Before the echo died, the one with sleeve tattoos circled around to the left side of my bike and pressed his whole body against me.
A hand reeking of booze dug into my waist:
"Damn, that waist. You pour yourself into something this tight, tits and ass out like that—what, that's not for guys to grab?"
Every hair on my body stood on end.
I jerked right and shoved his hand off with everything I had:
"Get your fucking hands off me! Get away!"
Ervin Hansen planted himself directly in front of my bike, blocking the only way out.
Rodney Chavez on one side, Roger Perry on the other, pressed tight against the bike until I was trapped between them, pinned with the machine.
"She's got a mouth on her too?"
Ervin spat on the ground and reached for the chin strap of my helmet:
"Take that helmet off. Let us get a look at you. If you're cute enough, you're coming out singing with us tonight—we'll take care of you."
I threw my head back as far as I could until my helmet cracked against the top case behind me.
Rodney used the opening to reach down and slap my thigh, then squeezed hard, deliberately.
"Damn, those legs. Girls who ride are different—built like that, fuck."