Hitched: A Stepbrother Honeymoon Romance (21 page)

I think a couple people in the audience have, though. I can feel the eyes on me every time I finish a lap, and the jumbotron is spending an unusual amount of time following me.

But there’s a reason you don’t watch the jumbotron in the middle of a race: everyone else is watching the track. So before I know it, I’ve got another biker right on my ass. I whip my head back to see who it is, but I probably didn’t need to look. Of course it’s him. All black, Brazilian flag on the front of his bike. He’s in this to fucking win.

I take my eyes off the jumbotron, the crowd, and everything else but the dirt in front of me, and grind my foot down into the gas pedal. But I’m just a second too late: my opponent launches himself off the hill and passes me in midair, landing just a little bit in front of me when we come down.

Fuck, he’s good. I’ve never seen this guy before, but he’s probably one of the best people I’ve ever raced.

I push myself against the handlebars and give the next couple laps everything I’ve got, but I just can’t cut into his fucking lead. Three more laps go by, and even though I’m as close to perfect as you can fucking get, he’s matching every little move I make as I do it.

But I’m not losing this. It’s not about the prizes or the publicity that I’m going to get from winning. I’m not losing this because it’s time for me to control my own fucking story. And that story starts with me winning this race.

Two laps left. I’ve gained about an inch on my opponent, but I’m going to need to do more than that to come out of this shit ahead. Putting every last ounce of strength I have onto the gas pedal, I try and outmaneuver him. He thinks he can copy me? Let’s see what happens when I do what he does, but faster. A quicker turn. A better landing. Every little move gets me closer to him by a fraction of an inch.

One lap left. I’ve been watching the track for a while now, but as I cross the starting line one last time, I look over at Laney again. She’s leaning over the railing, hands cupped around her mouth, shouting, “Go Travis!”

And I don’t know how it’s physically possible, but the sight of her cheering me on motivates me so fucking hard that before I know it, we’re exactly neck and neck. So close that you’d have to call it a tie if it we crossed the finish line like this. That’s how we stay for most of the last lap, matching each other move for fucking move. And as we round the last turn, speeding towards the final stretch of the race, it’s like everything flashes before my eyes.

Waking up in Vegas, checking into our suite, making Laney laugh, making her blush, pretending to be Greg and Natasha on the Pacific Ocean, our first kiss, our first night as lovers, realizing what how we really felt about each other.

Crab cakes, fireworks, fortune telling, sleeping on the beach. And now, this.

We’re almost at the finish line now, and there’s no sign of this guy slowing down. If I don’t do something, this is literally going to be a fucking tie. The crowd is on their feet, but I can’t tell if they’re making noise or not. I can barely hear the rumbling of my own engine. And as the two of us come within a couple feet of the finish line. I get an idea: a crazy, stupid idea that I’m not sure will even work. But hey, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for a crazy, stupid idea. So here goes nothing.

I keep my foot on the gas pedal until we’re less than a bike’s length away from the finish line. Then, at the last possible second, I swing my foot up and kick the center of the handlebars as hard as I possibly can and put all my weight onto the front of the bike. The back tire lifts off the ground, I hold onto the handlebars for dear life...and I watch as the front tire moves forward one inch ahead of my opponent, right before it crosses the finish line.

What do you know? It actually fucking worked. And now it’s time to pay the price. Right after my front tire crosses the finish line, my bike leans too far forward, and the front of it comes into contact with the ground. This pushes the front tire hard to the side and launches me over the handlebars. My bike twists around in the air, bouncing off one of the ramps and hitting the side of the stadium. Meanwhile, I fly in a totally different direction, hitting the dirt and skidding deep into the center of the coliseum.

When I’m done sliding, I’m lying on my back, looking up at the jumbotron and an audience that’s going absolutely wild. It’s a fucking rush, but right now, there’s only one person out there that I care about, and she’s sitting right in the front row. At first, Laney’s cheering along with everyone else. But then, when the jumbotron cuts to her and doesn’t cut away, she looks confused. And then, when the whole audience starts cheering for her, she looks
really
fucking confused. She looks at the camera for a couple seconds, her eyes get huge, and she pulls out her phone. A few seconds later, I can tell she found my message, and watching her face as she reads it feels even better than the race I just won:

I’ve got something that I need to say, and it can’t wait one more fucking minute.

Whoever you are reading this, whether you’re my biggest fan or you hate my guts, you probably feel like you know me. Maybe you even think you know everything about me. And hey, I can’t blame you. After all, I can’t even have breakfast in public without it becoming national news.

But there’s something that none of you know about me, and I need to set the record straight, because if I don’t, all the endorsement deals and photo shoots in the world aren’t going to mean shit to me.

I’m taken. Her name is Laney. And I love her.

For the past couple years, I haven’t been able to say that to anyone, not even myself. I know I’m supposed to be single, available, hooking up with every girl that gets within a five foot radius of me. My publicity guys are always telling me that that’s my story, that that’s what people want to see.

But you know what? I don’t give a shit about that anymore. I’m taking control of my own story, and if that means losing everything I have, then so be it. It’d be worth it ten times over to spend my life with this amazing fucking girl.

