Misadventures of a Biker

by Scott Hildreth

  Her eyes shot wide. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking off my shirt. I don’t want to get anything on it,” I said, pulling it over my shoulders. “This shithole’s been sitting vacant for six months. There’s a layer of dust two inches thick on everything. I was going to show you something. Settle down.”

  She looked me up and down. “Show me what?”

  “The flooring and trim.”

  I took off my shirt and folded it. Standing in front of her in a ribbed tank top, I had her undivided attention.

  I extended my hand. “Here, take this.”

  She lifted my shirt as if it were an active bomb.

  I got on my knees in front of the long stretch of baseboard that ran the length of the stairs. “Just find somewhere to put it, I guess.”

  Clearly flustered, she draped the shirt over a section of handrail at the bottom of the stairway. Standing at the base of the steps thirty feet to my right, she crossed her arms. “Okay. What are you going to show me?”

  “Come here,” I said with a laugh. “You can’t see it from over there.”

  Her dress had worked its way to mid-thigh. As she strode across the floor in her heels, I fixed my eyes on the hem of her dress. Her thighs had compact, firm muscles, like that of a ballerina. I diverted my attention from her to the wood trim on my left.

  On my hands and knees, I reached for the baseboard. “See this?” I asked, tracing my finger along the bottom of the board. “Someone’s already replaced this flooring once. This wood is thinner than what was in here before. The gap between the bottom of the trim and the floor’s surface is about three-sixteenths of an inch or more.”

  I glanced to my right. Two cream-colored Jimmy Choo’s were within inches of my face. I looked up. Despite her five-foot-two height, her shapely legs stretched for a mile.

  She was bent over slightly and had her eyes fixed on the baseboard. Her position and her wide-legged stance weren’t by accident. The sexy little bitch was standing over me with her legs spread three feet apart.

  Eight sexless years in prison took its toll like someone flipped a switch.

  I stood in the twelve inches of unoccupied space between her and the wall. My chest brushed against hers as I rose.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I asked.

  “I was…I was looking at the…” She nodded toward the floor. “The trim.”

  Our faces were so close, I could taste the spearmint on her breath. With our lips nearly touching, I looked her dead in the eye. “Unless you want me looking up your dress, you need to take a step back.”

  She swallowed heavily. “I should?”

  “That depends.” I narrowed my gaze. “Do you want me looking up your dress?”

  “I’m not… I don’t,” she stammered. “I don’t know.”

  After what I’d been through, I wasn’t going to do anything without her expressed approval. Once she gave it, I planned to rid myself of every ounce of pent-up frustration that I harbored. When I was done, she’d know what it felt like to be grudge-fucked by a two-hundred-and-twenty-pound biker who just finished an eight-year bit in the joint.

  “Well.” I brushed my rigid cock against her thigh. “That’s something you’re going to need to decide. I can’t do it for you.”

  The doorbell rang.

  Clearly flustered—and maybe a little relieved—she quickly stepped away. After brushing the wrinkles from her dress, she fanned her face with her hand. Flushed to a deep color of red, she looked like she’d just completed a marathon.

  I was hard as a rock and sexually frustrated. Looking at the flooring with two men I hadn’t seen in eight years was about as shallow of a desire as I’d ever possessed. I limped to the door and grabbed the handle.

  “Wait!” she said.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Still fanning her face, she looked back at me innocently. If she was nothing else, she was a cute little bitch.

  I raised my brows. “Well?”

  She lowered her hand and nodded. “I’m ready.”

  “For me to open the door, or for me to look up your dress?”

  “Both,” she replied.

  Chapter Eight

  Teddi

  I was perceived as being a shrewd businesswoman. Acting that part was a lie. Playing it to the best of my ability was the only way I could survive in the real estate market. In reality, I was still the little girl who loved being led by the hand, told what to do, and complimented when I met the expectations of those giving the instructions.

