It was a Tuesday when the vintage Indian motorcycle rolled into her bay, pushing a cloud of red dust before it. The rider was tall, wearing a pristine helmet that obscured his face. He cut the engine and dismounted with the smooth grace of someone used to expensive things.
"Who said you'd be the passenger?" Julian patted the handlebars. "I bought two tickets to the bike show in Dallas. I need a second opinion on the custom builds. You drive. I'll sit on the back." busty dusty short hair
She grabbed her leather jacket from the workbench, shaking out her short hair. "Fine. But if you touch the exhaust pipe with your leg, I'm not responsible for the burns." It was a Tuesday when the vintage Indian