What’s the difference? “Fine—club, but even if I were, I don’t know how to ride a motorcycle.” Like that’s the sole thing stopping me from dancing over the line into crazy.

Razor rests his arms on his thighs, causing his golden-blond hair to fall forward. Through the strands, those beautiful eyes capture me, holding me completely and utterly under a spell. “I’ll teach you if you want.”

My mouth dries out and Razor’s eyes focus on my lips as I lick them.

“Teach me what?” I whisper.

“To ride,” he says in this slow seductive slide as he inches forward in his seat. His knee brushes against mine and a zap of electricity shoots up my leg to very private places.

My temperature spikes and I have to remind myself that inhaling is essential. Razor eases back in his seat but extends his leg so that our calves are touching. A ball of energy zings to life from the small amount of friction between our bodies and it races through my blood. I take a deep breath, gather my hair and pull it off the back of my neck.

“Hot?” There’s a definite tease in his voice.

Sizzling. This entire room is sizzling. From his voice to his eyes to that dimpled half smirk to those ripped muscles in his arms. Razor is so hot the fire alarms should be blaring. I wave my hand toward the ceiling. “There’s no vents in this room—no flowing air. It’s stuffy.”

“Mmm.” That’s his response to my attempt at logically explaining away my attraction to him. I have never felt like this with a guy before—like a moth drawn to the raging inferno. My entire body hums breathing the same air as him.

“Do you want out of our deal?” he asks, and the humming stops.

A mental pause. The real question he’s asking is do I believe he can keep the picture from going up...if I can trust him to help me. “I’ve heard your club kills people and I don’t want that. I’m mad at Kyle, but I don’t want him dead. I want out of the deal if he’s going to get hurt.”

Razor steals a few seconds of silence as he methodically rubs his hands together. There’s a hard glint in his eyes that causes a spark of fear within me.

“Our club isn’t what you think,” he says as if he honestly believes he means it. “Are you saying you don’t want to work on my code?”

“No, I’m saying I’m not okay with hurting people even if they’ve hurt me.” It’s an honest answer. “I’ve seen the code. Even if I wanted to stop working on it, I can’t. My mind won’t stop turning over the possible solutions.”

I raise my fingers to my head and they flutter about like the movement can help him understand the organized chaos. “I don’t know how to describe it, but when my mind doesn’t have something to work on, I feel like someone’s peeling off my skin. My mom says I never relax, but how do I explain that crossword puzzles and those mind games on my phone are what help me unwind?”

I wish I would learn to shut up around him. I’ve spent too many years trying to keep this part of myself locked tight so no one can use it as ammunition against me and here I am handing it out freely.

“You’re the coolest damn person I’ve met,” he says.

On the inside, I’m smiling like an idiot. I may also be smiling like an idiot on the outside.

“If you’re working on my code,” he says, “then I’m still your bodyguard. Deal’s still in place, and if it makes you feel better, then I won’t involve the club.”

My happy moment withers. “You know the whole bodyguard thing was a sham.”

Razor’s mouth edges up and my breath catches. Good God, he’s gorgeous with a frown, but he’s perfection with a smile. “I thought you were trying to hire me last week.”

“Would you hate me if I told you that you scared the hell out of me last week and I said some stupid things I’m sorry for?”

“I’d like you more than I already do for being truthful. There’s not too many people who can do honesty.”

The way he stares at me, as if he likes who I am, causes me to become shy. I run my fingers through my hair and pretend I’m crazy interested in the ends, because I have no idea what to do with myself now.

Razor doesn’t propel the conversation along, so I do what any other self-respecting seventeen-year-old would do: change the subject. “Mr. Duncan told me about this class yesterday and he let me take the book home, so I read the syllabus and—”

“You memorized it,” Razor cuts me off with a grin.

I bob my head back and forth. “Maybe.” Yes. “Anyhow, there are projects and Mr. Duncan said we can do them together, but I’m not sure you’ll want to work with me, because—”

“I do.”

I blow out a frustrated sigh. “Razor—”

“We’re working together. You’re smart, I’m not.”

“You’re one of four people who tested into AP physics. I’m not buying what you’re selling. But anyhow, you need to remember how I explained I’m not good at math, and there is math in physics, so—”

He slices his hand across his throat, ending the discussion, and I snap my mouth shut. While me and big, bad hot biker guy may be forming some sort of strange friendship, I’m not pushing him into conversations he doesn’t want to have.

“Back to the deal.” There’s a glint to Razor’s eyes that’s a hundred percent mischief and I’m tempted to play along. “You crack my code and I’ll continue to watch your back, and I’ll even sweeten the pot. If you and your friends want to go out dancing, I’ll be DD, mop the floor with any boys that try to cop a second-base feel, then I’ll make sure you get safely home.”