger.

“…you know,” she turned to Amanda as she managed to squeeze herself into the chair without bumping arms with the man—who clearly didn’t understand the concept of not inconveniencing others, “…if I manage to get out of here without getting trampled on, I’m never letting you plan my summer itinerary ever again.”

“Oh, come on,” Amanda pushed her lips out in an exaggerated pout. She wriggled her shoulders, practically shoving her cleavage in Jane’s face. “You need to live a little, Janie. You’ve been cooped up in your little studio for the last two weeks, watching reruns of your sitcom.”

“It’s better than being out here,” Jane argued, wrinkling her nose as the sound of a million engines being revved at the same time nearly took out her eardrums. She leaned closer while the crowd erupted in shouts, cheering them on. “Some of us don’t want to get caught by the cops, because…you know, underground racing is very much illegal.”

Her best friend shook her head, her brows furrowing. “What?”

Jane rolled her eyes.

She always said Amanda was deaf in one ear…now she knew why. “I said—”

Amanda shook her head before she could finish, “I can’t hear you.”

Jane took a deep breath, her patience wearing thin. A cloud of dust went up in the air as a bunch of bikers chased each other in circles. Two girls behind them jumped up before she could repeat herself, squealing and crying and waving their banners around.

She bit her tongue as she settled back into her chair, taking a long, cold sip of her soda. How long did Amanda say it was again?

Two hours.

She could take two hours of screaming and yelling—and the dust storm that had definitely gotten into her drink—in exchange for two more weeks of silence.

And solitude.

So far, she’d allowed Amanda drag her to—

A strip club. The men were hot, she had to give her best friend that. And maybe it felt empowering tucking notes into their sparkly…ahem, but one of them had been very intent about giving her a lap dance.

He had an accent thicker than she could make out over the music. The only part of their conversation she understood, other than his continued eyebrow wriggling, was when he told her that she could—

“Take all of him, because she had enough fat to hold his weight.”

Then, they went indoor rock climbing.

The one-month of Pilates she paid for a year ago, prepared her for absolutely nothing. Jane had fallen flat on her face three times before finally giving up.

This—

She frowned as she looked into the middle of the arena pit, at the flashy bikes and the men in full getup, waving at the crowd.

This was the last straw.

She reached into her bowl of popcorn as something came whizzing from behind. She tilted her chin in mild curiosity, only for it to plop down on her face. A round of snickers followed.

Jane gritted her teeth as she slowly retrieved it, holding it up by her fingertips.

“What the flip?”

A bra. That was what she was holding. An oversized, caricature bra, with one of the cups big enough to cover her entire face.

“Looks like yours, doesn’t it?” She made a disgusted face as she turned to the man seated next to her. “Just perfect,” he whispered, dragging his tongue over his lower lip as his gaze dropped, unashamedly, to her chest.

Okay. She was done.

Jane shot to her feet, sending the popcorn and drink tumbling to the floor.

“You know what?” She threw her hands up, letting out an exasperated sigh as she glared at Amanda. “I tried. I really did. But this isn’t for me.” She drew in a sharp breath. “So I’m just going to go, and I’ll see you…” Her voice faltered for a moment. “When I see you.”

“Jane! Jane, wait—please!”

Amanda scrambled after her, but Jane was already squeezing past the people seated along the row, muttering hurried apologies and earning more than a few annoyed huffs.

She needed to get out of there.

Her mind was already back in her tiny studio apartment. Her body just had to catch up. Head down and determined, Jane burst through the theater doors and straight into a solid wall of muscle.

The impact knocked her backward. “Oh—”

Jane froze as a cold splash drenched the front of her shirt.

Slowly, she looked down as amber liquid dripped from her blouse and pooled around her shoes. An overturned cup rolled across the floor between them.

For one horrifying second, neither of them spoke.

Then she looked up.

The stranger was staring at his now-empty drink with an expression somewhere between disbelief and resignation. “Well,” he said at last, glancing from the ruined drink to her soaked shirt, “I suppose one of us should apologize.”

Jane only heard the last word, setting off her brain like the Fourth of July fireworks.

Apologize???

She scoffed, thrusting her hands on her hips. “You want me to apologize? You’re the one who bumped into me. You should be saying sorry.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah…you’re right. But you weren’t looking up either. So, maybe we accept half the blame? The show’s about to start and I’m sure you don’t want to miss seeing me out there.”

The corner of his mouth tilted with a smirk.

Jane’s brows furrowed as she squinted at him. Brown, shaggy hair that covered his eyes. A dark birthmark, like a dot, just below his left eye. Bright brown eyes. An annoyingly firm jawline that Amanda wouldn’t stop gushing about.

Marcus Wolfe.

Amanda’s crush and the man on the posters covering up every inch of her bedroom wall. And the reason her blouse—her designer blouse that her best friend convinced her to wear—was totally ruined.

