Her Possessive Bikers

9. Jacoby

9

JACOBY

T he wrench slips from my grease-covered fingers, clattering against the concrete. "Son of a-" I bite back the curse, wiping sweat from my forehead with my forearm. This carburetor's being a real pain in my ass today.

The distant rumble of a V8 engine cuts through the usual chorus of Harleys. My heart skips - there's only one muscle car I know that comes around here these days. Sure enough, that midnight black Chevelle pulls into the lot, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

Indy steps out, and damn if she isn't a vision in that worn Ramones t-shirt and jeans that hug every curve. Her combat boots kick up dust as she walks over, black ray bans covering her eyes, twirling her keys around one finger.

"Having fun there?" She nods at the tools scattered around my feet.

"Oh yeah, time of my life." I wipe my hands on a rag. "How you holding up?"

"I'm okay, actually. Just finished up with the lawyer." She leans against my bike, careful to avoid the grease spots. "Got something that might interest you guys."

"Yeah?"

"Dad's chopper Figured I'd see if anyone here wants first dibs before I list it. Seems right, you know? Keep it in the family."

I straighten up, genuinely interested now. "Oh shit, you talking bout Cher? His bikes are legendary around here."

She laughs, "Yes Cher, I'm going to keep the Chieftan, might come in handy one day." She shrugs, but I catch the gleam in her eye.

"Still want those lessons?" I flash her my best smile. "Offer stands."

"Might take you up on that." She crosses her arms, studying me. "Would you be interested in Cher?"

My laugh comes out more bitter than intended. "Wish I could, darlin'. Just dumped my savings into getting my piece of shit bike running again." I pat the metal beast beside me. "Ended up being more work than expected."

"That bad, huh?" Indy's eyes sparkle with amusement as she peers at my bike.

"Let's just say I've got more duct tape than chrome at this point." I wipe more grease off my hands. "Pretty sure the only thing holding her together is spite and prayers."

She snorts, pushing off from where she's leaning. "Sounds like half the rigs I see coming through the ER. Had this guy last week who'd basically welded his truck back together with beer cans and optimism."

"Did it work?"

"Until he hit a pothole." She mimes an explosion with her hands. "Boom. Parts everywhere. Though I guess that's what you get for using Bud Light as building material."

"Should've gone with something stronger. Guinness, maybe."

"Oh yeah, that's structural beer for sure." She crosses her arms, grinning.

"You know who might be interested?" I push off from my bike, wiping my hands on my already grease-stained jeans. "Tres. Man's been eyeing that chopper since before I patched in. He's in the meeting room right now if you want to catch him."

Indy nods, but her eyes narrow at my bike. She steps closer, those hazel eyes scanning the engine with practiced precision. "Hey, before I go - have you checked your timing belt? That knock you're getting sounds like it's a tooth off."

"My what now?"

She crouches down, pointing at a spot I've been cursing at for weeks. "See this? Bet if you realign it, that'll fix your power issue. Probably why you're burning through gas too."

I blink, staring at where she's pointing. Three weeks and two thousand dollars later, and this paramedic just diagnosed my problem in thirty seconds flat. "How the hell did you-"

"Had the same issue with my ambulance last month." She straightens up, brushing dust off her knees. "Easy fix once you know what you're looking for."

"Damn, Brick wasn't kidding about you being smart."

A shadow crosses her face at the mention of her dad, but she manages a small smile. "Yeah, well, engines are just anatomy with metal parts." She starts walking toward the clubhouse, then turns back. "Oh, and check your fuel filter while you're at it. Trust me."

I watch her disappear inside, then look back at my bike with new eyes. Well, I'll be damned. Who knew emergency medicine and mechanics had so much in common?

I watch her disappear into the clubhouse, shaking my head with a grin. Brick wasn't lying when he used to brag about his girl.

"I'm gonna marry that woman someday," I announce to my stubborn bike, patting its seat. The empty lot answers with silence, save for the distant rumble of bikes on the highway. "What? Don't give me that look. You heard her - timing belt. Three weeks I've been threatening to take you to the fucking scrap yard, and she figures it out in thirty seconds."

I crouch down to examine the spot she pointed out, still chuckling to myself. "Bet you'd like her too, you temperamental piece of metal. She'd probably have you purring in no time."

The sound of boots on concrete makes me glance up. It's just Rebel walking past with an armload of parts.

"You talking to your bike again?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Just making wedding plans." I wipe my hands on my jeans. "Me and Bricks gal. She just diagnosed my bike's problem faster than any mechanic in town."

Tank snorts. "Right. And I'm secretly Elvis."

"Mark my words, man." I point my wrench at him. "That woman's gonna be trouble - the good kind."

"Better not let Tres hear you talking like that." Tank shifts his load. "He's been watching her like a hawk since she showed her face here."

"Please." I roll my eyes. "Tres is old enough to be her-" I pause, doing quick math. "Well, maybe not her dad, but definitely her weird uncle."

"Your funeral, brother." Tank shakes his head and continues on his way. "Just remember - Brick might be gone, but his ghost'll probably come back to kick your ass if you mess with his little girl."

I can't argue about that.