Whisky Throttle (Throttle Series, #1)

nine

Calla

I don't know what crawled up Maddox's ass this morning, but it was obviously something vile. He's definitely in a mood, but I can't tell if it's from the excess amount of testosterone in the air or if he woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Either way, I don't like the way he's treating Travis throughout the ride. So, when we're on top of the lookout waiting for Travis to catch up, I undo my helmet and pull it off. I hang it off of my handlebars and cut the engine. Maddox follows suit, swivelling on the seat of his dirt bike to face me. He raises his eyebrows in question.

"What?" he asks.

"You're being a dick," I reply. 

The corner of his mouth twitches. "You really don't have a filter, do you?"

"My mother raised me well," I counter, cocking an eyebrow. "But seriously, Maddox, what's going on? You're being rude to Travis, and I don't understand why. Enlighten me."

Maddox runs a hand through his brown-black curls, cursing softly and wishing he had his hat. I would make a comment telling him to go get a haircut, but I like his loose curls and the way they brush his shoulders too much. "If there's one thing I've learned from being my father's son, it's that I can pick up on someone's vibe and be right about their intentions ninety per cent of the time. I don't like the vibe coming from him, Calla. Who buys someone a sweater to apologize for the behaviour of the person they chose to hang out with?"

My temper flares a little and I feel the need to defend Travis. "He didn't buy me the sweater to apologize for hanging out with the wrong person. He bought it for me to apologize for the way his group acted. Taking the blame for the way your group acted is a very honourable thing to do."

He pulls his lips to one side, the sound of Travis's dirt bike getting closer and closer. "All I'm saying is that you had it under control and him getting you a stupid sweater is out of the ordinary. Also, if he knew the man he was hanging out with has a history of sexually assaulting women, then why is he still friends with him?"

Travis pulls up before I can say another word to Maddox, and my temper flares a little more. I hate that he gets to have the last word in this conversation. While he does hold a valid point, I sincerely doubt that Travis would invest time in buying me a sweater and personally apologizing to me for what his friend did, and still be an equally as terrible person. It just doesn't make any sense to me.

"Are we stopping for a bit?" Travis shouts over the engine of his dirt bike.

I nod in response, side-glancing Maddox while Travis cuts the engine and removes his helmet. Maddox doesn't look pleased – I can tell by the ghost of a sneer on his lips. He probably is good at judging character, considering what he's been through, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's right. Sick of watching Travis struggle with the strap of his helmet, mainly because he hasn't removed his gloves yet, Maddox swings his leg over the seat of his dirt bike and stretches out his limbs. Despite my slight interest in Travis, I can't tear my eyes away from Maddox as he shrugs his backpack off and pulls out three cans of lemonade. I can't stop myself from marvelling at how his jersey hugs his upper body, how it's rolled up to his elbows, giving me a glimpse of the tattoo on his inner forearm. And it's not only his looks and physique that I can't tear my attention away from. It's the fact that, despite his ignorance towards Travis, he still walks over and offers him a can of lemonade, commenting on the way he takes corners on his bike and politely giving him a couple of tips.