Chapter 2
“Oh please,” Brad answered. He kept his gaze on Mack, as if he thought perhaps the biker was watching him from behind his shades, which he was. “It’s hot and sexy and tight. Responds to the slightest touch, one hell of a ride. You know you want it.”
Stan patted the leather seat behind him. “This is a Harley,” he explained, and Mack bit back the urge to tell him that he didn’t think the kid was talking about what Stan thought he was talking about. “There’s no better ride in the world.”
“I can think of better,” Brad disagreed. “Hey Mack, can’t you?” When Mack didn’t reply, Brad pressed, “Come on, Daddy. Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.” Mack clenched his jaw—he wouldn’t allow himself to be baited, not here in front of Sylvia’s where anyone could see, not in front of Stan. But Brad didn’t let up. “And smarter than you. And faster—”
“That bike’s not faster than mine,” Mack interrupted, then glared at the grin on Brad’s face that clearly said, See what I can make you do?
Sitting up in the seat, Brad started his bike. “How much you want to bet?” he asked, revving the engine. It sounded like an annoying mosquito compared to the roar that Mack’s Harley made when it came to life.
“I ain’t betting you shit,” Mack replied. “I already know.” Behind him, Stan laughed.
Brad eased up on the throttle, letting the Streetbike’s engine idle. “You know what I think?” he asked, his voice low. He watched Mack closely to see how his words hit home. “Ithink you’re too scared to take me on.”
Mack’s head jerked up at the insult, his mouth grim, his hands bunched into fists again. He had a limit and the kid was getting dangerously close to pushing him over it. Stan cautioned, “I think you’d better go.”
“Give me a try,” Brad continued, as if Stan weren’t even there. Revving his engine, he looked Mack in the eye, sunglasses or not, and said, “Show me what you can do. If you’re not chicken—”
Stan jumped to his friend’s defense. “He’s not! Go on, Mack. You can’t let him talk to you like that, the little punk. Teach him some respect.”
“I’ll teach him something,” Mack growled. His skin felt flushed and raw, suddenly too hot and too small for his body. A throb that began somewhere deep in his groin began to pulse at his crotch, pumping blood into his thickening cock. His balls ached at the bold way Brad watched him, waiting, as if he knew he’d have his way in the end and all this banter was turning him on just as much as it did Mack. Oh, he would love to teach that boy something,all right…
“You’ll have to catch me first,” Brad teased. He revved his engine but didn’t start to back out of the lot until Mack mounted his own motorcycle. Over the choppy purr of Mack’s Harley, Brad called out, “Don’t worry—I’ll try not to lose you.”
Then he was gone, darting out into the flow of traffic like a dragonfly. Mack took a moment to tug his helmet down over his bandanna and secure it under his chin before settling into the leather seat of his Electra Glide. Stan’s hearty thumbs-up confirmed that he didn’t realize they had never been talking about the bikes at all. With a sardonic glance at his friend, Mack gave chase.
* * * *
Mack cruised at a steady speed, just over sixty miles per hour, Brad’s bright red ass five seconds ahead of his bike. Once Sylvia’s slipped away behind them, it became obvious that the kid wasn’t interested in outrunning him—if he were, he wouldn’t keep looking in his mirrors to make sure Mack followed. He hadn’t put his helmet back on for this ride, and his blonde locks whipped to one side every time he checked the mirror. Mack could imagine the feel of that hair between his fingers—tangled and slightly oily from the wind. His hands tightened on the handlebars, goosing the throttle involuntarily as he wondered what that hair would smell like pressed against his nose. A clean, wild scent, perhaps, that gave way to sweaty musk closer to Brad’s scalp. He’d find out.
Easing into the ride, Mack let the chopper’s engine drown out the world around him. He ignored the few cars on the road, zooming around them as if they stood still. Like a cat after a mouse, he let the kid get ahead a bit and then he gunned the engine, closing the distance between them until his front tire spun mere inches from Brad’s exhaust pipe. Then he’d fall back again, letting the gap widen, playing the role Brad so badly wanted him to play. Don’t think I won’t catch you,Mack thought, grinning as Brad glanced back in the mirror at him. You’ve been asking for it for too long now, kid. Let’s see if you can handle it.