Page 19 of The Biker and the Gamer
Slowly turning my head, I glare into the camera, “Sticking a camera in my face.”
“In that case,” he says through a laugh, “my ass is grass.”
“Your goose is cooked.”
“My tail is chopped.”
“Your fire is outed.”
“My ice is melted.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “Can’t believe this. You’re turning me into a fucking idiot like you.”
“I think you’ve always been an idiot,” he comments. “You just needed another idiot to bring that out in you.”
“You’re annoying,” I snap at him, hating that he’s making me smile so much.
“Translation: You like me.”
I roll my eyes for maybe the umpteenth time and turn into the parking lot of our destination. “Whatever. We’re here.”
“What’s here?”
I jerk my chin to the massive building. People spill in and out of the huge metal doors, while big, buff men in all-black and earpieces circle the perimeters.
“There’s a bike show here today. I was gonna come later after work, but since you put the reigns in my hand, I’m doing it now instead of later to avoid madness.” I squeeze into the closest parking spot I can find, switch of the engine, and glance over at him. “Ready to look at some bikes?”
He looks less than enthusiastic. Good. “Not really. But this is the Kendra Tisdale show, so…”
I punch his arm. “Shut up.”
At the door, I pay our entry fees and collect our wristbands.
We enter and I’m in bike heaven. There’s just the right amount of crowd for me to not lose my mind. Smart thinking to take advantage and come midday.
Big brand names are emblazoned and lit in their respective areas. Odd-shaped monitors everywhere, showing bike races, advertisements, bragging the strengths of their products. Sexy models in heels and bodysuits posing or straddling bikes. Two-wheel lovers—like myself—wandering around with animated expressions, their cameras flashing, videos recording. I love it.
Camcorder trained on me, Alec moves around with me as we go from motorbike to motorbike. In my zone, I gush and awe, badger the brand representatives with questions, sweep my palms against the shiny, smooth coolness of the metals.
“Why bikes?” Alec asks from behind the camera as I straddle a powerful beast from Rizoma.
“Because they’re defiant,” I answer, dipping low and imagining myself zipping through the wind on this monster.
“And you’re all about defiance, huh?”
“I like breaking the limits people put on me ‘cause I’m a woman,” I explain. “Couldn’t join the MC with my brothers because I’m a woman. They told me I couldn’t get a bike because it isn’t safe for a woman. They told me I shouldn’t weight-train because it isn’t sexy for a woman. They told me I shouldn’t get tats ‘cause it isn’t attractive on a woman. They told me I wouldn’t understand mechanics, ‘cause it’s a man’s thing.” I unmount the bike and look straight into the camera. “Save for getting into the MC, I’ve kicked down all of thoseman-built walls.”
“Nobody puts Kenny in a corner,” he says with a wicked grin.
“Damn straight.”
We move past a set of dirt bikes. Not my thing.
“Why black?” he asks this time.
Him and his freaking questions. But it’s part of the deal so… “Because it’s powerful.” I bury my hands into my back pockets. “Like darkness that not even the sun can tame for long. It keeps coming back. Rising from the ashes. I wear black because, for me, it represents strength and resilience. It’s true and honest. It’s shows everything.”
“Even your deodorant,” he adds so matter-of-factly that I giggle.