It was $300 minus shipping.

Oh, he was going to pay for it. “You know what?” She raised a finger, with her rant brewing. “I know that you have people gushing over you and singing your praises, but I am definitely not one of them.”

His smirk fell off. But Jane wasn’t done. She was just getting warmed up.

“Jane? Jane?”

Amanda had caught up to her and was now rushing up the steps in her rhinestone covered boots. She halted, a wheeze coming out of her mouth when she saw Marcus. “Y-y- oh my god!!”

She shrieked. “Can I get your autograph, please? I’ve been dying to meet you!”

Marcus glanced at Jane with an eyebrow slightly raised. She could smell his smugness like an overpriced cologne. He walked past her, talking softly to Amanda who was totally losing her shit.

The audacity!

She wasn’t going to let him get away with it. She took a step, intending to give him a piece of her mind, but her foot never touched the ground. Her other foot slid on his spilled drink and she lost her balance.

It happened in slow motion.

Her legs gave out from underneath her, her arms flailing in the air as she tried to clutch fistfuls of air to keep her from falling.

Oh no.

Oh no.

Was this how she was going to die?

The headlines flashed through her eyes as she slowly blacked out:

Chubby College Student Takes A Tumble After Slipping On Spilled Drink: Does

Her head was throbbing like a bitch.

Okay wait. She didn’t use curse words.

Her head was throbbing…what was the right word? Jane struggled to open her eyes, gingerly reaching for her forehead. Bright, blinding light shut filled her vision as one eye finally opened, sending a stab of pain through her skull.

She closed then again, groaning loudly.

Why did it hurt so much? She couldn’t remember what she was doing last night. Drinking? The last time she had too much and ended up with a hangover, it wasn’t as bad as expected.

This was hell.

Unless Amanda had convinced her to do something stupid again.

Wait.

Amanda had convinced her. They were at an arena to watch underground racing. There was something about an oversized, unfunny bra and a guy with a perfect face, smirking at her.

Oh god.

She shot upright, the sudden movement sending a wave of dizziness through her. Her eyes blinked open to find Amanda rushing toward her.

“You’re awake!”

Amanda all but collapsed onto the bed, wrapping her in a tight, bone-crushing hug. “Oh my God,” she sniffled, her voice shaking with relief. “I thought you’d died.”

Yeah, Jane thought to herself. She thought so too.

She peeled Amanda’s arms off. “What happened?”

Her best friend pouted. “You fell. Took a tumble down the steps. And then we had to call an ambulance, because—” she glanced away guiltily, “—you were unconscious and I couldn’t carry you on my own.”

The scene flashed through Jane’s mind in slow motion. Her attempt to demand compensation from Marcus, the slip and the great fall. She facepalmed with a loud, mortified groan, peeking through her fingers. “Please,” she begged. “Tell me nobody saw it happen? I don’t think I’d be able to live if even one person…” she trailed off.

Amanda was looking at her weirdly. Jane squinted, zeroing in on her brow. It was her best friend tell-tale sign. Her right brow wouldn’t stop twitching when she was concealing something or lying to Jane. It was doing so now, like an exposed live wire in a bubble bath, dancing all over the place.

“Oh god.” She couldn’t breathe. “Oh god. Please say no, Amanda,” Jane pleaded. The horror that was going through her mind was unbearable, because one of her biggest fears had come to pass.

“Okay…” she tried to pull herself together, taking deep breaths and pressing a hand down her chest. “One or two people saw me. Just tell me they didn’t immediately whip out their phones while you waited for the ambulance?”

Amanda shook her head slowly.

Jane wanted the hospital floor to open up a gaping black hole and swallow her. “Show me,” she croaked.

“I don’t think you want to see it,” her best friend protested weakly.

Her hand shot out, her expression stern. “If there a video of me on the internet that I didn’t consent to, then I want to see it.” She said hoarsely, hand still stretched out. Amanda’s shoulders drooped as she walked over to a chair in the corner of the room, picking up a tiny bag. She brought out a phone with a plain black pouch, her thumb scrolling the screen.

Her gaze lowered as she walked back to Jane’s bed, handing her the phone.

There was a video on pause.

“The video is on my phone?” Jane asked with an incredulous scoff. She shook her head. She couldn’t deal with the technicalities of that right now. She pressed play—

It was worse than she’d thought. Worse than anything she imagined. The video began playing from when she fell, hitting the ground with a thud. Someone had screamed and then there was more shouting, with the camera angle too shaky to make anything out.

Then it panned to her face.

Her unmoving face. The person videoing had taken their time to film her slowly, panning it down her chest—where the ugly soda stain had spread across her chest—to her jeans and her foot. She had one sneaker on. The second must’ve flown down when she took the tumble. Then it moved, to the audience.

…to the hundreds of people with their phones pointed at her unconscious body.

