Mack waited. This was Brad’s show—let him
make the first move. Coyly the kid approached him and ran a loving
hand along the polished fairing at the front of Mack’s bike. “A
motorcycle like this is almost human, kid,” Mack told him. He
watched those strong fingers, so pale against the black paint, and
imagined them on his arm, his chest, lower. “You stroke it the
right way, it’ll purr like a tiger for you.”
Brad glanced up at him with a grin. “What’s
it take to make a man like you purr, I wonder?” he wanted to
know.
“I haven’t quite decided whether or not you
seriously want to find out,” Mack replied.
That grin again, half-hidden by those long,
blonde waves. With a flick of his head, Brad shook the hair from
his face and stepped around the bike behind Mack. “Can I get on
it?”
