The Mechanic

"Only of mind, fortunately not of body. Plus, I have many more skills than any 14 year old boy." Rowan grinned. How did she make that sound so dirty? Riley's belly fluttered restlessly.

"I see so. I bet you use that cocktail trick on all the girls you're trying to pick up."

"Only the straight ones. Otherwise it doesn't quite work, does it?"

She was quick; Riley told herself she had to up her game if she wanted to keep up with the teasing and jokes. Did she want to keep up? She had already stayed much longer than she intended, but she was having a good time. Better than she was having before she came over, that was certain. She immediately felt guilty for thinking this about her friends. This had nothing to do with them; they were just having a good time and it was her issue that she felt she didn't fit in there anymore.

Somehow, sitting here with Rowan felt comfortable; chatting with her came natural and easy, and yet it all felt exciting and new at the same time. She did not want to go back to her friends. It was a dangerous thought, a slippery slope, but all of a sudden Riley knew that she wanted to stay.

Riley realised she'd gone silent, lost in her thoughts. As if on cue, Rowan excused herself to go to the bathroom. Riley hoped she hadn't bored her with her silence, ruined the moment. As she sat fretting this, Sarah startled her by appearing by her side.

"Hey, how's it going? You two lovebirds look very cosy from where we are sitting."

"Sarah, oh my god, you gave me a fright! It's going well, I think. But she'll be right back..." Riley could kick herself. She hoped Sarah hadn't heard her slip of the tongue. She just couldn't get into it right now, why the handsome man she'd gone to see was now a 'she' and yet Riley was still sitting here. She felt terrible about it, but she just wanted her friend to leave before Rowan came back. She'd explain later, as far as she could explain this. Sarah, fortunately, had that typical quality so often present in straight people, where they hear exactly what they would expect to hear from their straight perspective, in this case a male pronoun.

"Yes, yes, I'll leave you to it, if that's what you want. Just wanted to let you know that we're going to head out. We thought we'd see if you needed rescuing, but I think you're doing alright. I sent you a message earlier but I guess you were too busy to look at your phone." Sarah winked at her. She was right, Riley hadn't looked at her phone or thought about her friends at all from the moment she'd sat down with Rowan. Terrible person.

"Oh, that's so sweet, thank you. I'm fine, really. I'm just going to stay and chat a bit more. I'll take an Uber home."

"Sure thing, sweetie, have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." Riley smiled, there was preciously little Sarah wouldn't do. She had calmed down considerably now that she was in a relationship, but it still wouldn't be a very limiting commitment.

"I won't," she said, "now go!"

Sarah had barely left the table and her friends were still putting on their coats when Rowan returned. Rowan glanced over and watched them leaving the bar. Riley wondered what she'd make of this. It looked like a good sign for her, that Riley had decided to stay when her friends left. Was Riley giving her false hope, feeding into her expectations?

At this point, she wasn't so sure anymore where she stood in all this. How false was Rowan's hope, if, indeed, she had hope? Riley just wanted to have a nice time chatting and maybe flirting a bit. Did Rowan still expect more? Some part of Riley wanted her to. But that was silly; she didn't want more from Rowan, so why did she want Rowan to want more? It was nice to be desired, for sure, but that was no reason to lead another person on. Yet, it felt so good to be here with her, sizing each other up.

"Sorry about that. Where were we?" Rowan sat down again, all broad grin and cavalier coolness. Riley felt a surge of joy to have her back.

"We were talking about your tricks for flirting with girls in bars. Although I feel like I've seen a few already." Why did she have to bring the topic back to that? It was dangerous territory and Riley knew it, but why did it feel so exciting?

"Flirting? Who says I was flirting? With you? Why would I? You're straight." Again that cheeky grin and another 'straight girl' remark thrown in there, dripping with scepticism.

"I am straight. And yet you were flirting with me. You must be either very confident or very stubborn."

"Both... But we were just chatting. Saying some words... Flirting is so much more than words: it's body language, gestures, little touches, lingering looks..." Rowan's dark eyes bore into Riley's blue ones and held her gaze. Riley's belly started doing somersaults and she was heating up rapidly. The blush was coming again, she could feel it. She thought her heart would be heard from across the bar, going double-speed and trying to work its way out of her chest. And it was all part of the game, she suddenly realised. Lingering looks: check. She quickly broke their eye contact.

