Around noon, Callie slipped into her bedroom and sprawled out on the bed next to Zoya. They jointly gazed at the ceiling, each in thought, with Callie's slender fingers loosely gripping Zoya's. Her rainbow tipped dreadlocks fanned out around her pale face next to Zoya's dark brown waves. Her multihued tattoos stood out in stark contrast against her milky arm, her milky arm next to Zoya's dusky skin in contrast, too. They were very different women from very different backgrounds, but they were best friends. So, Zoya puzzled, what was so wrong about her fledgling relationship with Micah? Wasn't it similar?
"You like him a lot, don't you?" Callie seemed to read her mind. Zoya turned her head away. Callie wasn't in the mood to tell her the usual, to tell her she needed to make her own choices in life. She held silent and simply made her presence felt. Whatever Zoya decided, her friend would be there for her.
***
Zoya sat in her parents' living room. Her feet were up on the lip of the chair, face rested on her knees. She secretly had been seeing Micah for almost a month, and the weekly visits home were beginning to feel more and more like a burden. She closed her eyes and pictured speeding around winding curves with her arms wrapped around him. She squeezed her legs together, imagining she was gripping his firm, muscular thighs with hers. A smile flitted across her face. The sunlight slanted through the blinds and gave her a dreamy, sepia-toned appearance.
Miad paused at the threshold to the living room, studying his little sister intently. She sighed lushly, heavy-lidded eyes sweeping open slowly, and her golden irises stilled when she caught him staring. "What?" Zoya frowned at being scrutinized.
Miad took a seat on the edge of the sofa. "Why did you miss family dinner last weekend?" He had a suspicion he couldn't put his finger on, knowing she was up to something.
"I told Maman. I had to help the professor grade some papers and file some things. Why is it such a big deal?"
"That was the second time this month." Musa called Miad's name, and Zoya looked in the direction of her father's voice with relief. Miad's mouth set in a firm line, and his jaw hardened. "This isn't over. We'll discuss this later."
He went off in search of their father, and Zoya stared down at the carpet, wondering why her brother was suddenly interested in what she was doing. She blew out a breath in exasperation. Surreptitiously checking her phone, she answered a text from Micah asking if she wanted red or white wine for their picnic later that night. She typed back, "Red." She was smiling when she looked back up. The smile froze, however, as she paid closer attention to the gradually increasing volume of the conversation between her parents and Miad.
"...again, Miad! Not again!" Taba sounded disappointed.
Musa raised his voice. "Be honest with me, Miad. What did you do with the check? That's all we want to know. Produce the check, and we can settle this."
"I told you," Miad shouted. "I took the check to the bank! Maybe they made a mistake. Maybe there was a computer glitch. I don't know! All I know is I took it to the bank. What-what are you accusing me of, Baba? You think I'd steal from you? You think I'd stoop to that level."
Musa cut him off. "Listen to yourself! Have you been drinking?"
"Baba!"
Zoya strained to hear as her mother's voice came back softer, "....gambling?"
"Maman!" Miad sounded angry and wounded.
"Answer her," Musa commanded.
"No! I'm not gambling again. Heaven help me! You can't make one mistake in this fucking family. I haven't gambled since—"
"Drinking?" Taba asked in a tremulous voice.
"I don't have to stay here for this. You call me when they find that check so I can tell you I told you so!" Miad stomped through the living room to the front door, Musa in pursuit. Miad forced the door open, though Musa tried to keep it shut with a large, heavy hand pressed against it. The older Rao male grunted in pain as the door pushed his wrist back uncomfortably, and he released it.
"Miad," Taba pleaded. The door slammed behind him. Taba and Musa shared a look.
"Is everything alright?" Zoya asked fearfully. She had never seen her brother so angry, and never in all her life had she seen him be so disrespectful to their parents.
Musa flapped a hand in her direction. "This doesn't concern you. Taba, call the bank again."
"They're closed, Musa."
"Then, leave a message!" His voice boomed. Musa never yelled at his wife. Zoya stood in alarm and put herself between the two.
"Baba! Maman?"
Musa flushed and growled, pushing past both women and marching back to his office. Zoya stared after him and then turned to her mother with confused eyes. "What happened? Maman, what did Miad do?"
"No, it doesn't concern you." Taba stood firm—although she was obviously shaken by Musa's behavior toward her. She pulled out of Zoya's grasp and fluttered away to the kitchen to find something to do with herself. Dinner was cooked, but there had to be something, some busy work. It didn't look like anyone was in the mood to eat.
Zoya stood in the middle of the yellow and blue tiled kitchen, watching her mother wipe and re-wipe the counters while muttering to herself in their native language. Zoya crossed her arms, wishing someone would just tell her something, but neither of them spoke to her. At length, she finally decided to leave. She had a date with Micah anyway.