And that’s exactly what I plan on doing. Sorry to all the girls out there with posters of me up on their bedroom walls, but I’m head over fucking heels for this girl, and I don’t think that’s going to change anytime soon.

Does that surprise you? Does it change everything you thought you knew about me? I’m okay with that. Love it or hate it, I’ll be fine, as long as it means I get to be with the girl I love.

By the time Laney gets to the end, she’s smiling and crying her eyes out. I didn’t know what was going to happen when I sent that message, but when I see the look on her face, and hear the way the crowd cheers as I get up off the dirt, pull my helmet off, and head towards Laney’s corner of the stadium, I know exactly what’s going to happen. My stupid, crazy idea is actually going to work.

When I reach the edge, I jump up and grab the stadium railing, pulling myself up until I’m face to face with my accidental wife.

“It’s our story now, babe. Everyone else is just living in it.”

Laney smiles through her tears. “We’d better start writing it, then.”

She gets out of her chair, pulls herself up against the railing, and brings her lips to mine. Twenty-thousand people watch us kiss.

And they’d better get used to it. Because I have a feeling we’re going to be doing it a lot more often from now on.

Chapter 25: Laney

Two Years Later

Somehow, Joe looks exactly how I imagined him. He’s an adorable old Hawaiian man who never seems to stop smiling, and he’s also a retired priest. When Travis and I heard that, we knew there was only one place we could do this.

And it wasn’t a casino chapel in Vegas.

Standing in between us, Joe tells the crowd how the story of how Travis and I met made him laugh, but it also reminded him why he lights up the sky at night. He thanks us very much for thinking of him, but really, we should be thanking him; even now, two years later, I still have dreams about those red fireworks.

By now, everyone knows our story. The dirty details did end up hitting the tabloids, but thanks to Travis, it was on TV first. And when people read Travis’ message, and saw the way he kissed me, they didn’t mind how weird the beginning of the story was. And at this point, neither do we.

And look at us now. I’m in the process of launching my own online magazine, one that hires new writers, pays them well, and actually reports the news. It’s still pretty new, but early reviews are very good. Meanwhile, Travis is still tearing up Motocross arenas around the country, but he’s starting to talk about the next steps.

For him, that means using his money and fame to help him get into the business world, and it also means thinking about starting a family. I’m so busy launching the site right now that I can’t even think about kids, but standing on the beach with Travis, looking at the gorgeous, confident man that he’s become…well, let’s just say I think that might be changing pretty soon.

Because we wanted to have the wedding on a very specific stretch of Hawaiian beach, we decided to keep the crowd small, and stick to the people that really know is. There are plenty of cameras here, but no paparazzi in sight. We’re still famous, but they’ve started to leave us alone recently. I think they’re starting to figure out that there’s nothing lurid about a perfectly happy couple.

Dad’s here, sitting right in the front row. After he divorced Nina, he went right back to his old self. He even moved back to Pasadena…albeit in a much, much bigger house. And as for Nina…she’s not here, but she’s doing better. Watching her son risk his fame for love did something to her, made her reevaluate her own priorities. She hasn’t been in the public eye very much recently, and every time I’ve seen her, she’s been getting nicer and nicer. I think she’s working on herself, and if she keeps it up, maybe she’ll make a good grandmother one day.

I don’t exactly remember our first wedding, but our second one is pretty much perfect. As soon as Joe pronounces us husband and wife, he walks over to his trusty fireworks and starts to launch them in the sky above us. Only this time, they’re not just red, they’re a rainbow of colors: yellow like the champagne on the night we got married, orange like the Hawaiian sun, and blue like Travis’ eyes…

With the wedding over, and the fireworks show starting, Travis and I wave goodbye to the guests and take a walk down the beach. We’ll be back for the reception, but first, there’s something that we need to do.

The memories come flooding back as we walk down the beach, fireworks exploding above us. We walk, and walk, and walk, until finally, we start to see the lights of Royal Shores shining in the distance. After all, what’s a wedding without a honeymoon?

Kayla’s waiting for us at the front gates, with a huge smile on her face. This time, she knows exactly who we are. “Welcome back to Royal Shores! Ready to check in?”

Yeah, I think we’re ready. I think we’re finally ready.

***

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Beast: An MMA Stepbrother Romance
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Excerpt From
Beast: An MMA Stepbrother Romance

Chapter 2: Emma

This is the part where I wake up, right? Where I sit up in bed, roll my eyes at how repressed I am, and hop into the shower to try and clean the sweat of a sex dream off my body?

I mean, this can’t be real. The sweaty, inked up mountain of muscle currently pulling me into the nearest locker room to fuck makes the Greek gods look like couch potatoes. I’m probably in bed right now, tossing and turning and sleep-humping my pillow.

Ow! I stub my toe on a folding chair carelessly placed in the middle of the aisle and send it clattering to the floor as I wince in pain. So much for this being a dream.

Beast looks back, his perfect lips curled into a smirk. “Are you alright back there?”

“Yep!” I say, my voice hitting some ridiculously high octave as I start to turn pink.

Yep!?
What am I, a cartoon duck?