"Okay, okay, I see what you mean! You made your point." She knew she was still blushing and didn't dare to look Rowan in the eye again, for fear she would give herself away. Rowan laughed and Riley couldn't help but laugh too.

"I can show you flirting, if that's what you want, straight girl." The gauntlet had been thrown down, the challenge was issued. Riley wasn't about to back down now. She was curious about Rowan's moves and she had nothing to fear; she was in on it, and she wasn't susceptible to a woman's game. Or at least, not when she could see it coming and was prepared, probably. She might even flirt back a little, just to show that two could play that game.

"Sure, show me what you got." Game on.

Rowan leaned forward and placed her elbows and underarms on the small table, significantly decreasing the distance between them, as if she was about to divulge all her secrets. Body language: check.

"Okay, so, Riley, tell me what you do for a living."

Riley burst out laughing. "That's your flirting, asking me about my job?"

Rowan rolled her eyes at her. "Humour me and roll with it, okay? I'll give you a feedback form after." Riley laughed, more and more appreciating the other woman's humour and wit.

"Okay, sure. I'm an IT security consultant, specialising mainly in Blockchain technology."

"Wow, now there's a conversation stopper." They both laughed. "I've used a block chain a few times in the past, but that's probably not what you're talking about."

"Really, you have? In what application?" Riley couldn't help being surprised. Rowan didn't strike her as someone who would enjoy cryptography.

"Some old motorbikes... Newer ones use roller chains usually." Riley was confused for a moment. "Like I said," Rowan added, "different kind of block chain: the 'get your hands dirty' kind. I'm a 'get your hands dirty' kind of girl."

Rowan grinned and raised her hands apologetically before putting them down again. Were they just a little bit closer to Riley than before, or did it just seem that way? Gestures: check. Riley did process this in the back of her mind, but she was distracted. Somehow this comment brought images to her mind of Rowan's hands on another woman's body. Where did that come from; that was certainly not what she meant?

She tried to get the image out of her head and inadvertently looked at Rowan's hands, which were casually resting on the table close to her, the tattooed right one and the blank left one, which instead featured a chunky silver band on her thumb. Her nails were short and mostly clean, but here and there a hint of black could still be seen: deep under a nail, at the edge of a cuticle. She really did get her hands dirty then. Riley was curious what she had been doing, but it seemed like the obvious question to ask and she didn't feel like giving in that easily.

Her eyes were drawn to the tattoo. The back of Rowan's right hand featured a sort of intricate cog, which spread out over her fingers to smaller cogs, bolts, nuts, and chain links, all mechanically connected. The images were very realistically done. They were black and white but looked so three-dimensional that Riley subconsciously touched Rowan's index finger and lightly traced the depicted parts as if to make sure they weren't actually real. As her fingers moved along the circular shape of the cog towards Rowan's wrist, Riley wondered how far the tattoo continued under the leather jacket. Her imaginative mind conjured up an image of a fully inked muscular arm attached to a broad shoulder. This somehow started to raise her body temperature again.

Trying to distract herself she looked up at Rowan's face and caught her broad, smug grin. Touching: check. What was she doing!? She recoiled from Rowan's hand and sat back with her arms firmly crossed over her chest. She clearly couldn't trust her own body parts. This would not happen again.

"So, what's the story behind those?" She asked, casually indicating the tattoos, hoping Rowan wouldn't make a point of her careless transgression.

"They're motorcycle parts. I'm a motorbike mechanic. I love bikes," Rowan said, as if that explained everything. It actually did explain a lot; the 'getting her hands dirty' and the block chains, in any case.

"So you have parts tattooed all the way up your arm because you like racing around on bikes?" Riley was fishing and she knew it, but she couldn't get the image of Rowan's bare arm out of mind. She cursed herself for getting flustered: over an arm, really? What was this, the middle-ages?

"Riding them, repairing them, caring for them, giving them a second life. I love doing that, as my job and in my spare time. But no, my sleeve isn't just motorcycle parts; it's several different aspects of my life that are important to me."

