Unforeseen Riot

by Karen McKeown

  I arched an eyebrow at him. “So you’re the new hire?”

  His dirty-blond eyebrows furrowed. “Say again?”

  “The new hire, new guy. You haven’t played trivia with us before. Figure you must be new to the IT group. Especially if the team name is IT MC, and it’s your idea.”

  Gavin reached across the table putting his hand on mine, “Mal, just fill out the slips and drink your beer.”

  Gavin didn’t normally interfere, but his eyes were almost pleading. I figured my rushing-in, ranting might be getting on the guys’ nerves, so I acquiesced. As I mechanically filled out the forms with our team name, I couldn’t help thinking what a lame name it was. My analytical mind was trying to figure out what the letters could stand for. The IT was obvious with these guys, Information Technology, but MC? None of the guys drove motorcycles. Massive Crash perhaps? I knew my computer at work had massive crashes, mainly because my boss was too focused on being under-budget to upgrade my computer.

  The server took our dinner orders, preventing me from contemplating the team name's meaning any further. I ordered the stuffed mushroom appetizer and a side garden salad. I turned to ask Cal if he enjoyed working with the guys, but he was at the other end of the long table talking to Bobby and James.

  The night felt like a total waste until about halfway through. There was finally a question in Literature that had the boys stumped, and I whispered to them, “The answer is the Charles Dickens’s novel Little Dorrit.”

  “Better be sure, sweets. I never lose,” Cal grumbled from the other end of the table.

  With a smirk, I asked, “Do you know the answer?”

  “Nope, but the boys trust you. So, I’ll trust you. For now.”

  I almost fell off my stool, and I felt the blood drain from my face. The pause, the tone, it was just like Greg. Except, they weren’t the same words Greg would have used. He would have said, ‘as far as you know’ with the same semi-dramatic emphasis. Cal’s hazel eyes were locked with mine, but Quinton was sitting next to me and asked, “You all right, Mal?”

  I broke the gaze, and scrawled the answer on the white slip of paper. Looking at Quinton, I said, “Yeah. Just fine.”

  I took the answer to Ray. We exchanged stilted pleasantries while he took answers from other teams. I didn’t want to go back to the table. The memory of Greg was too strong. I couldn’t tell if the memory was stronger because Cal, who was essentially still a stranger, invoked it or if it was stronger because I missed Greg so much. I missed him every day. But not every day did someone else talk to me the same way Greg did. I wanted to hug this man, and I wanted to slap him. Like any good woman trying to get a grip, I went to the bathroom.

  Returning to the table, I found the guys talking to James’s latest girlfriend. James was thirty-one with no intentions of settling down. Normally I don’t believe people have “types,” but James had his own dating demographic. He liked them blonde, thin, just over 21 and no older than 28. His latest girlfriend was nearly sitting in his lap and her level of frivolity indicated she was on her third cosmopolitan.

  She let out a shrill giggle, saying, “I would never get on the back of a motorcycle!”

  I arched an eyebrow, which I thought would go unnoticed. I was wrong.

  “What’s with the eyebrow, Mallory?” rumbled Cal.

  “Every woman wants to ride on a Harley. No two ways about it, no matter what James’s girl says to the contrary.”

  She gave me her pouty lips, but they were wasted on me.

  “How would you know?” asked Cal.

  “It’s in the ladies handbook. Chance to ride on a Harley, you take it.”

  Quinton and Gavin shook their heads at me. Bobby and James were too busy with the blonde of the week to pay attention. Cal stared at me, but before I could call him on it, the trivia “half time” was over and questions resumed. Our server asked if we needed anything else. I ordered chocolate lava cake and a glass of cabernet. My cake didn’t arrive until we had submitted our final-round trivia answer. Three bites into my cake, I felt a presence to my left. I turned my head to see blue cotton t-shirt. I looked up into a pair of hazel eyes.

  “You happy?” Cal asked.

  “Pardon?” I asked, hoping I didn’t have chocolate cake crumbs in my teeth.

  “You heard me.” He paused and lifted an eyebrow, then said, “Woman.”