  In the presence of a man like Devin, I was incapable of acting with any degree of accuracy. I knew he could see through my facade. Being anyone other than my true self was the same as being caught in a lie and continuing to spin the unbelievable yarn, knowing all those within earshot realized it was nothing but a fabrication.

  I was done telling the lie.

  To him at least.

  I fidgeted to make myself comfortable. I hoped I didn’t look like I just had finished having an earth-shattering orgasm. I hadn’t, but I came close when Devin brushed his chest against mine. I tidied my dress and tried to clear my head of the clutter. My panties were soaked, and my mind was mush.

  Devin reached for the door. The muscles in his arm flared. I could tell he was in shape, but I’d had no idea to what degree—until he took his shirt off. The stark white wifebeater he wore clung to his flat stomach and broad chest like a coat of white paint. I tried not to stare, but I found his tattoos intriguing. His bare arms were covered with various pieces of colorful work. I darted my eyes from one to the other. As the door swung open, I knew one thing for absolute certain.

  I was in over my head.

  Two men, both built like lumberjacks, stood just outside the doorway. Dressed fractionally better than what I expected, they were wearing matching outfits of jeans, boots, and khaki-colored, long-sleeved shirts. A newer model Ford pickup truck was parked in the driveway behind them.

  The bigger of the two men—a massive man with hands the size of Christmas hams—stepped toward Devin. His mouth twisted into a smirk. “What’s shaking, Bone?”

  Devin shook his hand as if he hadn’t seen him for years. They embraced in a hug, each slapping the other on the back.

  “Just trying to get this house sold,” Devin said. “How’s things on the other side of the alley?”

  “Things are good, brother. Things are good,” the man replied. “Damned good to see you.”

  “Good to be seen.” Devin gestured to me. “This is Teddi. Teddi, this is—”

  “Frank,” the man said, gesturing to an oval-shaped patch that was sewn to the chest of his shirt. He stepped around Devin. His dark, shoulder-length hair dangled in front of his eyes, and his face was covered in a few days of stubble. He offered his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  His hand engulfed mine completely. I felt small and incapable. I glanced at Devin. He gave a smile of reassurance.

  I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Frank.”

  Frank released my hand and gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “That’s Shane.”

  Shane wasn’t as tall as Frank, but he was big by any means of comparison. With his mouth curled into a permanent grin and his hair cut short, he was much less intimidating than his business partner.

  I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  Devin clapped his hands together. “Sorry, fellas, but Teddi and I have a meeting we need to get to in about thirty minutes. We’re going to need to make this quick.”

  Five minutes prior, I was barely capable of carrying on a meaningful conversation. Devin’s declaration of our “meeting” caused me to slip right back into my mush-minded state. As my mind reeled to come up with the possibilities of what might happen between us, the men began to discuss the flooring.

  “Meeting at five thirty?” Frank asked. “Other’n our dumb asses, who meets this late in the day?”

  Devin gave him a nod of reassurance. “The real estate market never sleeps, does it, Te
ddi?”

  I was in the midst of deciding if having sex with Devin was a good idea, a great idea, or a bad idea. I was nowhere near a concrete conclusion.

  I shook my head to free it of the clutter. “Huh?”

  Devin glared. “The real estate market never sleeps. Does it, Teddi?”

  “Umm. No,” I replied “Never.”

  Devin gestured to the baseboard at his feet. “This was tile at one time, and someone put this engineered wood in its place. They removed the tile when they did. This flooring is a quarter of an inch thinner than the original tile. I’m wondering if you could lay an LVT over it that looks like stone. Something to brighten it up in here.”

  Frank gazed at the length of the entrance and then peered into the great room. “Place looks like a dungeon.”

  “That’s why you’re here, brother.”

  Shane wandered down the hallway and ventured into the living area.

  Frank put his hands on his hips and surveyed everything within eyeshot from floor to ceiling. “What’s the square footage?”

  “Almost twelve thousand,” Devin replied.

  “Including the guesthouse,” I added.

