دانلود رمان انگلیسی “منو تشویق کن”

THE FRONT RANGE MOTORCYCLE Collective’s parking lot shouldn’t have been intimidating. It was just a parking lot. But the anxiety coiling in my gut had nothing to do with the concerning rattle coming from somewhere in the depths of my shitty Subaru—that was a problem for Future Aiden—and everything to do with my mission for today: finding a new place to park my food truck. At a motorcycle… club? Gang? I wasn’t sure. I’d spent the past three years building my brand, my customer base, my entire fucking life around ‘Egg Me On’. I had budget projections, growth spreadsheets, the whole nine yards. And I was supporting both myself and my college-aged sister, to boot. There was only one variable I hadn’t accounted for: real estate sharks. Specifically, the one who’d swooped in and made the owner of my old food truck lot an offer he couldn’t refuse. So here I was, back to square one. And considering parking my rainbow-splashed food truck in the middle of what looked like the set of Sons of Anarchy. Great plan, Lockhart. Absolutely stellar. I killed the engine and sat for a moment, watching dust motes dance in the sunlight streaming through my windshield. What looked to be a converted warehouse loomed ahead—all industrial chic with its gunmetal gray paint job and orange accents. Roll-up garage doors lined one side, and I could see motorcycles of every imaginable style parked in neat rows. My food truck would stick out like a drag queen at a church picnic. Or someplace less churchy, with more bikers. But what choice did I have? My current location was being bulldozed next week for a luxury apartment complex, and finding affordable, profitable spots in Denver was nearly impossible. I exhaled, fogging up my window slightly. “You’re Aiden fucking Lockhart,” I whispered to myself. “Your huevos rancheros made an uptight investment banker cry actual tears of joy last week. You got this.” Straightening my back, I pushed open my car door and stepped out, immediately feeling underdressed in my skinny jeans and faded “Rise and Shine, Bitches” t-shirt. The mid-morning sun beat down on the pavement, and the air smelled of motor oil, metal, and possibility. A distant rumble of engines vibrated through my chest like a second heartbeat.