“Go stretch your legs,” Mason said flatly, pulling off his helmet and dropping it on the seat. He grabbed the fuel nozzle and started filling the bike’s tank, eyes fixed anywhere but on you.

You had hugged your friend earlier, and he didn’t like it—got jealous, then picked a fight with him.

Now he was silent, too proud to admit it, and the ride had been tense. Sitting behind him, clinging to his back, made the silence feel even heavier. Awkward.