Page 2 of The Biker Alien

I wave. “Have a good day, sir.”

“I bet your momma is real proud of you,” he shouts. “Sucking cocks, sucking gasoline, sucking anything you can put into your fat mouth because no guy is desperate enough to put his cock inside that pussy of yours. I bet it’s as loose as…”

He keeps going, but I turn on my earbuds so I can listen to some heavy metal instead of his bitching. He flips me the bird and finally rides away, and I just shake my head as I return to my detailing. He was such a moron that he didn’t realize what he was spewing didn’t even make any sense. On one hand, no guy wants to fuck me, but I’m so loose down there that I could fit a bike inside me. Yeah, okay.

I mean, yeah, I am a little overweight. Maybe a little more than a little. I’m shot, barely five feet, so that doesn’t help any. I just like sweets a little too much. Work has been so steady lately, despite the occasional asshole that I have to deal with, and I don’t have time to cook healthy meals. Just pop. Meal into the microwave and eat it hopefully before it gets cold. And there’s a bakery not that far away that I stop by to pick up breakfast and dessert for each day. Not the best of habits, but otherwise, I wouldn’t eat breakfast at all, which would just make me binge later, so…

I do exercise, though. I guess maybe I could cut back on going to the gym and work on my diet first, making those meals, but I’ve never been that good of a cook, and cooing for one is depressing, so…

Not that I feel the need to try to lose weight so guys won’t call me fat. I now I’m fat. It’s not a bad word, and it’s not contagious. I just had a routine doctor’s appointment last week. Does he want me to lose some weight? Yes, but there’s nothing wrong with me. My blood pressure, cholesterol, all of my numbers are perfect. If my weight starts to affect my health, then I’ll figure out cooking. Until then, I’ll get a low-cal muffin for breakfast instead of a donut, and maybe get dessert every other day. Work on cutting back. Baby steps, right? That’ll make things a bit easier. But I’m doing it for me, not because of that asshole’s comments.

I’m almost done painting the one side when I hear the rumble of another bike approach. I turn off my music and look over to see if the guy is riding by or turning into the shop’s parking lot.

He’s turning in.

Again, I straighten and stretch and head on over. The guy get off his bike, and I’m struck by how damn delicious he is. Hot as hell. Massively muscular. Taller. Definitely a foot and a half taller than I am. Sharp features, his eyes almost a teal color. So strange and alluring. He has on a leather coat, and those jeans of his are tight, hanging low on his hips.

“What can I do for you, sir?” I ask.

“Are you the owner?”

“I am.” I lift my chin, thrilled to have been asked that, that he would automatically think that.

“That sign is amazing.”

“That?” I jerk my thumb toward the store’s sign even though we both know that’s the only sign he could mean. “I painted it.”

His stare pierces straight through me, and I squirm a bit. I’ve had a lot of leather-wearing bikers come into my place. Some don’t just look the part. They’re the whole package. Others are just posers, going through a phase, but this guy… I wish he would take off his coat so I could see if he’s tatted up or not.

“I want my bike to be detailed.”

“Of course. What design are you looking for?”

“Do you have a catalogue?”

“Of course. Right this way.”

I have him enter my office, noting how he turns sideways to enter. The door is wide enough for him to have walked through normally, but it does make him seem a bit larger, coming in that way.

I hand him the catalogue. I have two versions—a binder and on my computer, but I want to touch him. Stupid, really. A guy like him wouldn’t want a girl like me. His bike is top of the line, one of the most expensive I’ll ever have worked on, and I am so out of his league. I do well for myself, very well, but I’m a blue collar kind of girl, a hard worker, long hours, and I just don’t have the look a guy like him will ever go for.

Our fingers do brush, and he glances at me.

Trying to remain professional, I open the binder in his hand. “I can detail anyway you want. Two designs, just a different color, you name it. One guy had different flames on either side of his bike. Another guy asked for skulls all over in various sizes. There isn’t anything I won’ draw.”

“No limits at all?” he questions.

Wordlessly, I flip all the way to the back to show him a naked lady design on a bike.

The guy nods and flips back closer to the front. I really want to impress him, especially after that asshole who stopped by earlier.

“Yes,” he murmurs, shutting the bike. “I think you’re the one.”

I blink a few times. What girl wouldn’t want to hear those words? Except it’s not that I’m the one he loves, the one he wants, the one he needs…

“I’ve checked out a few other places first, but you can handle this job.”

“Great. What do you have in mind?”

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