Page 42 of Cursed Wolfsbane

“Why do you get on it if it’s a ‘death machine’? And, I mean, bikes are cool. I wouldn’t mind knowing how to ride one.” I cansee it now. Briar the badass biker chick. Also known as Briar the absolute menace on the road. Same thing really.

“Because when I bought her, I wasn’t concerned with safety. I just wanted to go as fast as I could to see if that could numb everything. I don’t ride her too much anymore.” Before I get a chance to ask him what he was trying to numb, he grabs my hand and pulls me along behind him further into his garage. We stop in front of a bright green bike and a slightly larger metallic dark gray one. Saint points to the florescent one. “Now this one, I’d be happy to teach you on.”

I wrinkle my nose at the obnoxious color. “Why does it look like it escaped from a neon marker pack?”

Saint cracks up at my description. It takes him a moment to get his laughter under control to answer my question. “It’s Kawasaki Racing Team green, also known as the KRT version. When I got a new Ninja 400, I figured I’d try the classic Kawasaki green. Lots of people love this color.”

That’s surprising because it’s horrendous. I bet they can see this thing from space with how bright it is. “Well, I’m not one of them.”

“Noted.” Saint grins at me and shakes his head. “You wanna get on it?”

“Sure,” I tell him with a shrug. There’s probably not too much havoc I can cause by sitting on it.

Hopefully.

“All right. Go over to the left side of the bike and put a hand on each handlebar.” I walk over to and do what he says. When I’m in position, he stops in front me and gestures to the lever in front of the right handlebar. “Now squeeze this lever. It controls the front brakes, which are around seventy percent of your stopping power. I park it in neutral in the garage, so you want to be on the brake to make sure it doesn’t roll away while you try to get on. Then you can swing your right leg over the side.”

I grab the lever and hear a clicking sound. Hoping I didn’t hurt the pristine bike, I lay my stomach on the tank and swing my right leg over. Once I’m on it, I’m surprised by how big it feels under me. “Is this one smaller than the other one? Because it still feels like an absolute beast of a machine.”

“Oh yeah, it’s a ton smaller,” Saint assures me. “It has a two-cylinder four-hundred-cc engine that tops out at around one hundred and twenty miles per hour. It’s still a lot of fun to ride and makes for a great little track machine.” It’s endearing listening to him geek out about bikes. He was the same way about basketball when we were younger. He could rattle off basketball stats and plays crazy fast, and he always lit up when I’d listen to him nerd out about it.

“Track, like racing?”

“Yep. I’m obviously not a Moto GP racer or anything, but track days are a good way to learn new skills. The track and backroad twisties are my favorite places to ride now.”

“That’s still really cool.” He gives me a crooked grin at my praise, which makes my heart skip a beat. Looking back down at the bike to hide my blush, I ask, “So, how do I ride this thingamajig?”

He points to the right handlebar first. “So, on the right you have your front brake lever and your throttle. You twist toward you to open the throttle and away to close it. By your right foot is your rear brake pedal. When you stop, you want to smoothly apply both the front and rear brake at the same time.”

I experiment with twisting the throttle and applying the brakes. Saint lets me mess with everything for a moment before moving over to the left side. “Your left lever controls the clutch, which disconnects power to your real wheel. You have to pull it in to shift and to get the bike moving. By your left foot is the shift lever. This bike is one down five up, so you kick it down forfirst gear and up for second through sixth. Neutral is a half click down from second gear and half up from first.”

I don’t attempt to shift the bike, not wanting to mess up the gears when it’s not moving. Giving the clutch an experimental pull, I think about trying to manage all the inputs at once. Good thing I heal fast because there’s no way I could do all of that and not fail at it. “That’s a lot to think about when you’re riding.”

“It is,” Saint agrees, “but you get used to it with practice. I don’t really have to think about shifting, rev matching, cornering, body position, trail braking, or any of the other technical stuff now. As a beginner, I dropped and laid down my bike a bunch trying to get everything right.”

I awkwardly shift side to side on the bike a little, trying to figure out what I’m supposed to do now. “So, should I turn it on and give it a try?”

“No, definitely not. You need a helmet and gear before you get on any of my bikes, either as a passenger or rider.” He raises an eyebrow like he’s daring me to disagree with him.

I’m not planning to. His terms are reasonable. I heal pretty fast, but I imagine road rash is still really painful to heal. “Fair enough. Do I get off the same way I got on?”

“Mm-hmm. Just lean the bike over to the left so it’s resting on its kickstand.” He waits for me to follow his instructions. “Now, turn the wheel to the left. That gives the bike more stability so it doesn’t fall. Then you can swing your leg back over and dismount.”

I carefully dismount, keeping my hands on the handlebars to prevent it from tipping over. Once I’m off the bike, I hesitantly let it go and blow out a relieved breath that it didn’t topple to the ground. I’d feel so bad if I messed up his bike.

Straightening up, I almost run into Saint. He grasps my hips to stabilize me, and everything in me lights up at the contact. Meeting Saint’s hooded gaze, I watch his eyes flick down to mymouth. He searches my face before leaning down slowly, giving me plenty of time to move away. I don’t. Instead, I lift onto my tiptoes to meet him halfway.

As soon as our lips meet, Saint hoists me up by my waist. After a moment in the air, my ass touches what I’m pretty sure is the passenger seat on the bike I was just on. Saint steps between my spread legs, and I hook them around his trim hips. He wraps one arm around my waist to hold me to him. The other he tangles in my hair, tilting my head where he wants it. I run my fingers through his short locks.

It feels like I’ve been waiting my whole life for this. I never felt like this toward Saint when I was a kid. But as a teen, before I lost my memories, I fantasized about kissing Saint a lot. Probably way more than was healthy.

When he pulls away long moments later, my lips feel bruised in the best way, and I’m panting hard, trying to catch my breath. Saint’s chest is rising and falling rapidly, so I know I’m not the only one affected by the kiss. He leans his forehead against mine. “Was that okay?”

“What?” I ask, confused. “The kiss?”

“Yeah. I’ve never, uh, kissed anyone… or done anything else. I’m a virgin,” he blurts. He rubs the back of his neck as he searches my gaze for a reaction.

“What?” I repeat, shocked that he’s a virgin. I mean, he’s hot as hell. I’d jump his bones, no questions asked, if things weren’t complicated between us. I’m surprised none of the lady mages were lining up to get in his pants.

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