“Hey beautiful,” Mr. Gel says. “We’re looking to drop some serious cash. Build something sick. Something the ladies will notice.”
His buddy elbows him. “Ladies already notice us. We just need a ride to match the vibe.”
Third one, the one with the fake confidence dripping off him, taps the counter and says, “Someone like you could help us figure out what looks… hot.”
Bri chuckles politely, but it sounds like the kind of laugh people make to avoid stabbing someone with a pen. “I can walk you through options if you’re new to riding.”
“Oh we ride,” Fake Confidence claims quickly. “We know what we’re doing.”
Sure they do.
I step in because I have reached my limit for the day and we are barely past noon. “I’ll take it from here.”
Gel looks me over like he just noticed a person existed besides Bri. “Chill, man. We were talking to the pretty girl.”
“And now you’re talking to me,” I say, giving him my best smile that is not a smile. “She has actual work to do.”
Bri shoots me the quickest glance. Relief flickers across her face before she hides it. That is all I need to justify stepping in.
Fake Confidence crosses his arms. “We want full custom. Top tier performance. Whatever your biggest, baddest engine is.”
I lean in slightly. “What bike do you ride now?”
He hesitates. A beat too long.
His friend jumps in. “He doesn’t have one yet. None of us do. But we’re bikers at heart.”
I make a sound that is somewhere between a laugh and disbelief. “Right. So you want us to build you a machine you don’t know how to handle so you can cosplay Sons of Anarchy on the weekends.”
Gel scoffs. “We’re not posers, bro.”
I tilt my head. “What’s a clutch?”
Fake Confidence blinks rapidly. “A… what?”
Bri’s shoulders shake. She’s laughing silently. At them. At me. Probably both.
I fold my arms, blocking their view of her completely. “You want badass? Earn it. Learn to ride. Learn not to die. Then come back and we’ll talk about chrome and horsepower.”
They bristle like I kicked their puppies. “We got money,” Gel snaps. “We want the cool bike.”
“And I want idiots to stop hitting on my office manager,” I say casually. “Yet here we are.”
Fake Confidence’s jaw drops. Gel sputters. The third guy starts pretending he’s interested in a helmet display.
Bri finally speaks, voice soft but firm. “Blade can help you pick out something smart to start with. Once you’ve got more experience, we can build whatever you want.”
The guys grumble but follow me toward the showroom, leaving Bri blessedly alone.
Once they’re far enough away, she calls out to me quietly, “Thanks.”
I pause and look back.
Bri leans her hip against the desk, lips curled in a real smile this time, not the forced one she gave them. She looks at me like she sees right through the armor I’m desperately holding together.
“I know you could handle them,” I say. “Doesn’t mean you should have to.”
Her smile softens. “That almost sounded sweet.”