  “Used LVT on a new construction in Miami last week,” Frank said. “Looked like tumbled travertine tile. When the job was almost done, the owner came in. She looked around and started screaming, ‘What the hell have you done?’ She thought we’d put real travertine in. Said she couldn’t afford it.”

  In the middle of trying to figure out what one of Devin’s tattoos was, I shifted my attention to Frank. “What was the installed cost?”

  “We used a high-end product on that one,” Frank said. “It wasn’t cheap.”

  I’d had a feeling Devin was mistaken with his figures. I prepared myself for a letdown.

  “What’s not cheap?” I asked.

  “Ten bucks a foot,” Frank responded.

  Ten dollars a square foot sounded reasonable to me. “That sounds like a pretty good—”

  “Go to hell,” Devin snarled. “I’m not giving you ten bucks a foot.”

  Frank shot Devin a glare. “Settle down, Bone. That’s what it cost her. Your girl will only have to pay about six fifty.”

  Your girl?

  I wondered what Devin had told him about me. Maybe calling me Devin’s girl was some kind of biker lingo. Either way, I liked hearing it.

  “Five fifty sounds better,” Devin said.

  Frank’s eyes thinned. “Price needs to be higher than five fifty. There’s installation labor, and the tile cost four twenty-five. I tell you what, though. It looks as good as forty-five-dollar tile. Can’t tell the difference.”

  Devin shrugged. “Five fifty sounds about right, then.”

  “I’m six fifty. You’re five fifty,” Frank said. “I’ll talk to Shane and see if he’s willing to meet somewhere in the middle.”

  Devin looked him up and down. “Didn’t realize you needed permission to make a deal.”

  Clearly taking exception to the remark, Frank folded his arms over his massive chest. “I don’t.”

  “I’ll offer you six dollars a foot for the installed square footage,” Devin said. “Loose-fit, not glued. If we put a floating floor in, the new owner can change it later if they want to. Accept it, or I’ll get someone local to do it.”

  “Got to drive from Miami every day,” Frank complained. “Two hours each way, with traffic.”

  “You going to wear a skirt when you do this job?” Devin asked, his voice laced with sarcasm. “You’re whining like a bitch.”

  “God damn, Bone. At six dollars, I’m barely breaking even.”

  “No, you’re not,” Devin argued. “You’re taking the first step at building a long-lasting relationship. You can’t put a price on that.”

  “With who?” Frank asked. “Your girl, here? Miss Teddi? She gonna call me to do work when you’re long gone?”

  “I’ll be here until my supervised release is over,” Devin replied. “That’s eighteen months, at least. Maybe two years. Do it for six bucks a foot or kick rocks.”

  Frank looked up and down the hallway and then met Devin’s gaze. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll do it for six bucks.”

  Devin looked at me. “I’m guessing we’re at about eight thousand square feet after we eliminate closets, bathrooms, and the guesthouse. That’s just an educated guess. If it’s right, we’re talking forty-eight thousand. Is that a problem?”

  Forty-eight thousand dollars was pocket change compared to the two-point-four million I was going to make in commission if the home sold.

  “I’d like to see the product,” I said.

  “Shane!” Frank bellowed. “Hustle your ass out to the truck and grab some of that travertine-looking shit, would ya?”

  Shane emerged from behind us. He silently sauntered past and then reappeared with a box of tile. Apparently there was a hierarchy in the motorcycle club. Devin must have been above Frank, who was clearly above Shane.

  He handed the box to Frank. Frank knelt, spread eight pieces of tile on the floor, and fitted them together. He stood and stepped away.

  “What’s that look like?” he asked.

  I studied it. It looked like stone. “It looks like travertine.”

  He tapped it with the toe of his boot. “Step on it.”

  I did as he asked. It looked—and felt—like a much more expensive travertine tile. In fact, I couldn’t tell it apart. The best part was that they were going to be able to lay it over the existing flooring.

  I’d spoken to Margaret about the changes I was considering. She promptly advised me to do whatever was necessary to sell the home. I didn’t know if this was the right thing or not, but I needed to do something to make the home more marketable.

