Megan rolled her eyes and laughed. “Well, duh. Thanks for that, Mr. Obvious. I mean, what kind of bike?” Not sure how it could possibly mean anything to her, he said, “A Fatboy.” “Nice,” she said, nodding as if she knew what he was talking about. “I’d like to ride a Harley someday.” “Uh-huh,” he said skeptically. There was something wrong with her, he decided. “But, no mon, no fun,” she said, grinning. Drake wondered if she knew how incredibly appealing she looked, sitting across from him with her legs tucked up like that, twirling her hair. He found himself imagining what the length would be if she let it down. “I’m stuck riding a Nighthawk—and an old one at that. But it’s better than nothing, right?” Drake forcefully pulled his attention away from her hair. “What? You ride?” Megan laughed again. “Yes, I ride. Don’t sound so shocked. Lots of girls ride nowadays. When we can get the apron off and get out of the kitchen, that is.” Drake realized she was making fun of him.