  My eyes widened, and beyond that everything blurred. I was not some Wilma Flintstone wannabe. I wasn’t someone’s property. I didn’t mind being someone’s lady, like the Freddy Jackson song from the 80’s. The word "woman," did nothing for me. All of that was raging through my mind as I responded to his obvious taunt.

  “I heard you, Jackass. And I’m not happy.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re either deaf or incredibly stubborn. I am not your woman. Stop referring to me as such. Is that so difficult?”

  “Didn’t call you ‘my’ woman. I just mentioned your gender. Doing what you ask isn’t difficult, if I felt like doing it. Don’t take orders well. Answer my question. You happy?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  I gestured to my plate, “I’ve got chocolate cake and red wine, how could I not be happy? Besides, what’s it to you if I’m happy or not?”

  “I think Quinton has a point. You don’t act happy; you’re just going through the motions. I don’t know what happened to make you that way, and I’m not trying to find out. But, I do know life’s too short.”

  I swallowed some wine, “Life certainly is short, but you weren’t even at the table when Quinton said all that.”

  Cal turned toward me. “I was right behind you, but you were worked up and didn’t notice. So, you ridden on a Harley?”

  “I’ll take subject change for a thousand, Alex.”

  “Do you ever just answer questions?”

  “If I feel like it.”

  He might have growled at me, but he said, “Time to put your money where your mouth is, sweet cheeks. Got a Harley in the parking lot. It’s your chance to take a ride. Or maybe you’re more like Blondie over there than you think.”

  I rolled my eyes. I looked up to retort, but Cal was already walking toward the doors. Something about this man made me want to have the last word. Not want, need to have the last word. I hated to do it, but I abandoned my half-eaten cake and my wine. A chance to ride on a Harley trumped wine and chocolate. Grabbing my purse, I found the waiter and paid my bill.

  I caught up to Cal next to his motorcycle. It was a Harley and in the dimly-lit parking lot it appeared to be painted dark red. I put my hands on my hips. “Would you stop calling me ‘sweet cheeks’! Especially since you haven’t seen me before.”

  Cal grinned at me, “I’ve seen you now, and I like what I see. Though I can’t say you’ve been especially sweet. Have you ridden on a bike before?”

  “No.”

  He reached into a side compartment on the back of the bike, and pulled out a helmet. “Put this on. Not gonna take you far, but God knows there’s plenty of crazy-ass people around the Westside.”

  I put the black half-helmet on my head, surprised at how heavy it was for its size. Cal took my purse and stowed it in the side compartment where the helmet had been stored. He moved around me and threw his leg over the seat of the bike, settling himself. He turned his head to me, “Climb on behind me.”

  I looked at the pipes of the bike and then back to Cal. “Where do I put my feet? I knew a girl in school who had a God-awful scar on her leg from getting too close to the pipes of a bike. I’d rather not experience that.”

  Cal looked at me like I was trying his patience, “Throw a leg over and get on first. Then put your…hell, woman, what kind of shoes are you wearing?” Cal asked, looking at my feet.

  “Boots,” I said, jutting my right foot out at an angle, “And don’t call me 'woman'!”

  “Those are boots? Whatever. Get on, and put the ball of your foot on the foot peg back here
. Try to be quick. I knew there was a reason I never let bitches on the back of my bike. Gonna take some serious shit if my brothers hear about this.”

  “Brothers?” I asked, as I scrambled onto the back of the bike.

  “Give me your hand.”

  “What brothers, and why do you need my hand?” I said, louder.

  This time Cal did growl at me. He grabbed my right hand, and placed it on his stomach. Then he did the same with my left hand.

  “Hold on, and lean when I lean. Don’t fight it. I don’t want road rash tonight.”

  I wondered if he had road rash before, but my hands on his abdomen were a major distraction. He was warm and solid. It had been so long since I had my hands on a man’s abdomen. Panic rose inside me. What was I thinking? I didn’t belong on the back of a bike with a guy who called me ‘sweet cheeks’ and ‘woman’. I was a control freak, and I had no control over this motorcycle. He started the engine, and I couldn’t hear myself think. This prevented me from trying to get off the bike. He moved the bike a little in the parking space, and then he planted his feet on the ground. Next thing I knew, he reached back with both hands and placed them on my ass. He hauled me forward toward his back. My pelvis slammed into his ass. I squeaked, and tried to back away. His hands tightened on my ass. Cal looked over his shoulder and gave me a frown.

