Page 2 of Egg Me On (Front Range Motorcycle Collective #1)

Oh. That was good. Lots of foot traffic to that, too. I turned back to him. “How much are you charging?”

Silas crossed his arms over his broad chest, the movement pulling his black t-shirt taut across muscles that definitely didn't come from pushing pencils.

"Here's what I'm thinking," he said, eyes focusing on the empty lot before us.

"Six months rent-free while we build this out.

You'd be our first truck, so I want to make it work for you.

Make sure you can turn a healthy profit.

" He turned those steel-blue eyes on me, and I struggled not to fidget under his direct gaze.

"We give you time to establish yourself here without financial pressure.

And in return, your truck will help us attract customers, create the vibe we want, and you can give me some ideas for how to lure in a few more trucks. "

My brain short-circuited momentarily. Six months rent-free? In Denver's food truck market, that was like being offered a unicorn that shat gold coins.

"That's... generous," I managed, trying to sound professional instead of desperate. "Really generous."

"It's mutually beneficial," Silas replied with a pragmatic shrug. "What are you paying at your current location?"

I told him the monthly figure that had been slowly strangling my profit margin, the number that kept me awake at night.

Silas's brow furrowed. "That's robbery. You’re just parking in a parking lot and using some electricity and water, right?"

"You’d think, but that's the urban food truck market."

"We’ll come up with a lease," he continued, "and we’ll set your rate for after six months so you don’t have to worry about surprises. I was thinking less than half that, mostly to cover utilities and use of the restrooms."

I laughed, a short, disbelieving sound. "Are you for real? Because if this is some elaborate punk'd situation where I get excited and then you pull out the real terms, I'm going to be genuinely devastated."

His mouth twitched in what might have been amusement. "No hidden cameras. Just business sense. We want to keep our membership happy and paying their dues to hang out here. You need a location. Win-win."

I did some quick mental math. The reduced overhead would mean I could finally pay my sister Mira what she deserved for helping out on weekends. Maybe even set aside something for emergencies instead of praying my ancient car and even more ancient house didn't need major repairs.

"Let me show you the rest," Silas said, leading me back toward the building. "You'll want to know what kind of facilities you're working with."

We entered through a different door than before, stepping into a hallway with polished concrete floors.

"Bathrooms here," Silas indicated, pointing to clearly marked doors.

"Clean, always stocked, maintained daily.

Your customers are welcome to use them, and part of why I want to charge rent is so I can have the cleaner come in more often as it gets busier. "

We continued down the hall, emerging into the cavernous main space I'd glimpsed earlier. From this angle, I could see it was divided into different sections. Nearest to us was an open area with several motorcycle lifts, tool chests, and people working independently on various bikes.

"This is the co-op shop," Silas explained.

"Members pay monthly for access to space, tools, and occasional advice.

They do their own work, but in a proper facility, with all the tools they need, and classes on various types of maintenance and improvement projects.

A lot of bikers really love that side of it, tuning their bike exactly how they want. "

I nodded, watching a woman in her fifties meticulously polishing chrome while a skinny guy with a full beard nearby struggled with something on his bike's engine while another guy stood by, pointing something out to him.

The atmosphere wasn't what I'd expected—no aggressive music, no posturing, just people focused on their tasks with occasional conversation floating between them.

We moved past the co-op area to a more organized section with professional-looking service bays.

"This is our pro shop. I’m sure you’ll get to know them.

Customers pay us to do the work that’s beyond their skill level, or the stuff they don’t have time for," Silas said.

"Professional repairs, customization, the whole nine yards. Down the road, we’re hoping to add a few more staff for custom fabrication and painting, too. "

My attention was caught by movement in the first bay, separated slightly from the others.

A tall Black man worked alone, his back to us, broad shoulders moving with controlled precision as he manipulated something on the engine in front of him.

Even from behind, there was something magnetic about his focus—the way his hands moved with absolute certainty, the flex of muscle under his dark skin as he reached for a tool without looking.

Silas noticed my gaze and changed our course to head toward this solitary figure. "That's Cash Upton, one of our best mechanics. He’s got a skill for rebuilding engines that’s just… perfection."

As we approached, I got a better look. He was tall, at least as tall as Silas, with close-cropped dark hair and the kind of build that suggested intimidating strength.

His arms were covered in intricate tattoos—geometric patterns flowing into mechanical designs, the details too fine to make out from a distance.

"Cash," Silas called. "Got a minute?"

Cash didn't startle or rush. He finished whatever adjustment he was making, then straightened slowly, wiping his hands on a rag before turning to face us. His expression remained neutral, light brown eyes flicking from Silas to me and back without revealing anything.

Jesus. His face was like something carved by a sculptor who really understood the concept of "ruggedly handsome"—strong jawline, full lips, stubble that looked deliberate rather than lazy. And he was just... staring at me. Not hostile, not friendly, just observing.

"This is Aiden Lockhart," Silas continued. "Owns the 'Egg Me On' food truck. Considering moving to our lot."