“Ugh. I bet she fell because she couldn’t carry her body.”

“She should be in the gym or doing lipo instead of dragging her overweight self here.”

The comments. They just kept coming, each one worse than the last.

“You’ve seen enough.” Amanda snatched the phone from her hand. “It doesn’t matter what they think,” she said firmly, as if Jane needed the vote of confidence. “The doctor said the damage wasn’t extensive. They want to watch you for today and they’ll discharge you tomorrow morning.”

Jane couldn’t speak.

She was frozen in the moment—back in the video—still watching herself. Tears gathered in a lump at the base of her throat. She could deal with mean comments. She’d developed thick skin through the years, but not when she couldn’t defend herself. When she was helpless and vulnerable.

Amanda saw the first tear before it fell.

“Jane—” she rushed forward.

“I want to be alone.” Her voice broke as she laid down slowly, turning her back to her best friend. She bit her lower lip until it hurt, fighting the tears. She wasn’t going to cry. Not today. Not while her skull still felt like it was about to split into two.

She heard Amanda’s reluctant retreating footsteps. As the door opened, something occurred to her.

“Who paid for the room?” she asked, turning around.

Amanda smiled brightly as she waved her hands. Too bright. “You don’t have to worry about that. Just get better, hm?”

In other words, she had to be worried. “Who?” She asked. “Because I know you have bad credit and a bunch of credit cards to pay off.”

“You think I can’t do something nice for my friend?” Amanda sounded offended as she thrust her hands on her hips. Jane levelled her with a look. She broke after a few seconds, throwing her hands in the air. “I’m sorry. It’s just that they wanted payment as soon as they were done stitching up the wound and then he came and he just took over. He was willing to pay for a VIP room and I couldn’t say no.”

He? Who was Amanda talking about?

The door opened before Jane could ask. A man walked in, wearing a helmet. The visor was down, covering his entire face.

“Who are you?”

He took it off, slowly. The first thing she saw were his eyes. Those bright brown eyes and his annoying jawline and the stupid mouth that had the smug smile. Marcus Wolfe.

“Y—you?!” She shot up, pointing at him. He was the reason she was here, with a humiliating video of her circulating the internet. “You…” she gritted her teeth. She couldn’t say the words she really wanted to use.

Smug, infuriating, egoistic ASSHOLE. “Asshat!” She settled for the closest thing. “What do you want? To finish what you started? Knock me out a second time so I can end up in a coma so I don’t have to see your stupid face?”

“No, no.” Amanda stepped forward, holding out both hands like a mediator. She sighed. “He followed the ambulance here, Jane.”

Jane snorted. “So?” she folded her arms as she tipped her head, glaring dagger at him. “It’s his fault. I am going to sue you to one inch of your life,” she hissed.

Her best friend dropped her hands with a big sigh. “He forfeited his race too. He’s been here since. And,” Amanda smiled awkwardly. “He’s the one who paid for the medical bills and upgraded your room. He’s sorry. I think you should forgive him.”

Oh, she would.

She stared at him straight in the eye as she said, with a bright grin that felt euphoric,

“ hell freezes over.”

Marcus

Marcus stared at the girl on the bed, with a hospital gown that looked like the color of puke—yellow and pale against her skin.

And something inside his chest curled.

He’d gone most of his years surrounded by fans that sang his praise, to the point where he had to wear face masks to go out in public.

It was partially his fault, though.

His brother had warned him that a social media presence was only going to bring him more attention. But Marcus thought it was the right thing the arena needed.

They were trying to shut them down, the authorities. But the underground arena had hundreds and thousands of people willing to visit to a site that went down two hours after tickets were put up for sale.

And they sold out.

Every last ticket. Every single time. With resales going up for thousands of dollars.

Plus, maybe he did like the attention. It was addictive, watching the girls swoon over him when he walked into a club. They’d raise their shirts, flashing their tits his way.

For a while, at least.

He’d gotten bored. And he was someone who needed the thrill…the rush.

He’d been planning to tank the race, anyway. It would’ve shocked the entire audience, but it would’ve given him the buzz he needed.

She—the girl who was staring daggers at him, with her chest heaving, was the perfect excuse.

He smiled as he stepped forward, placing a hand to his chest.

It always worked. It was the perfect combo, charming and humble at the same time. “Allow me to apologize, Miss…” he trailed off, his brows slightly raised when it hit him that he’d forgotten her name.

Crap.

“It’s Jane,” she snapped. “Getting your drink all over my blouse and humiliating me for the entire world to see wasn’t enough for you to remember my name?”

He shook his head as molten heat raced down his throat. The feeling was almost palpable, as if he could taste it on his tongue if he tried hard enough. “I was hoping to address you formally, Miss Jane,” he said easily, his smile widening.

