Man, however much of a pain in the ass Adrian could be, he knew what he was doing with engines. Which might finally explain why Eddie could handle living with him.

On an unspoken we’re-out-of-here, all three of them took off into the sunshine, Adrian in the lead, and Eddie in the rear with Dog.

Turned out, Jim’s bike was straight-up magic, a beast with no manners at all, and as they went through farm country, he started to get a feel for the thing.

And whatever, you didn’t need wind in your hair to be free.

Adrian ended up taking them down by the Hudson, heading toward town, and when they started to hit the traffic lights by the city’s riverside parks, Jim took to praying for reds—just because accelerating was so frickin’ satisfying.

As they pulled up to the intersection of Twelfth and River streets, he shouted up to Adrain, “I need gas.”

“There’s an Exxon up here, right?”

“Yeah, two blocks.”

When the light changed, they roared off, the sounds of their engines exploding into the air and being amplified as they went beneath the overpasses of the highway. At the gas station, they pulled up to the pumps and Jim hit the high-test.

“How’re the brakes?” Adrian asked as he eyed a blonde getting out of a beater. The woman headed into the quickie mart with a hip swivel and a half, the fringe of her long hair tickling the tattoo at the small of her back.

Jim had to laugh. The mouthy bastard was instantly distracted and clearly considering the merits of trailing her inside and asking her if she wanted to play with his screwdriver—which, given the way she kept looking over her shoulder at him, was going to be one big, fat yes.

“Why do I get the feeling mine are better than yours,” Jim murmured as he pulled the nozzle out of his tank.

“You mean brake-wise?” Adrian’s head swiveled around. “You think? ’Cuz I do believe you were the one getting laid Thursday night, not me.”

“And to think I’d decided your company was worth your grease skills.” Jim crammed the nozzle back into its place on the pump. “Musta been out of my damn mind.”

He remounted and put his helmet back on. “So you want to head back—”

“I’m sorry.”

Jim stopped in the process of buckling up the strap under his chin. Adrian was standing in front of him, the guy’s face grim, his eyes focused on the sky above the gas station. He was dead serious.

Jim frowned. “What are you sorry about what?”

“Pointing her out to you at the club. I was thinking this was all sort of a game, but it’s not. I shouldn’t have encouraged you down that road. It wasn’t right.”