So it was a sleeve, that was so cool. Riley found herself unreasonably interested in what other things were important enough to Rowan to be made eternal on her skin. She couldn't help fishing some more, concealing it in jest in the hope Rowan wouldn't notice.

"What else do you have on there then? A portrait of your first girlfriend?"

Rowan smiled, clearly aware of Riley's strategy. "Nah, nothing like that. Maybe I'll show you sometime." Again, she caught Riley's gaze and held it, challenging her to a witty reply.

Sometime? What did she mean? There was only now, wasn't there? They were unlikely to bump into each other again. Was she implying they should see each other again? And her bare arms would be out? What else would be out? The idea of any part of Rowan's body no longer covered in the exact clothing she was wearing right now sent Riley's head spinning. She felt like a young boy who had found a dirty magazine but didn't quite know where to even begin. It was too much. She hoped Rowan wouldn't suddenly decide to take her jacket off; she wasn't sure she would cope. She told herself firmly to pull herself together, and realised to her horror that she hadn't replied in what felt like ages.

"Maybe I'll let you," she replied weakly. Rowan smiled again; she had won this one and she knew it.

"What do you like to do, Riley, when you're not securing or block chaining things?"

Riley was grateful for the change of topic. "Oh, let's see. I play the piano. I started when I was young. You know how it goes: forced to take piano lessons and all that, but I started to really enjoy it as I got older and could choose my own music. Now I play mostly classical and jazz. I also really enjoy converting parts for different instruments to piano; it just changes the whole piece." Riley had jumped at the opportunity to talk about something different - something that would take her mind off naked body parts - and now realised she had been rattling as she caught Rowan's amused grin. She smiled apologetically.

"That's so cool. You must be very talented then, to be able to do that."

Riley shrugged. She was good, she knew that, but she wasn't one to blow her own horn. And she wasn't very good at taking compliments, especially from gorgeous strangers. "With enough practice, anyone will get good at anything, won't they?"

"Definitely not." Rowan laughed. Riley's felt a surge of happiness caused by her compliment, even if she would never openly accept it.

"So, what piece would you play for me then?"

Riley didn't understand what she was getting at. "What do you mean? When am I playing for you?"

"What piece would suit me, you think? What would speak to me, or capture who I am, or however you artistic people say it? If I had my own theme song, what would it be?"

That was such an interesting question. It caught Riley completely by surprise, both because she really had to think about the answer, and because she never would have expected such a question - deep and personal - from someone she'd just met. She took a moment to consider it. What would be Rowan's musical score?

"I think I would play Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue for you. It took me a very long time to learn to play that. It's unusual but it's gorgeous. It marches to the beat of its own drum, and it's got so many different layers. It isn't quite like anything else out there, bold and unapologetically different. You wouldn't expect to like it at first, but you can't help but getting intrigued. It's quite a unique piece, really. It draws you in, deeper and deeper, and then... you don't ever want it to end..."

Rowan looked at her intently, listening with her head tilted slightly to one side. Riley realised she had absentmindedly exposed her feelings, feelings she hadn't managed to put into words until now; until her words about the music and those about the woman sitting in front of her blurred, and she wasn't sure which one she'd been talking about anymore.

She looked down shyly, and was shocked to see that her fingers were intertwined with Rowan's. When had she moved her arms away from their safe position across her chest? How long had they been holding hands? Who had initiated that? Riley honestly didn't know. Had she subconsciously reached for Rowan's hand again while she was talking? After her earlier mistake with the tattoo, she wouldn't put it past herself.

She knew she should let go, but she realised she didn't want to. Rowan didn't seem to mind, her thumb lightly stroking Riley's hand. Riley's stomach was doing back-flips and she felt a familiar heat rise, not only in her face, but also in her lower body, making her squirm a little in her seat. She had felt this way before, but never for a woman. It was confusing and a large part of her was amazed she had not freaked out and run away yet. The thing that kept her from doing so was that her feelings, and her realisation of these feelings, had come on so gradually that they now felt comfortingly familiar, instead of frightening. That did not make it any easier to figure out what to do with these feelings, however.

"That sounds really beautiful. I'd love to hear it sometime."

