Tank POV
As I walked back into the dining hall, talk of what Max was doing was active, eyes tracked my movements, several here hadn't known that Max was a mechanic, or if they had heard that she was, they didn't believe it, and thought that the club was just being friendly to her. They had seen Prez's paint job and thought her painting was what they meant, not the physical job. The debate was about her; some said she was great, while others were doubtful, having never seen her in action.
Seeing was believing, I guess.
"Tank, will she have my bike back on the road tonight?" Dags asked, coming to me, excitedly. Often, we try to fix the bikes ourselves if Mike or one of his apprentices were not on the trip, and today none were. Max was here, and she didn't hesitate to rush out to the bike
