7. Savannah

SEVEN

SAVANNAH

Standing in front of my closet, I felt a wave of indecision hit me. Doubt about tonight had crept in.

Was it too soon after my breakup with Alex to be going on a date with someone?

The thought made me pause as my hands hovered over a cute dress.

But then Adara's words from our phone call earlier echoed through my head: You deserve to move on. Daxton seems like a genuinely good guy. Give him a chance.

She was right.

I shouldn't let the past dictate my present, and that was what Alex was—my past. We were as over as could be. There was no reason I shouldn't go on a date with Daxton.

My gaze swept over the dress again before deciding on the top next to it. Pairing it with shorts and my strappy sandals would make an outfit that struck the perfect balance between casual, cute, and slightly dressy.

As I added the final changes to my hair and makeup, I heard the unmistakable rumble of a motorcycle outside my windows. My heart skipped a beat. I didn't know anyone who owned a motorcycle. When I peeked out and spotted Daxton on a hoss of a bike, my eyebrows shot to my hairline. I hadn't known he owned a motorcycle, but now that I did, he seemed ten times hotter.

As if that had even been possible.

Grabbing my purse, I headed outside, my nerves kicking into overdrive. Daxton sat on his motorcycle, looking handsome as could be. A smile twisted his lips as I approached.

"Hey," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt as I realized I was about to be on the back of his bike.

His gaze traveled over the length of me in a way that heated my skin and sent butterflies flapping through my core.

"Hey. You look amazing," he said.

"Thanks. You don't look so bad yourself." My gaze dipped to the bike again. "I didn't know you rode one of these. I've never been on a motorcycle before," I admitted, a tinge of nerves hitting me once more.

"Well, you're in for a treat. Just be sure to hold on tight," he said, handing me a spare helmet.

"I'll try." I took it from him and fumbled to put it on. "But if I scream, just ignore me, okay?" I joked, trying to lighten my nerves.

He chuckled, helping me adjust the helmet strap with steady hands. "I'll take it as a sign you're having fun." He winked, and I swore I felt that wink all the way to the tips of my toes.

Climbing onto the motorcycle behind him, I wrapped my arms around his waist. His closeness, and the warmth of his presence pressing against me, sent a spark of awareness through my body that was hard to ignore. As he started the engine, I took a deep breath, telling myself I was ready for whatever the evening had in store.

The initial jolt of the motorcycle moving forward sent a thrill through me. Seconds later, we were gliding along the roads, headed toward town. With every twist and turn, I clung tighter to him. Warm wind whipped through my hair and caressed against my skin as the world around became a blur of colors. A sense of freedom and speed powered through me, unlike anything I'd ever experienced before.

When we reached town, Daxton slowed, and I felt a twinge of disappointment trickle through me because the ride was almost over. Less than five minutes later, we were pulling into the parking lot of Last Drop. Once Daxton found us a spot, he eased in and cut the engine. I hopped off the back with less grace than I'd intended, and a wide, goofy smile pulled at my lips. My fingers fumbled with the buckle on my helmet, but I managed to pull it off on my own.

"So, how was your first motorcycle ride?" Daxton asked, his helmet already off and resting on the handlebars.

"Let's just say, I understand why people get addicted to riding one," I joked, adrenaline from the ride coursing through me.

"Glad to hear it. I'll have to get you on the back of my bike more often, then." He grinned. "Thirsty?"

I smoothed my hair down, feeling like it was a frizzy mess molded into the shape of the helmet. "Definitely."

"Let's head inside, then." He nodded to the entrance of the bar. "After you."

We started walking that way, and I couldn't keep the grin off my face. While I didn't know what it was about him that made me feel so dang giddy, I liked it.

Inside, the lighting of the bar was dim. It cast a cozy, intimate glow over everyone and low music pumped from speakers in the ceiling. The place looked like it had been stuck in time, with its wood paneling that lined the walls, and the bar top being made of cheap laminated wood. No one seemed to care, though. Everyone was only here for a drink and some fun. While I wasn't a regular, I'd been here a handful of times.

After we made our way to the bar and grabbed us each a beer, Daxton led me to a table in a back corner. Once we were seated, his eyes met mine, and I noticed a hint of amusement flickering in them.

"What?" I asked, taking a sip from my beer.

He shook his head, his amusement never leaving his eyes. "Nothing. I'm glad you came out with me tonight."

"Me, too," I admitted.

There was an urge to know him better building inside me, a desire to know what other secrets he was keeping. Learning he rode a motorcycle had surprised me. I wanted to see beyond the composed personal trainer sitting before me.

The man intrigued me.

"Tell me something about you most people don't know," I said, feeling bold.

He tossed a lopsided smirk my way and lifted his brows to his hairline. "Okay. Something most don't know…" He paused, thinking. "I can cook a mean lasagna. It's my go-to homemade dish."

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm impressed. Those can be tough, but the real question is—does it come with a side of guilt for breaking your diet?"

He laughed, and I couldn't fight the smile that tugged at my lips. "Not even a small sliver. I believe in enjoying food—all food—just in moderation."

Our conversation continued, and I learned that he loved hiking, ice cream, and that he listened to old-school rock music. In turn, I shared my love for books, my favorite flavor of ice cream, and how I ended up working at the library. Daxton listened to my every word. Really truly listened.

It was refreshing.

"What's your favorite classic book?" he asked, before taking a swig from his beer. "I feel like as a librarian, you should have a favorite."

" The Great Gatsby ," I said without hesitation. "What about you?"

Daxton nodded in his approval. "Okay, that's a good one," he said. "I think mine is The Catcher In The Rye ."

"Classic for sure."

"Is there a book you secretly judge people for not having read?" he asked, amusement lacing his words as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

"Good question." I narrowed my eyes at him. "If you haven't read Interview With The Vampire by Anne Rice, we might have a problem."

"Good thing I have, then," he said with a grin. "Of the thirteen in the series, that one was my favorite."

I leaned back in my seat, my eyes locked on his. It struck me how natural this felt, sitting here with him, sharing stories and laughing. Our connection went beyond physical attraction or shared interests. I could feel it. It was as if we were in harmony, and that realization both excited and scared me.

His cell rang, and I shoved the thoughts away.

"I should see who this is," he said, pulling it from his pocket. His expression shifted from relaxed to concerned. With an apologetic look in my direction, he stood up. "I'm sorry, but I need to take this. I'll be right back."

"Yeah, sure," I said. "No problem."

As he stepped away to answer the call, the warmth of the moment cooled. I took another sip of my beer as a sense of disappointment crept in. The situation felt uncomfortably familiar. It stirred up memories of how Alex used to leave me feeling secondary all the time, his phone calls often taking precedence over our time together.

Was Daxton like Alex, always somewhere else mentally, even when he was right in front of me?

I sighed, my thoughts getting the best of me. I tried to shake them away, to give him the benefit of the doubt, but the seed of uncertainty had already been planted.

Running my fingers through my hair, I knew I was overthinking things, but I couldn't stop. Once the spiral started, that was it. I blamed it on the alcohol flowing through my veins.

How many beers had I had? Two? Three?

I couldn't remember. All I knew was that as the minutes ticked away Daxton's absence, I grew anxious. My heart was caught between the desire to explore whatever this was with him and the real fear of being vulnerable again to hurt and heartbreak.