  “Let’s do it,” I said. “I’ll let you and Devin decide the actual square footage and final price.”

  “I’ll have Shane grab a tape measure out of the truck,” Frank said. “We can measure it up really—”

  “We don’t have time tonight,” I said. “We’re just about late for that meeting.”

  Frank glanced at Devin and then at me. He looked me over good. I felt like he, too, could see right through me. It must have been a biker thing.

  “Shane and I need to beat feet, too,” Frank said. “Shane’s got a tryout with the Miami Dolphins in a few minutes. Hell, I damned near forgot.”

  “The Dolphins?” I asked. “Really?”

  Devin looked at me like I was nuts. “He was joking.”

  Frank laughed and then gestured toward me. “She cool?”

  Devin nodded. “She’s good.”

  Frank looked right at me. His mouth was twisted into a smirk. “Pretty obvious the only meeting you two are having is a meeting of your uglies.”

  “Our uglies?”

  “Yeah,” he said with a nod. “You two are bumping uglies when we go. Good thing, I suppose. You look like you need it.”

  He knew? My face flushed hot. “I look like I need it? What does that mean?”

  He glanced at Devin.

  “Don’t look at me,” Devin said with a laugh.

  “You look uptight,” Frank said apologetically.

  I cocked my hip. “Uptight?”

  He patted my shoulder with his massive hand. “Just a little.”

  How did Frank know we planned to “bump uglies”? What about me looked uptight? Did others see me that way? Red-faced, I stared, wondering about the answers. As I stood before them, looking uptight, the two men shared a light laugh at my expense.

  A moment later, Frank and Shane bid their farewells, agreeing to return in a few days to start the project. As their truck drove away, I realized what was likely going to happen as soon as the door was closed. In the thirty minutes that we’d wasted, I’d floated back down to earth from the euphoric cloud I’d been perched on. Uncertain of how—or if—to proceed along the same lines as before, I pulled the door closed and checked my nails.

  “Grab your purse,” Devin said. “Let’s
go.”

  My eyes shot from an errant cuticle to him. “Excuse me?”

  He gestured to my purse. “Let’s go.”

  “Go? I thought. But. We were,” I stammered. “We were going to—”

  He shook his head lightly. “Changed my mind.”

  Sixty seconds earlier, I was undecided. Now I wanted to fuck.

  I gave him a condescending look. “Changed your mind?”

  He brushed past me. “Yep.”

  I glared as he sauntered toward the kitchen. When he was out of my eyesight, I rushed after him. I stormed into the doorway and put my hands on my hips.

  “What do you mean you changed your mind?” I spat. “What is your deal?”

  He opened the refrigerator and removed a bottle of wine.

  “You brought wine?” I asked.

  He dropped it into his weathered leather satchel and turned around. “I did.”

  It was Friday night. A few glasses of wine and a mile of dick eight inches at a time would be a perfect night.

  “What’s different between now and thirty minutes ago?” I asked, nearly pleading with him to reconsider.

  He stepped to three feet in front of me and gazed into my hopeful eyes. “Look. I came here to do two things. One, I wanted to get a good price on the flooring. Two, I wanted to grudge-fuck you until you couldn’t walk out of here. I got the first one—”

  “We can do the other,” I blurted. “Wait.” I gave him a confused look. “Grudge-fuck? Because of what I said in that meeting?”

  “More or less.”

  “Okay, fine. Grudge-fuck me.” I wagged my brows. “Sounds fun.”

  Waiting for me to unblock the doorway, he looked me over. “Too late for that,” he said dryly.

  “Too late? It’s barely past six.”

  “I was going to grudge-fuck you because you were an irritating bitch,” he said flatly. “Now? After being around you for a bit? I’ve changed my mind.”

  I wondered what I did to piss him off so much that he wouldn’t even grudge-fuck me. I quickly ran through everything that had happened and came up short.

  “What did I do?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” he said. “I just decided I kind of like you.”