Page 1 of The Biker Alien

1

Teri

I doeverything when it comes to motorcycles—paint ‘em, fix ‘em up, you name it. Anything you could want, I will do it, handle it, get it done.

I’m extremely proud of my shop. I’s mine. I built it from the ground up. Well, not literally, but I bought it and fixed up the place with my own funds.

For a lot of people, maybe they wouldn’t understand, but I am living the dream. Killer Wheels is all I could have ever wanted. I’m my own boss, and that’s all it’ll ever be. A one-woman shop.

Guy rides up, and I remove my baseball cap to wipe my brow. I’ve been detailing a bike for about an hour now, and it feels goes to stand up and stretch.

I walk over as the guy climbs off his bike. “What can I do for you?”

He gives me a slow once-over and leers at me. “Where’s your boss, honey? I need to talk to the man in charge.”

I cross my arms. “You’re lookin’ at her.”

The guy laughs, but when I just continue to stand there, his expression changes.

Not to surprise.

But to anger.

Honestly, I’m not surprised. This guy has asshole written all over his face. I knew from the second I walked over. You can just tell the sexist pigs from the rest real easy.

“Look, buddy, either you want me to work on your bike, or you don’t,” I say.

“I don’t understand. I was told a Terry works here.”

I roll my names. My name is Teri, but he doesn’t want to hear that, I’ll bet.

“There has to be someone else,” he says, glancing around.

“Looking for a guy? Sorry. I’m the only one who runs this joint.”

“Bullshit you are. You can’t tell me that you…” He gestures to me, his upper lip curling back in disgust. “You don’t know the first thing about bikes.”

I blink a few times. “Sure I don’t. Whatever you say, sir.”

“What kind of place is this, anyhow?”

I follow his gaze. The garage looks like just about any typical garage. There’s an attached office, and the sign for Killer Wheels is one that I designed and painted myself.

“It’s an award-winning—” I start.

“Award winning for what? Sucking cocks? Where the hell is the owner?”

“I am the owner. Like I said, I’m the only one who runs this joint, so if you’re living back in the Dark Ages, go ahead and leave.”

“You’re going to turn me away when you need my dough?”

I snort. “I’m doing just fine without taking money from sexist pigs like yourself.”

“You’re a real bitch, ain’t ya? I’m going to tell all my friends to avoid this place, you fat pig.”

“If your friends are anything like you, I’ll refuse them service because the thing is, you aren’t entitled to my working on your bike. I can decide if I want to or not, and in this case… not so much.”

“You’re claiming you’re refusing me service? Nah, honey, I don’t want it from a fat slob like yourself.”

---