Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns all.

Rated M for several reasons.

Chapter 17: The Motorcycle

BPOV

"You want me to what?"

"Teach me how to ride a motorcycle."

"Why?"

"Why not, are they only for guys or something?"

"Hey," Paul protests, "don't go all big city feminist on me, I'm just askin' a question."

"Sorry," I mutter, swatting him with the dishcloth so he knows I'm not.

The building work on the house is nowhere near complete but Jared has made sure I have enough of a kitchen to function with basic cooking, much to Paul's relief. He says he prefers my cooking to any of the eateries in town but apparently this doesn't translate into doing the washing up. Lazy ass.

"Seriously," he says, "why do you want to learn to ride a motorcycle?"

"I have one," I admit, "and I just thought it would be neat to be able to ride it."

"You have a motorcycle?" He seems incredulous.

"Yes, I have a motorcycle."

"Can I see it?"

"I guess."

He follows me out the garage and looks around while I weave my way through the contents and pull the cover off the R1.

"Holy. Fucking. Shit. That's an R1!"

"Is that good?"

"Bells, you can't learn to ride on that, it has a top speed of 182 mph, and that beauty looks like it's been modified. What on earth possessed you to buy it, couldn't you have got, like, a scooter or something?"

"Casual sexism again?" I drawl as he circles the R1 with adulation in his eyes.

"No, no!" He assures me. "But learning to ride on this would be like Charlie teaching you to drive in an Indy car."

"Alright," he decides, still circling the R1, "I guess I could teach you on my brother's old motorcycle. It still runs."

"And where does that fit into your car analogy?"

"Perfectly of course," he laughs, "bro's old machine is to motorcycles what your old truck was to cars and Charlie taught you fine in that."

"Perfect indeed, when can we start?"

…..

The following morning brisk knocking rouses me from my slumber. Bleary eyed I open the door to find the world's happiest looking UPS driver and two large boxes on my porch.

"Morning," he practically shouts, "beautiful day isn't it?"

I manage a grunt in response, the rudeness of which doesn't dim his smile and after I've signed the paperwork, he tips his hat to me and jogs back to his truck.

I have become used to random deliveries since Jared's communication skills leave something to be desired, but I can't even begin to guess what this one is. I'll open them after some strong coffee.

…..

Inside the top of the first box is a typed note.

Bella,

Motorcycles equal life-threatening idiocy, so please at least promise me that you will wear the enclosed.

Love

Alice

P.S. They look great on you and you are welcome.

"What?"

Underneath the packaging is a set of very space age looking black motorcycle leathers and in the second box is a sleek black helmet and a pair of strangely alluring motorcycle boots.

…..

She was right, they do look good on me, which is why I am less than impressed that Paul bursts out laughing the second he sees me.

My thunderous expression sobers him immediately.

"You look great," he assures me, "very hot, and those are ideal for the R1, but I don't think they're strictly necessary for Kane's old machine, you aint't gonna be going that fast."

"Jeans?"

"Jeans and a crash helmet," he instructs.

…..

I have a balcony! With a fire pit! Well, it's not quite a pit, more the sort of metal bowl with legs that Greek goddesses used to burn offerings back in the day, but it looks great and I can't wait to light it up! My steamer chair is already waiting in my room, a premium brand hot chocolate is waiting in my kitchen and the sun cannot go down quick enough for me!

Sadly, however, the days are getting longer so I have a bath and microwave a lasagne while I wait.

…..

Happily, it isn't raining tonight. The balcony is tucked into the corner of the house and sheltered by the trees, but, and this is the genius of Esme, it doesn't matter anyway because the entire back wall of my bedroom is now a giant glass sliding door! I can sit in my bed and enjoy the fresh air if I want to. Leah pointed out that this is an open invitation to bugs but I refuse to think about it.

It takes an hour or so to get my chair and side table into the right spot to best enjoy the fire and take advantage of the bedroom light for reading, but it was time well spent. This. Is. Bliss.

…..

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, just give me a minute,"

"Okay."

Fucking hell, that knocked all the breath out of me, but I don't think I'm injured.

"You sure you're okay?" Paul asks.

"Yep," I confirm as I get to my feet and lift the motorcycle.

"You're not gonna try that on the R1 are you? Cos it ain't designed for that."

"No, I just saw you do it a couple of times and thought I'd give it a try."

"Maybe ask me to show you how to jump a log next time you wanna try something, okay?"

"Okay."

"So, this is where you went wrong . . . ."

…..

This evening, by invitation, Esme and Alice have joined me on my balcony. But not, obviously, via the house stairs, no, they just hopped over the glass walls like it was nothing.

"Oh Bella," Esme cooes, "this is beautiful, Jared has excelled himself."

"I'm sorry about the lawn chairs," I tell them, "but I was so excited about the balcony it didn't occur to me that anyone else would want to sit on it."

"Firstly," Alice says, "we don't actually need to sit down. And secondly, this is very much your space, you shouldn't have to feel obliged to make anyone else comfortable here."

"She's right," Esme adds, "we're flattered by the invitation, but this feels very much like it should be just yours."

"And we've brought you just the thing to enjoy it with," Alice adds, producing a carafe from behind her back.

