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Tiger jabbed a finger at Brian. “That fucking rabbit did exist. I saved his life.”
“And risked Brian’s.” Greta winked at Skye. “Helping Tiger get that bike back up was the first time he’d experienced cardio since the eighties.”
“No animal crossed that road,” Brian told Skye in a stage whisper, putting his hand to the side of his mouth. “Someone oversteered the curve, showing off.”
He laughed when he got flipped off, Tiger obviously having picked up the gist of what he’d told her.
As they drove away with another friendly wave, Skye saw the speculation in their gazes. But they hadn’t made excuses to take off or acted awkward. When she saw Tiger’s mouth tighten at those looks, she typed, “It’s good to have friends who care.”
“Yeah.” He shook it off. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s finish getting set up and go for that ride.”
He’d brought the Harley Street Glide, since he said that was more comfortable for longer rides, especially for a passenger. While she doubted his bikes had ever been put away with any dirt on them, the bike had been given an extra shine before being loaded for transport. As he took out the Street Glide and put down the kickstand, she noticed a smaller bike in the trailer, and made a questioning gesture.
“You said you wanted to learn to ride. There’ll be a couple places around here I can show you the basics. That’s the bike we’ll be doing it with. It’s an old Honda Nighthawk, which is a great learner bike. Sturdy and not over-powered, plus low enough to the ground to fit your height better. Though truth, when you’re learning a smaller engine is more important than a smaller bike. When you twist that throttle, you don’t want it to have too much power.”
She sent a pointed glance at his larger bike. He gave her an unapologetically male laugh—practically a scoff. “No way, baby. No one drives this one but me. And it’s way too much bike for a….” He paused significantly, while she put her hand on her hip and pointed a finger gun at him.
He chuckled. “Beginner. I wasnotabout to say woman. Just yanking your chain, Mistress. You’ll see plenty of women on bikes like mine. But they’re also experienced riders. This bike,” he patted the smaller one, “is about three hundred pounds. Mine is around seven hundred. You got to be able to hold that bike once you take up the kickstand, and if you dump it, getting it back up is a total bitch.”
“Like for imaginary rabbits?” She typed it, while making a bunny ear gesture.
He bared his teeth at her as she grinned. Then she cocked a brow and typed, “Did you just call me baby?”
“No. Absolutely not. I didn’t hear me call you baby, so it didn’t happen.”
When she punched his side, he caught her wrist and drew her to him, and then his mouth was on hers. It was spontaneous, no thought to it. She could have stopped and called him on it, but she wasn’t in the mood to tell him he’d overstepped.
She didn’t want him to stop, period.
She put her hands up to his throat, fingers sliding into his hair and tugging as he pulled her closer with a noise of hunger. Turning, he lifted her up against the inside wall of the trailer. It brought their bodies into more advantageous alignment as their mouths explored and tasted. His body was firm and hers soft, fitting together just right, setting off a spiraling pleasure that increased the longer they kept moving against one another. Fusing together as if they were two things meant to be one.
When he drew back, they were both out of breath. He let her down but gripped her upper arms, almost keeping her on her toes as his burning gaze stayed fixed on hers. “I always want to fucking eat you alive, but here, in this place… I might get a little out of control with you, Mistress. Not be as well-mannered.”
She made two gestures, then typed, so he understood what she’d said. “Warning? Or promise?”
His eyes flashed. “Show me how you signed ‘promise.’”
When she did, he repeated it, his gaze locked with hers.
Promise.
About a dozen bikes were going on the ride, over half carrying passengers. When Tiger fell into their ranks, Skye on the seat behind him, the group rumbled out of the park. She noted the engines were a mix of sounds due to the different styles of bikes being ridden, everything from powerful cruisers like Tiger’s, to classics, choppers, dual purpose bikes, and three-wheelers, Harley “trikes.”
Brian and Greta were on one of those. When explaining the different models of bikes, Tiger had said riding a trike on twisty backroads was actually more dangerous than riding them “on the slab,” the interstates and straighter highways. Three-wheelers, those with the two wheels in back, were more apt to tip. Excessive speed, or a jerky, unstable line through the curve, could make the rider lose control and possibly lift a tire or flip. However, Tiger told her Brian had ridden and shown choppers for years. He was an experienced biker who knew how to handle the trike, and it better fit his current health.
The national park with the waterfall was about fifteen miles away. While that sounded good, Skye quickly realized the ride, and riding together like this, was as much the reason for going as the destination.
They passed through the section of town where the main rally site was. Pavilion tents were already set up, vendors plying their wares to bikers here a day ahead of the rally’s official start. And there were plenty of them, visiting the tents and milling around, drinks in hand, their rides parked in shining rows.
When Brian hollered out their destination, some headed for their bikes. As such, by the time they turned onto the route out of town, their ranks had swelled to sixty riders. In town, that noise was indescribable. Added to that was the startling immediacy of car engines growling so close nearby as they rejoined town traffic, the groan of a dump truck starting up, or screech of tires when someone had to brake faster than expected. The heat of so many bikes and vehicles pressed upon Skye, including from the engine below her. Tiger’s T-shirt was damp with sweat under her palms.
But on the two-lane road, the sound died off some and a breeze picked up. The road curved through forest and open fields. The houses set back from the road were old farms and outbuildings, shotgun houses and the occasional new build or small subdivisions, city people bringing their money to seek a slower pace of life.
She was glad Tiger had taken her on the backroads near his own property to help her learn how to be a good passenger. She liked leaning into the turns with him and wasn’t worried about the tilting feeling. He’d told her, “Put your chin in the direction we’re curving, and keep your eyes where we need to go, not on the road surface. That way you don’t overexaggerate the lean, or stiffen up and lean to the opposite side.”
Watching him do that made doing it with him even easier. The confidence he had in the bike’s movement, the way he understood and anticipated what it would do, reassured her. He was solid and steady, no sign of uncertainty or tension under her hands. He was home, she realized. A person could have several homes during their life, and this environment, with these people, was one of them for him.
The line of riders stretched out, some of them ramping up into higher gears, enjoying the chance to open up and go faster. Tiger stuck to the leisurely pace, though, staying in roughalignment with Brian and Greta. It gave Skye time to look around.
