Page 45 of Magnetic Temptations
Four weeks ago, Mason and I sat down with a custom order clerk at the local dealership and built my motorcycle from the ground up. I wanted Mason to refurbish me one from the scrap yard, but we couldn’t find a frame in their inventory short enough to fit my stumps for legs. My baby wasn’t supposed to be ready for a couple of more weeks, however, a surprise phone call early last night from the representative had me rallying the troops to bring me here to pick it up.
When I ride out of here, I want to do so with my friends, family, and man by my side. Hydro even made an exception and let Ella dust off and ride hers out for this occasion. Since they’ve become an ‘official’ couple and she accepted his old lady patch, she sits behind him on the back of his ride unless it’s a DreamCatcher run or function.
Mason looks down at me from where I’m tucked beneath his arms, telling me, “When I branch off from the group, follow me. There’s someplace I want to take you.”
He’s been fidgety all morning, and I hadn’t examined it too closely since I’ve had excited butterflies fluttering in my belly. Tilting my head, I notice how anxious he is. I don’t have the feeling it’s anything bad but there’s something about the way his body is shifting that has me ready to delve in and discover what has him acting so antsy.
“Okay, babe,” I answer. “Everything alright with you? You seem… off.”
“Everything’s good, beautiful. I just have a lot on my mind. Nothing for you to worry about. I don’t keep anything from you unless I’m specifically ordered not to, you know that.”
“I know you don’t,” I express. That’s the one thing I can say without a shadow of a doubt, Mason is all about honesty and not keeping secrets.
The rumbling purr of an engine has me bouncing out of his arms and plastering my face to the window. “Look at her, Mason. Isn’t she glorious?”
“Almost as much as you are,” he comments.
“Good one,” Ella says, winking at him.
“Ella,” Hydro growls, his voice full of warning. “What have I said about you flirting with men in front of me?”
“That I’ll wear your handprint on my ass every time I do it,” she answers, batting her eyelashes at him.
“You did that on purpose,” I accuse her as she sultrily shifts her hips from one side to the other when she walks up and stands beside me.
She shrugs her shoulders and resolutely admits, “What can I say? I like riling him up. It makes things more fun in the bedroom.”
Hydro leans over her shoulder, saying, “You’re cruisin’ for a bruisin’, Ella.”
“Promises, promises,” she sing-songs, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her head between his pecs.
“Ignore them, baby. Let’s go check out your ride,” Mason demands as he laces his fingers with mine and escorts me out of the building.
“Wow.” I gush. It took me years to save up enough money to be able to buy a motorcycle, this one specifically. I didn’t want a standard one off the showroom floor, I wanted one designed explicitly for me and my body type. I was also determined that I wouldn’t have a monthly payment, so I bided my time and cushioned my bank account so I could buy it with the cash out of my pocket.
“Damn, beauty,” Mason whistles.
Nodding my head I say, “I know, right.” I dash over to where the salesman parked it and as soon as he steps a foot back, I lovingly graze my fingers across the gas tank. It’s painted in lavender with flyaway birds from a dreamcatcher sketched on it. My design. I took a graphic design course for one of my electives and had so much fun with the program that I played with the club's insignia, only making it my own.
Everything else, including the pipes and engine block are stained midnight black. I did this because I wanted it to, in some ways, compliment Mason’s.
When I swing my leg over the saddle, Mason and Hydro walk over to me and hand me a helmet painted in the same shade of purple as the gas tank. “It’s Bluetooth compatible. We’ve already hooked it up and connected it to our system,” Hydro explains. “The club pitched in and got this for you as a congratulatory gift.”
I’m shocked because I’ve had the same helmet since Dad gave it to me in high school when I started riding around the complex and town with the other members’ kids. I had tucked it into Mason’s saddlebags earlier and he never hinted that I shouldn’t bring it with me—sneaky man. I wonder if this is what had him fidgety, he was excited about giving it to me? Guess I’ll find out later if my thoughts are correct or not.
“Thank you,” I say around a hard swallow. “This means the world to me.”
The salesman gives us a few minutes to inspect the bike before stepping forward with an envelope and a set of keys. I thank him, trying not to be rude and snatch the keys from his hand. “Enjoy your new bike. All of your paperwork is inside of the packet, including your registration. The title will be mailed to you.”
“Appreciate it,” Mason says, shaking his hand. Then he turns to me and lifts my helmet from the tank where I sat it and places it on my head before strapping it on me. “Ready to get out of here?”
“Yes!” I exclaim, bouncing on the seat.
“Let’s roll!” Hydro roars as everyone bolts toward their bikes. The thundering sound as everyone fires up their engines and revs them has the entire ground vibrating from beneath my feet where they’re resting on the asphalt.
My feet actually touch the ground!
Usually, I’m tiptoeing while straddling a motorcycle, struggling to hold it upright so this is a magical experience.
