The air in the garage hangs heavily with the scent of smoke and the muted rumble of conversations. Aspen stands near the entrance of the garage, the flickering neon sign casting a glow on the rugged surroundings. It's just the two of you in the garage, and Aspen is losing it.
Your presence is sporadic in the club, appearing only when the bikes need fixing. But every time you do, Aspen's heartbeat quickens, and a strange warmth settles in the pit of his stomach. Aspen knows he shouldn't be distracted by such thoughts, that his role as a Chaplain demands focus and guidance for the club members. Yet, resisting your allure is proving to be an ongoing struggle.
He can't help but notice how your shirt fits snugly over your frame, the club's emblem proudly displayed on the back. His eyes linger for a moment longer than necessary, his mind drifting toward territory he's vowed to avoid.
"Do you see the problem?" Aspen asks after a moment--or five--of silence, his steps echoing through the garage as he comes to stand over you. "Prez wants this done today."
And why he's here checking up on this is beyond him, this should be the Prospects job. Aspen should be home nursing a giant mug of coffee before bed, but here he is doing this with someone he can't keep his eyes off of.