  “What’d I say? Do not fight it.” Then he grinned, “Sweet cheeks.”

  “Okay!” I yelled.

  Cal duck-walked the bike out of his parking space. It was nine o’clock and there wasn’t much traffic on Argyle Forest Boulevard. When the road was clear, Cal pulled out and we were off. Even with the helmet, my long brown hair was whipping wildly in and out of my face. The February winter had been mild, but the night was rapidly cooling into the high forties. With the forty-five-mile-an-hour wind-chill of a motorcycle, I was freezing. It was good Cal forced me to sit so close to him. I didn’t think about how cold I would be on the back of a bike. My hair stopped whipping around, and I realized we were slowing down. Cal leaned slightly to the right, and I did the same thing instinctively.

  As the bike straightened, my panic came back. I had no idea where we were going. I just met him, and I trusted him to get me back to my car in one piece. Gah! As usual, my anxiety was for naught. We made another right hand turn and I realized we were taking a mile-long side street that curved back around to the backside of Rounder’s. Just as I felt settled, Cal sped the bike up to what must have been close to fifty-five miles an hour, though I didn’t try to see how fast we were really going. I was excited, but scared simultaneously. I loved driving fast in my car, but riding on a speeding motorcycle was better than the fastest sports car. A smile spread across my face, and I felt the wind in my mouth. Definitely in the ladies’ handbook: Chance to ride a Harley; you do it every single time.

  * * * * *

  Cal returned me to the parking lot. We both dismounted the motorcycle. I unlatched the helmet, and handed it back to him. He gave me my purse and stowed the helmet in the hard-sided saddlebag on his bike.

  I tried to keep the beaming smile off my face. “Well, thanks for that. It was nice. Something off the bucket list,” I said.

  His lips tipped up and he asked, “What else is on your bucket list, sweet cheeks?”

  My voice was louder than it should’ve been because I still thought I was on the bike. “Dude! Stop calling me ‘sweet cheeks’. What in God’s green acre is it going to take to get it through your thick-"

  My rant ended with a firm hold on my neck, and warm, soft lips on mine with a tongue gliding into my mouth. I froze. His other hand wrapped around my waist, pulling me up close to his tall, lean frame. Seventeen months. I hadn’t been kissed by a man in seventeen months. Guilt. All I could feel was guilt. Wait, no. The guilt was because I liked his kiss, a lot. I was enjoying it, which made me feel guiltier. Was I kissing him back? Before I knew one way or another, it was over.

  Cal’s warm hand was on the back of my neck and he looked down at me with his hazel eyes, “Sweet. You. Your mouth. The cheeks on your face when you smile are just as sweet as I thought they’d be when I spoke to you on Gavin’s phone. You can’t tell me your ass isn’t as sweet as cherry pie. I felt it. You are the fuckin’ epitome of sweet cheeks, babe. Not gonna stop callin’ you that. Got a problem with that, too bad. I got shit to do. That beer and wine you had, you sure you’re okay to drive yourself home?”

  My head was spinning, but not because of alcohol. Between his refusals to do something I had repeatedly asked of him and his blunt assessment of my nether-regions, I was tongue-tied. Plus, I still had a heaping dose of guilt surging through me. I knew I had a deer-in-the-headlights look to me, but he smiled at me. So I nodded, that yeah, I was good to drive home. He nodded to me, let go of my neck, got on his bike, started it up and left.

  Chapter 2

  I hoped to hear from or run into Cal again after our impromptu motorcycle ride. It was a week later. Thursday again, and like a college girl, I wanted to possibly have a repeat of last week. Leaving the office, I clicked the unlock button for my Toyota sedan, but the door of the car next to mine opened. I was on high alert until I saw my mother-in-law Gwendolyn step out of the vehicle next to mine.

  “Gwen? What are you doing here?”

