The voice trails back to me from the bike ahead as it whips between cars down the 303. I grimace, rev, and follow.
Pan’s such an asshole.
“Oh,verymature,” someone mutters into the mic. Kit, I think, but maybe Fox—I suck at telling them apart by voice. Doesn’t matter. I say nothing, just focus on gunning it down the asphalt and not getting blinded by the late-afternoon sun.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” crackles a reply. Pan. Fastest as ever, so far ahead no one can see.
“Yeah, and you’re one to fucking talk, Fox.”That’sKit. I skim past a pickup and take over the lane. The dusty green expanse of the valley stretches hot and dry to my right as I lean into the curve.
“Aw, I’m plenty mature.” Fox. “Someone back me up.”
“No.” That’s Blue.
“I see that and raise you ahellno.” Pan.
Fox sighs. “Tink?”
The glare’s torching me in the eyes and I’m sweating under my road jacket besides. I don’t really care, though.
I’m happy.
I rev the throttle. “I’m with Pan.”
Another sigh. “Fuck all of you,” Fox mutters.
“Hard pass.” Pan guns it. “Last one there’s buying!”
Fox isthe last one there.
“Sixty-six eighty-three.” The Fill-R-Up girl tosses her ponytail as she rings up the tallboys. The A/C is weak, the air smells like taquitos and sounds like bro-country, and I’ve got my hands in my pockets, studying a rack of air fresheners.
“Aw, for real?” Fox grumbles as he digs around in his wallet. “Shit. I’m short.” He looks up, twisting his head around for his twin, but Kit’s still outside, filling up. “Uh, hang on a sec.”
The Fill-R-Up girl—her nametag saysRae—doesn’t answer, isn’t even listening, because Pan’s leaning over the counter. Looking at her.
And suddenly neither Rae nor the girl restocking cigarettes behind her seem to be able to remember what they’re doing.
I continue minding my own business, but glance up at the girls: their cut-crease eyes, their heatless curls, their nail polish. All just to work at the freaking Fill-R-Up.
Meanwhile, I rolled out of bed and pulled on the same pants I wore yesterday…and the day before. My hair’s messed up from my helmet and my lashes haven’t seen mascara in…well, a long time.
AndI’mthe one who’ll be spending the day with four biker boys in leather and road dust.
It really feels like I’m getting away with something.
Which I guess I am.
“So you like working here?” Pan is asking the girls. He grins at them, ruffling his hair with his fingers. Right now it’s fire-engine red, stop-sign red, Crayola-crayon red.
On anyone else but him, it’d look ridiculous.
Rae and Lauren blush.
“It’s okay.” Rae speaks up first, twirling a long ponytail strand around her finger.
“Just okay?” Pan looks surprised.
“You meet a lot of people,” Lauren offers.
