Page 3 of Fire Me Up (Front Range Motorcycle Collective #2)

“No problem,” I managed, hoping my voice sounded normal. “Welcome to the Collective. I’m Dylan.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Gael said, still smiling. “I’m told you’re some kind of motorcycle whisperer. Liv says you can diagnose engine problems just by listening.”

I cleared my throat, trying to pull my brain out of the gutter where it had immediately gone at the sound of his voice. “She exaggerates.”

When he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkled, and fuck, he had a super cute dimple. Life was not fair.

I took a step back, turning to address the entire room before I could make more of an ass of myself.

“Okay, since everyone’s here now, let’s get started.

I thought we’d begin with introductions so we can all get to know each other.

Name, experience level with motorcycles, and why you decided to take this class. ”

Lucas raised his hand like we were in school, which made Carl and Jerry chuckle.

“You don’t need to raise your hand, Lucas,” I said, shooting him a look. “This isn’t school.”

“Right. Sorry.” He adjusted his glasses. “I’m Lucas Kim. I’m Dylan’s brother. I have zero experience with motorcycles. I joined because…” He paused, glancing at me. “Because I wanted to understand what Dylan loves so much. And maybe make some friends in Denver.”

I blinked, unexpectedly touched. Lena was next, her accent thick as she told everyone the story she’d told me, making them all laugh. Carl and Jerry introduced themselves as recent retirees who’d always loved motorcycles.

“Been riding for six months,” Lennox rumbled. “Still don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, but I love to learn.”

That left Gael, who seemed amused by the whole process.

“Gael Sanchez,” he said, with that same easy confidence.

“Firefighter. Currently on medical leave.” He rolled his injured shoulder with a slight wince.

The motion was subtle, but I clocked it—habit of noticing stress signals.

“So you’ll have to be gentle with me, Dylan. ”

My mouth went dry at that, and I desperately tried not to read anything into his flirty tone.

“Oh dear, what happened?” Lena asked.

“Got shot on a house call.” His wince was microscopic and infuriatingly brave. “Turned out the fire was at a meth lab. The idiots inside panicked when we showed up, and one of them had a gun.”

“Holy shit,” Lennox said.

“Just doing my job,” Gael said. “Could have been worse.”

Bacon chose that moment to stand up on my workbench, stretch luxuriously, and deliberately knock a socket wrench to the floor with one paw. It clattered loudly, making Lucas jump.

Gael winced. “Sorry about that. He has an interest in studying the effects of gravity.”

“No problem,” I lied, moving the rest of my tools away from the cat. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

My brain short-circuited for a minute as Gael’s T-shirt stretched across his chest when he reached to scratch behind Bacon’s ears. For fuck’s sake, he was Liv’s brother. And probably straight. And definitely injured.

And absolutely not someone I should be mentally undressing in the middle of my classroom.

I forced my focus back onto my lesson plan—one I’d made after the third time I taught this class, when someone asked about rebuilding engines and I got so sidetracked I forgot it was supposed to be simple maintenance until the bike was in a million pieces all over the shop.

“All right, this is a six-day class, and each class builds upon the last one, so I’d better see you here every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoon for the next two weeks, got it?”

There was a chorus of joking agreement.

“Today we’re focusing on basic maintenance,” I said, leaning against the workbench and trying not to notice how Gael’s biceps flexed when he rolled up his sleeves. “We’ll split into two groups. Carl, Jerry, Lennox—you guys take the Harley. Lena, Lucas, and Gael—you’re with me on the Honda.”

Gael bounced to his feet like a kid who’d been promised ice cream, his energy so palpable it was almost annoying. Almost. The way his face lit up made it hard to be irritated.

“What are we starting with?” he asked, already circling the Honda like he wanted to take it apart with his bare hands.

“Oil check,” I said, grabbing the necessary tools. “Basic but essential.”

Bacon chose that moment to hop down from the workbench and saunter over to investigate the toolbox. With one deliberate paw, he pushed a pair of pliers onto the floor with a clatter.

“Bacon!” Gael scooped up the cat, then winced and rubbed his shoulder as he set Bacon back on the workbench. “I’m fine,” he said to no one, which is what men like him say when they’re not at all fine.

There was something about the way he scratched the cat’s chin, and the way the cat leaned into it, that made me want those big firefighter hands on my body.

I glanced over at the other group and found them waiting.

Lennox smirked at me as I blinked, trying to get my wayward brain back on track.

“Team Honda, see if you can figure out which tools in your layout are metric. Team Harley, let’s get started.

” As I talked them through the prep stages, they followed my instructions with methodical precision.

They seemed to have their shit together.

“Okay, Team Honda,” I said, turning back to the second group. “First step is checking the oil level.”

I demonstrated how to locate the oil inspection window, explaining the importance of the engine temperature when checking. Lucas took notes like this was a doctoral seminar, while Lena looked cheerfully interested. Gael watched me intently, his focus so complete it made my skin heat.

“Now, Gael,” I said, deliberately keeping my voice casual, “could you grab the funnel from that bottom drawer? The red one.”

He dropped to a crouch, grimacing slightly as the movement tugged his bad shoulder, then kept digging. His jeans pulled tight across his ass, and fuck, it was criminal how good he looked. I dragged my eyes away before anyone noticed my blatant ogling.

“Shit, this toolbox is chaotic,” he said, digging around.

“I have a system. It’s just not visible to the naked eye.”

“This one?” He held up a black funnel.

“No, the red one. Should be in the back.” I gestured vaguely, sending him searching again.

Lucas raised an eyebrow at me, and I ignored him completely. My brother was too perceptive for his own good.

“Got it!” Gael emerged triumphant, holding the funnel like a trophy.

“Great. Now we’re going to start an oil change. First step: draining the oil.” I pointed to the pans I’d placed under the bike. “This is messy, so you’ll want a pan or a bucket to catch the oil.” I pointed to the drain plug and held out a tool. “Lucas, want to try unscrewing that?”

Lucas approached the task as if he was disarming a bomb, his movements painfully slow and hesitant.

Gael, meanwhile, kept peppering me with questions—smart ones, actually—but he couldn’t stand still, constantly shifting his weight from foot to foot, rolling his injured shoulder, or reaching out to touch different parts of the bike.

Bacon, not to be outdone, knocked over an empty oil pan with a resounding clang that made everyone jump. The cat looked around innocently, then began grooming himself as if he hadn’t just scared the shit out of us.

Glaring at the cat, I checked in with the guys working on the Harley, showed them how to deal with a tricky oil plug, then returned to the Honda. Lucas had finally managed to loosen the drain plug, his face lighting up in a way that made me smile.

As the class progressed, a pattern emerged. Lucas over-thought everything. His technical knowledge was impressive, but his practical skills were nonexistent. Gael dove in with enthusiasm but zero patience, constantly trying to skip steps or rush ahead.

And he rubbed his shoulder whenever he thought no one was looking, giving me the strangest urge to take care of him.