  She came around her Dodge SUV with disheveled hair. It looked like she had repeatedly run her hands through her grayish white locks. Greg would reflexively do that whenever he had a difficult decision to make, but I always thought he got the habit from his absentee father. Absentee until Greg passed away, when the man showed his face at Greg and Landon’s funeral. I couldn’t believe Gwen knew how to contact him. I didn’t know why the man had no interest in his son, let alone his grandson, but by the time I met him it was far too late. Gwen had raised my husband as a single mother from the time Greg was three until he was eighteen, and God knows that demands a strength that not every woman has. However, Greg’s dad walking out on them catapulted her from making minor dramas to making Oscar-worthy dramas over the years. She was wearing a turquoise housedress, and I had never known her to leave the house dressed this way.

  “Is something wrong, Gwen? Is it Greg’s dad in Montana? What’s going on?”

  Gwen’s eyes were puffy, as if she had been crying, “You told me you’d call! You told me you would hear something late this week. Why haven’t you called, Mallory?” she shrieked.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the settlement! My son and grandson should not have lost their lives for nothing, dammit. I need to know about the insurance money.”

  This was a whole new level of drama from Gwen, and I was getting a weird feeling about it. “I haven’t heard anything yet, Gwendolyn. They said late this week. If I haven’t heard anything by midday tomorrow, I will call. You realize that if I get a full settlement, the lawyer is taking at least a third in fees? You sound like you desperately need money, so I hope you know whatever amount you think I might get, it’s not going to be the full amount.”

  Gwen’s frazzled look began to wane. She took a deep breath, “Yes. Yes. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “Are you in some kind of trouble? You haven’t been concerned about money before. Something’s different, Gwen.”

  Gwen scratched her head, “No, Mallory. Nothing’s wrong. I just would like it if you’d keep me posted.”

  I opened the driver’s side door and tossed my purse into my car, “I’ll do that. Do you need me to drive you home, Gwen? I don’t think you should be driving. You’re really agitated.”

  She shook her head at me, “Not at all, dear. I’m fine. Call me tomorrow.”

  I wasn’t sure if I should trust my gut that Gwen might be in some kind of trouble. I couldn’t imagine what kind of trouble she could get into, but our relationship was not super close. I didn’t feel like I could get a firm read on Gwen. When Greg and Landon were killed, I was a wreck. For over two weeks, I can’t tell you what happened on a day-to-day
basis. The funeral was a blur. I know Gwen was by my side for it, as were my parents and my best friend Natasha. My boss, Sheila, was a huge help to me. She managed to get me a paid leave of absence. It was only half of my normal salary, but something is always better than nothing. During that leave of absence, Gwen stuck by my side. Almost literally. She stayed in my guest bedroom for two and a half weeks, and kept me from running off the rails. We both saw a family counselor to overcome our grief. Even though we weathered this tragedy side-by-side, I still didn’t develop a mother-daughter relationship with her. I cared about her, but there was still distance there. I figured it was me. I married her son, not her, but maybe I should feel more of a bond with her. I followed Gwen out of my office park. Her driving seemed controlled and normal, so I put it out of my mind.

  I went home and changed clothes for trivia. I wanted to see how much Cal would participate tonight. He was adamant about winning last week, but I didn’t remember him contributing much. Definitely seemed like a point worth needling him about. James and Bobby were at a high-top when I strolled in, but Gavin and Quinton were nowhere to be found.

  “Hey, guys. Where’s everyone else?”

  Bobby and James tilted their heads toward the patio area for smoking. I nodded in understanding. Gavin and Quinton joined us about ten minutes later, reeking of smoke and alcohol. No Cal. I wanted to ask where he was, but I knew I would sound desperate. I got the feeling he would not be here tonight. Not surprising, but my disappointment was surprising. I left the guys shortly after “half-time.” Our team had a decent lead, and my mind was toast.

  At home, I called my best friend, Natasha. She was my opposite in many ways, and my long-lost sister in every other way. She was outgoing while I was reserved and shy. She was almost always out of the house, but I was a homebody. She’s black, and I’m white, though we surely didn’t see it that way. She has three siblings, and I have none. But both of us love music with a passion, though neither of us could play music. We dance at the drop of a hat, and we were suckers for wine tastings. We had become friends in high school, and nothing in the last eleven years had changed that.