"It's mulled wine," she informs me.

"Thank god," I laugh, "I wondered why your butt was steaming but didn't know if it was polite to point that out to a vampire."

She rolls her eyes at me and darts off to fetch a glass.

…..

"Alright, pay attention, this is vastly different to the old one. The throttle is much, much more sensitive and it will pull away almost as soon you even think about it."

I have been building up to this but now I'm scared, Charlie's motorcycle feels totally different to the one I've been learning on. Everything on it is blade like and somehow dangerous feeling.

I sit very still while Paul shows me how everything works and twists the throttle a few times to illustrate his point. The R1 vibrates when he does it like a rocket about to take off.

"Come on Bells," he laughs when he sees the look on my face, "this is what we've been building up to and you're literally just gonna pootle down to the neighbor's place, turn round and pootle back. Just be gentle with her and everything'll be fine."

"Why don't you go first?" I suggest.

"You're gonna let me ride it first?" He asks, surprised.

"No, you're right. I can do this."

"Thatta girl, excite a guy up and then blow him down."

"You need to hang out with nicer girls," I tell him as I center myself.

"I'll settle down someday," he says easily, "and hopefully I'll imprint but there ain't no tearing great rush. You ready?"

"Ready."

Okay. Gently on the throttle, click the gear.

Wow, the R1 pulls away smoothly and much quicker than I was expecting, but not so much that I flip myself off the back like Paul was expecting. I cruise down the blacktop, marvelling at the feeling of unused power emanating from the thing and then turn carefully at the allotted spot. I reckon I hit a world leading 30 mph there.

More confident on the return leg I really push the boat out to briefly hit 37. Just call me Kenny Roberts Jr.

"Nice," Paul says as I pull up, "you can try a bit more oomph this time but still gently, we'll save the 2.83 second 0-60 for a later lesson.

I try it a few more times, gaining confidence with each run until I've managed to hit 49 mph. Briefly. Now it's time to let Paul have his turn.

He revs the engine a few times and then screams off in a cloud of tire smoke. At the end of the straight he spins the motorcycle round his leg and comes roaring back, pulling up a few inches in front of me so hard that the back tire leaves the ground.

"This thing is amazing!"

"How fast?" I want to know.

"I wasn't strictly looking but at least 80 mph at one point."

"Damn."

…..

"You're buying me the lunch of my choice, right?"

"That was the deal."

"To Port Angeles we go then!"

…..

Oh, my fucking god. That was amazing.

90 mph! I went 90 mph! And it felt amazing. Partly, to be fair, because I didn't die. But it was such a rush I don't know how to describe it any better than amazing. The trees and rocks were flying by so fast they barely registered and the white line was just a blur.

What better way to deconstruct the experience than a hot bath and glass of wine or two on my balcony, with its roaring fire?

…..

"You're riding it work?" Carlisle asks as I pull up beside him in the parking lot.

"Why not?"

"Indeed. Do you know why I don't let the 'kids' ride them?"

"No, I don't."

"Too difficult to explain to the authorities why they didn't die when they crash."

"Bummer, I'll see you inside."

The truth is that I am enough of Charlie's daughter to know that motorcycles are dangerous, particularly high-powered ones, but if it was good enough for him why isn't it good enough for me? I mean, no one should live forever, should they?

…..

I have joined a motorcycle club in Spokane and Andy is looking forward to meeting me on Saturday week. Its not quite dating, but its something to look forward to.

Well, okay, Paul is coming with me so its not like dating at all. But still, something to look forward to.

…..

It was as long ride, so we set out in the wee hours and took our time.

I enjoyed the ride, especially the parts where I had to slow down and wait for a slightly salty Paul.

Andy and the gang were super friendly, and I wasn't disappointed to discover that food was a mainstay of the club. Lunch was a cookout meet and greet and we rode for several hours before alighting on a campground for a BBQ.

Paul met a little blonde girl with a frankly enormous motorcycle who he followed everywhere, and I met Andy's friend, the single Grant, who also owns an R1 and is also a doctor. We bonded. And the others good naturedly ribbed us for being elitist with our college jobs, 'super bikes' and whispering in corners. I wasn't attracted to him per se, but I really liked him, and we had an awful lot in common, he lost his dad this year too. Unlike Paul, who's brain, frankly, has lolled out his mouth on the end of his flapping tongue.

We said our goodbyes and exchanged contact details at the end of the evening while we watched Paul and Phoebe, the little blonde, rest their foreheads together to do the same with indulgent smiles.

Eventually Paul consented to leave, and we set off back to Forks. I have a few questions for him, but they will wait till we get home. I might even let him up on the balcony to answer them.

I forgot there was Bluetooth on this rig, until my cell rang.

"Bella?" Alice sounds urgent. "Whatever happens, keep riding, Edward and Emmett will be with you in moments."

"Alice?"

"Keep riding Bella," she urges, "as fast as you can, the road is clear ahead. Come straight here."

"Alice, what's happening?" I demand as Paul abruptly loses speed and drops back behind me."

"It's Sam, Bella. Everything will be fine. Paul will be fine. Just ride like the wind . . . ."