Cash grunted, gave me a terse nod, then turned back to his work without a word.

Okay then. Mr. Personality he was not.

"Cash doesn't waste words," Silas said as we walked away, his tone apologetic. "But he's a good guy."

"I'm sure he's very impressive once you get to know him," I replied, unable to keep the hint of sarcasm from my voice.

Silas chuckled. "He grows on you. He’s a very talented mechanic, and he has a good heart. You just don’t always know what he’s thinking. Or ever."

We approached the other bay, where two mechanics were working on the same bike, and looked up as we neared. Unlike Cash, they both broke into immediate smiles.

"Guys, this is Aiden. He runs 'Egg Me On' food truck. Might be joining us out back."

"Holy shit, really?" The first mechanic was a handsome Asian man about my age.

He stepped forward, wiping a hand on his pants before extending it.

"I'm Dylan. Please tell me you still make those chorizo breakfast burritos that Silas brought us the other day.

Because I would kill a man for more of those. "

His enthusiasm was infectious, his smile dimpling his cheeks and softening his angular features. I shook his hand, feeling my first genuine smile since arriving.

"The chorizo is our bestseller, yeah. Along with the Nutella French toast."

"Oh my god," the other mechanic groaned, setting down her socket wrench and joining our conversation. Her asymmetrical dark hair framed sharp features and intelligent eyes. "I'm Liv. I'm going to get so fat if you park here, but I don't even care."

"Liv's our electrical genius," Silas explained. "And lead mechanic. Dylan teaches our riding classes when he's not fixing bikes, and focuses on customization."

"So you'd really set up here?" Liv asked, eyeing me with open curiosity. "That would be awesome. We've been dying for food options. I hate to drive somewhere when I’m deep in the zone. I come back and I can’t remember what I was doing.”

“And she gets hangry,” Dylan said in a stage whisper, earning a playful punch in the shoulder.

“Better than you. You just skip eating until you’re woozy and start making mistakes!”

"Silas! There you are!" A new voice called from across the shop. "Tess called about the parts order and—oh, hello!"

The man who approached moved with the kind of energy that filled a room.

He was shorter than Silas but carried himself with effortless confidence, his fade haircut immaculate, his clothes stylish despite the shop environment.

The moment our eyes met, I felt the instantaneous gay radar ping—a subtle, wordless recognition. There were queer people here.

"Aiden, this is Marcus Bautista, my business partner," Silas said. “Marcus, this is the chef I told you about.”

Marcus's handshake was accompanied by a brilliant smile. "The food truck guy! Finally! I've been begging Silas to get someone in here before we all starve to death. What's your specialty?"

"Brunch all day," I replied, relaxing further. "Sandwiches, burritos, some sweet options."

"Wait, from ‘Egg Me On’? I didn’t know you were so cute," Marcus exclaimed with a flutter of his eyelashes, confirming my guess about his sexuality as he leaned in, his voice turning flirtatious. "I would have done the food runs if I’d known.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You have never once done a food run in all the years we’ve worked together,” Silas muttered, and Marcus burst out laughing.

“He’s probably right. But only because he gets hungry first. But with you right here in our parking lot, I’ll be spending all my time out there! When can you start?"

I laughed, glancing at Silas. "We haven't actually finalized anything yet."

"Oh, please," Marcus waved dismissively. "Silas wouldn't have brought you in if he wasn't serious. He's been talking about your food truck for months."

I looked around the shop, taking in the diverse group of people, the comfortable atmosphere, the genuine enthusiasm.

This wasn't at all what I'd expected. Instead of finding a stereotypical biker haven full of toxic masculinity, I'd discovered.

.. a community. One that apparently really wanted breakfast food.

The free rent offer was too good to pass up. The location was close enough to my old spot that regulars could still find me. And everyone else seemed welcoming as hell. My eyes darted towards Cash.

Well, mostly everyone.

"You know what?" I said, making my decision. "I think this could work. Six months free with the option to renew at the rate you mentioned sounds fair." I extended my hand to Silas. "You've got yourself a food truck."

I was riding high as I climbed back into my car and swiped open my social media, snapping a quick shot of my new location. I’d been sharing the saga of the lot closing on social media, and many of my fans and regulars had been suggesting locations. That’s how the meeting with Silas had come about.

I posted the photo, sharing the address of the Front Range Motorcycle Collective, trying to sound excited about the move. New location! New customers.

Still, dread washed over me as I thought about the tasks involved in moving my truck.

I had to rent a truck to tow it with, gather everything, pack it, and fold up all of my signage.

I pulled open a notes app and started making a list. One week to move.

One week to tell as many of my current customers that my new location would be only a few blocks away.

Coupons, maybe? A freebie for anyone who stopped by on opening day?

I added that to my notes app, then started my car.

It stuttered a few times as I shifted into reverse, but finally got going, and as I drove home, I wondered how many days I could stretch whatever this issue was before going to the shop.