“Yes. A list of fun or exciting things that I intend to do, for … for reasons. And riding a motorbike was on the list.”

He grinned. So, Chloe had some kind of bad-girl bucket list? Hilarious. “Reasons, huh? What reasons?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said quickly, which only fed his curiosity. “What matters is that I have a proposition for you.”

Goddammit, his dick just wouldn’t stop reacting to that phrase. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” she confirmed crisply. “But we probably shouldn’t discuss it here. We’ll need to make some sort of appointment. Set the time aside. It’s quite in-depth.”

His lips twitched. Did she know she was adorable? Was she trying to be adorable? Maybe this was something they taught at private schools. Maybe she was reeling him in right this minute, and he’d wake up in a year’s time with his life in pieces, her perfume all over him, and a distinct feeling that he’d lost his fucking mind. But no, he reminded himself; these days, no one could reel him in unless he let them.

“Just tell me,” he said. “Give me a hint.”

She rolled her eyes. “Where is your patience?”

“Same place I left my shame.”

“I pity your mother. You must have been an infuriating child.”

“I’m her favorite child,” he corrected.

“You can’t have any siblings, then.”

“Wow. That hurts, Chloe. Gets me right here.” He clapped a hand over his chest because he was gravely wounded.

She snorted, zero sympathy. “Since you apparently have to know, I was thinking that perhaps … well, perhaps you could help me complete some other items on my list, the way you helped me today. And in return, I could build your whole website for free.”

His scowl was automatic. “I may not be loaded, but I can pay for the bloody website. I have savings. And anyway, it’s a business expense.” Been a while since he’d had any of those, but since he was about to be back in business …

“No. If you help me, I have to do something for you in return, so it’s fair. Even. A deal, like this. And the website’s all I can offer. It would be an exchange.”

He frowned at her insistent tone. “Just exactly how much ‘help’ do you need? What’s on this list?”

“Well, as I said, we should probably discuss it elsewhere.” Her gaze darted around like government spies might be lurking in piles of dead leaves. Like her list was some big, dangerous secret.

“The more you hesitate,” he told her, “the more I imagine terrible and/or kinky explanations.”

“Kinky?” she echoed, then slapped a hand over her mouth like she’d just blurted out, Fuck the pope. “I—no. It’s not. It’s just a list of things I want to do. Fun, exciting things.”

“Like bondage?”

“Like camping,” she snapped.

He’d been hoping she’d get all flustered and give it up, but he really hadn’t expected her juicy secrets to include … camping. “Seriously? You want me to help you camp?”

She nodded stiffly. “You’re probably much better with the outdoors than I am. You certainly couldn’t be worse. I also need to go out drinking. You know, partying. Which I’m sure will be much safer with someone who, erm … looks like you.”

Well, he couldn’t argue with that. “What else?”

“As if that isn’t enough?” She shook her head ruefully. “There’s more on the list, but nothing you can help with.”

“What. Else?” Not that he was desperate to know, or anything. He was just curious. This list was … unexpected, like jigsaw pieces that didn’t quite fit together yet, but hinted at a surprising picture. He wanted to see the picture. That was all.

“Oh, well, I want to travel the world with nothing but hand luggage.” The words eased out of her like a creak from a carefully opened door, as if she were tiptoeing around the idea. Like it was silly. Like he would laugh.

The truth just up and fell out of his mouth. “As goals go, that’s fucking amazing.”

Her face lit up, then closed down as she wrestled it under control. She was the queen of deadpan, after all. “Do you think?” she asked in a tone that said, I don’t give a shit, but go on.

“I do,” he said, and she gave in and smiled. She might as well have stabbed him in his dignity, the way his body responded to a measly curve of those full lips. He’d always thought she was beautiful, but she seemed to get prettier every time they spoke, which was bloody inconvenient. He cleared his throat and said, “So … you want my help with your adventure list.”

Although, going out for a drink didn’t seem like an adventure. More like a Friday night.

“My Get a Life list,” she corrected.

He frowned. “What—?”

“And in return,” she cut in, “I’ll build your site. It’s a fair trade. Trust me.”

Trust her? He didn’t. These days, he barely trusted himself. And the way she talked about this list … it wasn’t sitting quite right with him. He should say no. He opened his mouth to do just that, but a question came out instead. “How did something as ordinary as camping end up on the same list as traveling the world?”

She shrugged, wandering over to the wall opposite his. And then she was leaning, just like him, like they were mirror images. “Life experience tends to start small and build up, doesn’t it? You might camp as a child and end up traveling in your twenties. But mine didn’t build up, exactly, for all sorts of reasons. I have these different levels to catch up with. I chose the ones that seemed important, and I suppose I …” She shrugged, let out a self-conscious little laugh. “Well, I suppose I shoved them all together. Is that silly?”

Say yes. “No. Do you need to sit down? Shall we go inside?”

“I would love to sit down,” she said, “because I happen to be happiest when curled up on something soft. But I don’t strictly need to sit down, not yet, so I will push myself a little.”

Push herself. Sounded like she pushed herself a lot, in a lot of different ways. He should find out why. Better yet, he should avoid getting tangled up in her mysterious list, because he knew himself, and he knew it would lead to getting tangled up in her.

Red was trying to avoid tangles right now. He had enough in his own head, and they’d happened because he’d been here before. Because he’d felt this same urge to get swept up by a pretty, posh girl’s charming quirks, and it really hadn’t ended well. He’d rather ride naked through Trinity Square than get himself wrapped up in yet another mess. He’d rather eat a damned rock. He’d rather—

“So,” she asked softly, “will you help me?”

And he, Mister Shit for Brains, said, “Yeah.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

He still didn’t know why he’d agreed. Why he’d jumped headfirst into the murky waters of someone else’s weirdness when his focus should be on his own issues. He was so completely pissed with himself that irritation kept him up all night, distracted him the next morning, and ate at the edges of his concentration while he made his way to Vik’s house.