“But I cannot get on that in front of my kid,” she says, nodding at my bike. I smile; I knew she’d say that. “Luz, what did we talk about?” Lou peeks her head around the bouquet that’s damn near the same size she is. “Motorcycles are dangerous, but you’re a professional, so we’re safe with you.” “Right.” I nod. “And?” “If a boy ever asks me if I want a ride on his motorcycle, I tell him to ‘Kick rocks, bitch.’”
