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“We almost ready to ride?” asked Teller, kicking up his stand and settling in.
“Bet your ass.” I gave a curt nod while looking down at the map on the infotainment system. Traffic was going to be a bitch until we made it off the highways, but that shit was nothing new for LA.
Beans checked his watch. “Should I go get Sas? We need to roll if we’re gonna make the meeting with the real-estate agent.”
“How long we got?” asked Teller, our Road Captain in LA.
“Two hours,” said Beans. “Ride should only be an hour, but...”
Teller let out a low whistle, and I jerked my head around to follow the line of his and Beans’s gazes.
My jaw dropped just like the others when the vision in neon pink burned the backs of my eyes. I blinked rapidly with certainty I was having a stroke. Even as an artist, I didn’t realize that shade of pink existed.
Adelina had pushed the warehouse door open and stood there holding it open. Her hip jutted to one side, and she held a helmet with bling all over it under one arm. The black platform boots hugged her calves and stretched up her thighs. Where on earth did she find bright pink riding leather that made her more look like she was Barbie than a biker?
The pink wasn’t the worst part of it, though. It was the attitude that rolled off her as she put on a pair of sparkly cat-eye sunglasses. She exaggerated the sassy stance, and her smile beamed. It would’ve been cute if she didn’t look so fucking ridiculous.
Teller and Beans were stifling laughs, and I tried not to cringe.
I pursed my lips and nodded, looking her up and down. “So this was what you had delivered yesterday?”
“If I gotta ride, I’m doing it in style,” she said.
A small groan gurgled through me. Okay, I took back the ridiculous thought. The fit was Adelina through and through. The guys behind me were laughing now, and I looked over my shoulder. “Shut it!”
They both looked away just in time for Sas to burst through the door and yell at her, “The fuck you doing?”
She spun toward him, still grinning. “Going for a ride?”
Sas stared at her imperiously, like she was speaking a different language. “You trying to get us picked up by the cops?”
She scoffed and planted her hands on her hips. “You think black leather puts you under their radar?”
“We”—he pointed to himself and the rest of us—“blend in.”
She shrugged flippantly. “Or, you look like lemmings.”
“And you look like a whore.” He stepped up to her, towering over her, but Adelina didn’t flinch, just raised her chin to stare down her nose at him.
Had to admire her spunk.
Everything outside the warehouse fell silent, like even the motorcycles had been shut off. The normal LA traffic, punctuated by horn honks, dulled to silence. It was just Sas and Adelina glaring at one another. Her chest nearly pressed against his gut, and I could see this was spiraling toward what had been happening last night.
I stepped off my bike, about to break it up, but then Sas started laughing. Hearty and loud and vicious. Forced with wheezing breath. Then the other guys joined in. The chortles were infectious, and some bubbled up inside of me, but I clamped my teeth shut.
“What?” demanded Adelina. “What are you all laughing at?”
“You,” wheezed Sas through his laughter. He was having so much fun with this his face was practically plum colored.
But his laughter just seemed to harden his future bride. “Me? You just called me a fucking whore. And if that’s me, we can call you Sas the ass.”
“Don’t dress like a whore, and I won’t call you one.” He stood up straight, still laughing. “What’d you expect in”—he waved his hand up and down her body—“that getup?”
“I needed riding gear,” she argued. “I wasn’t going to ruin my good clothes or wear something shitty. And boring black is not my thing.”
He picked at the leather on her shoulder. “You think this is nice?”
“It’ll be nicer when I get the club logo on the back.”