“I apologize for how we got off. I was mistaken. I saw no reason why a non-fan would be at the arena. It’s hard to get tickets, you see.”

Her mouth opened, in a retort, but it hung open as her face turned red.

Bright red. Marcus bit back a grin. He liked the color on her face. It washed out the rest of the ugly yellow. And seeing her flustered did something to him he couldn’t explain.

He moved closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “I wish you could’ve had time to watch me race. Maybe I would’ve offered you a ride afterwards.”

Her face turned even brighter as he pulled away. “I’d rather get an allergic reaction and bring myself close to death, than go anywhere close to your bike.”

“You almost died…” he pointed out, biting back a smile. “But you shouldn’t knock it until you try it”.

She snorted. “The only reason why you ride bikes, is because you can’t bring out your dicks and measure them in public.” Her eyes widened as the words tumbled out and she slapped her hand to her mouth.

Almost as if she’d said something forbidden.

The corner of his mouth curved with a smirk as he watched her. “Depends on the crowd. In the right setting, an orgy perhaps, I wouldn’t mind showing you. If—” he tilted his head, his eyes twinkling with mischief, “—that’s what you’re into, Miss Jane.”

Jane stuttered for a few seconds as she tried to reply. “Amanda,” she zeroed in on her best friend, visibly fuming. “Could you give me a moment with him?”

Marcus glanced over his shoulder, putting on his killer smile as he winked at the friend. She sighed, swooning almost instantly. “I don’t want to separate you from your friend, but—”

“It’s fine!” Amanda declared, cupping her face with an ecstatic grin. Marcus frowned a bit. Was she okay? He’d seen a handful of faintings from fans. “I’ll give you as much space as you need!”

She rushed out of the room, returning a second later to close the door.

“Here’s what I think about you.” A cold voice cut through the silence.

He turned.

She pushed herself into a sitting position, her chest heaving from the effort. God. His throat went dry. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about her in that way, but he couldn’t help it.

Her eyes were the most vibrant shade of hazel, flecks of gold flashing as she glared at him.

“You’re a…” She was stuttering again, her hands moving around.

Marcus opened his arms. “You can go ahead. I deserve it. Every bit of it. An asshole, for not stopping the crowd from taking the videos and invading your privacy. Egoistic, for assuming you were a fan.”

“Yes,” she nodded briskly. “You have a terribly annoying ego.” She thrust her hands on her hips, looking every bit like a storm passing through a bright cloud. “You have fans that throw bras at people’s faces…”

He zoned out of her words, as his gaze dropped to her chest. She wasn’t wearing one. The gown was painfully light too and he could see her nipples outlined against the material. It fell off her shoulders as she gestured animatedly, showing off soft, tanned skin.

His gut tightened as he forced his gaze away—back to her face, where it didn’t help any more.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could put on the act.

“I’m sorry,” he said, stopping her.

Her brows knit together in confusion.

“Everything you’ve said is true. Would you let me make it up to you by helping while you’re getting back on your feet?”

“You’ve paid the hospital bill.” She bit hard at him. “And I plan to refund every last dollar.”

“It was a nasty fall,” he explained. “You shouldn’t be alone for the next week or so. I have a house. I can hire a staff to make sure you’re taken care of properly.”

Her frown fell off as she folded her arms loosely. “Why?”

Because he was a terrible person, that’s why. Marcus Wolfe was an entitled human who always went after whatever he wanted, even if he was told he couldn’t have it.

He’d won every race since the arena opened four years ago, even when he had a sprain and the doctors told him to go easy on it.

He had a company too—at twenty-five and was a multi-millionaire on Forbes list.

Because he wanted her, as egoistic and illogical as it sounded.

“Think about it,” he murmured instead. “You hate me. You want your pound of flesh for what I did. What better way to get it than to have me indebted to you? I’ll be at your beck and call, and you can use me…” he drawled, “…as much as you want.”

She pursed her lips, thoughtfully.

His phone rang just then and Marcus bit back a curse. “I need to take care of this,” he told her. “I’ll be back. Think about my offer, will you? I’m willing to draw up a contract if that would suffice.”

He walked out, closing the door behind him as he reached into his pocket for his phone.

Ryder.

His brother.

“If you’re wondering if I’m still alive,” he said cheekily as he answered, “I am. The race,” he added when Ryder didn’t speak. He could picture his brother, rubbing his forehead with an exasperated expression. “How did it go?”

“You were going to lose, weren’t you?” Ryder said, his voice rough and low.

Marcus grinned. “You know me too well.”

“You’re an open book, Marc,” his brother’s tone dripped with dry sarcasm. “It’d be impossible for me not to predict your next move.”

“You sure?”

Marcus glanced over his shoulder, at the hospital door and the woman inside the room. His brown-haired, hazel-eyed firecracker.

A sly smile spread across his face.

His brother wouldn’t see that one coming, that was sure.