There it was again, that 'sometime'. Did she really mean it, or was it just a matter of speech, like the all polite 'we must meet up soon' that actually meant 'we will never see each other again'. Riley didn't know what to say. She should lighten the mood with some teasing remark but she was drawing a complete blank. On top of that, Rowan kept looking at her with that intent, serious look, which shut down every cell in Riley's brain.

"I love how you can do that with things: find the perfect fit for a person. Like with music. I do the same with motorbikes. When people come to me for advice or to buy a restored bike, I always try to find the right match for their personality as much as their body type and activities."

Riley was grateful that Rowan was at least still capable of continuing the conversation, and that she didn't linger on the intensity of that earlier moment.

"Oh yeah? You can do that? But a bike is a bike. I mean, no disrespect, but it's just an object. It's not a deep and emotional thing, like music is."

"Ouch... I can't even begin to tell you how wrong you are. And I'm just going to pretend you didn't just say that, to keep me from crying. Hang on, I'll show you. Do you want to know which bike you are?"

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment, being compared with a vehicle, but sure, tell me."

Rowan took Riley's other hand and intertwined their fingers there too, as if she needed to make some sort of physical connection to read her personality before she could make a decision. Riley embraced the rush the additional contact gave her. Who would have thought holding hands with another woman could ever be this exhilarating?

"Okay, I'd say you are a Triumph Bonneville, a timeless classic. It's a fairly compact bike with sleek lines and intricate details; authentic, iconic, well put together. Its exposed mechanics and the engine block are a work of art; I love dismantling one of those. And it's surprisingly powerful too, when you ride it." Rowan grinned cheekily and Riley wondered if she, too, used her words for her companion and her chosen match interchangeably.

Riley felt flattered by the description, and the idea of Rowan dismantling or riding her made her light-headed, but she was still sceptical. "Yeah right, that all just sounds a little too smooth to me. I bet you say exactly the same to every girl."

"Wrong again. You couldn't be more wrong. So many girls, so many bikes! Each one is different. Each one needs something different."

Riley wasn't sure how she felt about the 'so many girls' part; did Rowan do this with that many girls, or was it just a defensive statement?

"Prove it. What would you make of my friends, the ones that I came with? You saw them, you watched us for a while, didn't you? What bikes would they be?" This could be a good test, Riley thought; how quickly would she be able to come up with something, even if it wasn't a good match at all?

"It wasn't your friends I was watching..." Rowan paused and Riley couldn't help feeling like a smitten teenager, even if it might be more smooth talking. "But okay, I can have a go, why not. Bear in mind that I don't know them, have never even spoken to them..."

"Enough with the excuses, let's have it!"

"Alright, alright. The redhead, what's her name?"

"Sarah."

"Okay, Sarah, I think, is most like a Harley Davidson, a Sportser or a Softail. Powerful, strong, loud, present; both on the inside and on the outside. These types don't let anything or anyone stop them and bully their way through, whatever happens. They are difficult to handle at first; you need to tame them, find their Kryptonite. After that you can do what you want and you'll have them for life."

Riley laughed heartily. "Hey, that's really good, actually. That sounds just like her!"

"Excellent. Convinced?"

"Not quite. It could be a lucky guess. What about Jenny?"

"The cute brunette? Hmmm... A Kawasaki Ninja maybe: beautiful and sleek, easy to get along with, smooth ride. It's lightweight, reliable, steady, but with enough pit to feel that you've got something special. This one is easy to love; once you try it, you can't help but like it. It's the 'bike next door', you could say."

Rowan looked lost in her thoughts for a moment and Riley felt a pang of jealousy. The description was very apt for the lovable Jenny, but it made Riley wonder if Rowan had just realised how perfect the other other girl would have been, instead of her.

She took her hands out of Rowan's and said slightly bitchily: "Well, it's a shame she's left then, otherwise you could have hit on her next." As soon as she'd said it, she wanted to kick herself; she sounded so bitter, so awful. Fortunately, Rowan wasn't taken aback, but instead burst out laughing.

"Are you jealous?"

"What? Why would I be jealous? It just sounds like you're quite impressed with her." Riley knew she wasn't fooling anyone, but she had to at least try to save face.