Zara’s POV
Gerrard’s hand slides inside of my towel, tickling my skin as I talk, not in a s****l way, more of a connection, like he needs to touch me.
‘I take it you went to see Henry then’ he murmurs, and I nod in reply, slowly, because I didn’t go straight there.
As the club closed that night at four am, I head out to my bike, throwing my leg over the back and starting the engine, feeling the familiar rumble of the machine underneath me before I kick the stand out and head for the main road.
I follow the route from memory to a small apartment above a run down laundromat. Glancing around me, I pull into the parking lot, cutting the engine and take off my helmet. I take my times securing it to my bike, alert for anyone who might be watching me before I head around the back of the build
