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The bike is just.
Gorgeous.
Beau is sure the soles of her shoes are ripped to hell from how quickly she skidded to a stop on the rough concrete of the sidewalk, but who honestly cares when THIS is in front of her.
It’s magnificent. A shiny, cloudy grey on the gas tank and tail, the exposed structural frame a gradient of a shocking electric blue to navy. The helmet locked into place on the handles was obviously custom, an airbrushed scene of a storm on the horizon. It was subtle but striking.
Fucking.
Beautiful.
The daredevil in her has always loved and admired motorcycles, often wishing she had the means to get one herself but never actually being able to. One of life's many displeasures.
But wow this one was something else.
She couldn’t really help but spend more time than was probably reasonable looking at it. The more she looked the more details in the custom paint she found and the more she realized that whoever owned this bike really fucking loved it.
So absorbed in her admiration of the machine in front of her Beau didn’t notice the woman who approached until she cleared her throat.
If Beau thought the bike was gorgeous she was in no way prepared for the woman who stood not 5 feet from her.
She was tall, pushing 6 feet at least, though it was hard to tell how much of it was the well fitted leather boots she was wearing. Her hair was wild and wind tossed, loose hair tangled with braids and knotted but somehow it still seemed...put together, like it was intentional.
What struck Beau the most though, was how obviously strong this woman was. Broad shoulders and biceps tugged the tight leather of her jacket taut. She could make out some details on the stitching and some words in small print just above the breast pocket but Beau didn’t let her eyes linger too long.
No need to be caught leering.
Not that she was leering.
She wasn’t.
The woman’s mismatched eyes dart from Beau to the bike and back again, confusion pinching at her brows.
“Ah...hallo.” The woman’s voice is softer than Beau had anticipated, “I...see you like motorcycles, huh?”
Motorcycles.
Oh ho what an in.
Maybe this was a bad idea but if Beau knows anything it’s to shoot your shot when you can.
“Oh, yeah! Love em. You like motorcycles? This is my baby right, here!”
The woman looked surprised, eyebrows sliding up her forehead slowly.
“Your baby, huh?”
Surprise quickly morphed into something sly on the woman’s face. Enthralled, Beau’s mouth goes dry and the way the smirk on the taller woman’s mouth tugs on the blue strip of a tattoo on her chin was nothing short of distracting.
Beau swallows thickly.
She might be in over her head here.
“YeP,” Her voice catches in her throat, and a flush shoots immediately into her face. “She’s a beauty right?”
The woman takes a few steps closer, getting into Beau’s space. Her perfume is...a lot. Something flowery and musky that makes Beau’s eyes flutter against her will.
“It really is quite the machine,” She says softly, eyes drifting completely unabashed over Beau, “You’re not so bad yourself. I’m Yasha.”
Oh.
Score.
“Beau,” her voice is barely a squeak but she can hardly blame herself with 6 feet of viking goddess standing over her, “Nice to meet you Yasha.”
Yasha looks like she’s about to say something when her phone pings. She frowns and looks at it and frowns some. She slips it into the front pocket of her black leather pants and looks apologetically at Beau.
“Unfortunately, my roommate is causing some trouble and I have to go get him. I’m sorry to cut this short.”
Beau is sure her face gives away how disappointed she is.
“Oh. Alright, that’s a shame. Is he ok?”
Yasha chuckles, “Yeah, he does this stuff a lot. He’s a bit of a handful but he’s like a brother to me…”
She trails off and looks into the distance, pensive, “Give me your phone.”
Phone?
Oh shit, phone.
Hell.
Yes.
Beau fumbles for a moment under Yasha’s patient, amused stare and pulls her phone out of the pocket of her joggers. She ignores the fact that her keys fall out at the same time, clanging harshly to the ground, desperate to get the phone unlocked.
She hands it over to Yasha sheepishly and snags her keys while the other woman smiles and types in her number.
“I gotta get going,” Yasha says, “Text me though.”
Stammering Beau agrees, “Ah but...Can I...walk you to your car or something?”
Yasha grins like a predator in that moment.
“Oh no...You don’t need to worry about that, my ride is right here.”
She points to the bike behind them, glinting like art in the sunlight.
Beau blinks.
Oh.
Oh no.
Her face goes slack, and then heat like she’s never felt before floods her skin, her ears burn and she can tell that the embarrassment is very very visible.
Yasha, to her credit, doesn’t laugh, just thumbs Beau’s chin with a smile as she moves to straddle her bike. Beau knows the image of Yasha on this machine is going to stick with her for years.
“W-why didn’t you say anything?”
Yasha winks at her and Beau thinks she might die.
“It was very cute that you were trying to impress me. I didn’t want to run you off.”
Cute?
“You think I’m cute?”
“You’re very striking, Beau. Don’t be embarrassed.” Yasha slips the helmet over her head carefully, “Don’t forget to text me, I’ll take you for a ride sometime.”
She pops the visor of the helmet down over her face with a grin and revs the engine before peeling off recklessly.
Beau catches the faint glimmer of black embroidery on the back of the leather jacket before she’s out of sight, angel wings spread for flight across her shoulders. And the license plate that says STRMCHSR.
“Wow…”
She checks her contacts immediately.
There’s Yasha’s name and number right there.
She grins and types out a message.
So...how about that ride?