He took her back to the desert by nightfall. With the canopy of the stars above them, the landscape was transformed. He let her ride the bike by moonlight and showed off a few well-timed stunts to her amusement, and when the hour got almost too late for them to be out any longer, Zoya slipped into his arms like she belonged there. She presented her face, and the moonlight recast her as silver and alabaster. She was like a statue of a goddess, in Micah's eyes, enchanting and irresistible. Her lips were softly parted, eyes softly closed. Micah gazed down at her, wanting to crush her closer and take her right then and there, but he didn't. He didn't dare. He let her close the gap and chastely buss her lips to his.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"For?" Her head rested against his upper chest. Micah refrained from putting his arms around her. It was almost like foreplay. Letting Zoya control when and how their bodies should make contact had him wound tighter than a spring.
"For being a conundrum. For being out of the ordinary." She wrapped her arms around him and lightly pressed her upper body to his.
"You're that to me," he said with a smile. "It's getting chilly. Let's get you home. You have that thesis to work on in the morning."
"Ugh! When will it all be over?"
"When you walk across that stage and get your master's. But, after that there's work, so...when you retire?"
Zoya giggled and hopped on the bike behind her boyfriend. Even thinking the word make her feel tremulous with wonder. He delivered her home safely, and she ran inside before she got the nerve to take their innocent kiss from earlier in the night a step further.
When Zoya made it inside her apartment, she felt like she had passed yet another milestone and broken yet another rule. A twinge of anxiety gave her pause. It was an innocent kiss, but a kiss. After the pointed question from Miad, however, she knew she had to be more careful. No more skipping family get-togethers, no more missing mosque. She sank back into her pillows with a yawn, resolving to remove all doubt from Miad's mind. It was the only way she would be able to continue to see Micah.
CHAPTER 7 "Ready?"
"As ready as I can be," Zoya spoke into the helmet. They were on their way to Micah's house for the first time in their three month relationship. The plan was to spend the weekend together, and things were in place that not even her nosey mother would suspect where she was going. It had taken
time to get to the point where she felt comfortable enough with Micah to go somewhere as intimate as his home, but now that they were headed there, she couldn't wait to press ahead before she changed her mind.
Zoya had done everything else right. She had made it to every Saturday dinner. She had only skipped a few services at mosque. Her courtship with Javid was well underway. Meanwhile, Miad was spiraling deeper into a nosedive, and there wasn't anything she could do to save him from himself. It was disheartening that her parents paid more attention to seeing her married than seeing to her older brother.
He was drinking. Heavily. He was gambling, she was certain. Money kept coming up missing. He had gotten fired from Asada's boutique. He had been evicted from his townhome and was living in their parents' basement. Yet, he still had the audacity to give her the third degree anytime he got her alone.
Zoya sighed and said, "I needed this. Spring break couldn't come soon enough."
Micah gripped the handlebars, palms sweaty. She had no idea, but he was just as nervous as she was. The prospect of having her to himself for three days made him question his sanity. Was it possible he could stick to her rigid boundaries the whole time? He accelerated, eating up the miles from her place to his.
As a mechanical engineer, Micah's salary afforded him a modest ranch house at the edge of the city. The motorcycle cruised to a halt in front of the split level home, and Zoya gazed up, impressed by the place. It was sided in white paneling, covered with a shingled roof, and dotted with windows bracketed by black shutters. The house sat on several acres of land, landscaped to bring out the hidden beauty of the desert. He rolled the bike into his two-car garage where his 1969 Pontiac GMO was also parked, and he nervously took her in through the garage door that led to his kitchen. Chrome and red appliances shined cleanly—nice, sharp lines.
"Tour?" he asked.
"I'd rather let it unwrap itself, you know? See things as we go," Zoya decided. She grinned boldly. She was here. She was in his house and alone with him. "Are you excited?"
He sighed, laughing. "Excited? Try scared shitless."
"How'd you put it? I don't bite."
His lips curled upwards, and he cocked his head to the side. "What if I want you to?"
Zoya's eyebrows lifted, and she chose to ignore his statement. "I brought along some movies and some card games. Which will it be?"
"I'm a sucker for a woman with a good conversation. I happen to know you're skilled in that arena. Care for coffee? Wine? I can turn on the fireplace in the living room to give it that cozy feel. It's warm enough in here, but the flames are pretty."
"Coffee," she chose.
When the aromatic beans were percolating, he took her to his spacious living room where a giant flat screen dominated the wall above the fireplace. He powered on the flames. He had a typical black leather couch and a gray shag rug. He dashed back into the kitchen to fix two steaming mugs and brought them back, finding Zoya had made herself comfortable curled up in his favorite chair. Her oversized cardigan was draped over her entire body, feet tucked under her buttocks. She looked small and vulnerable.
Micah had a crushing sense of protectiveness when he looked at her. He realized she wasn't in any danger with him. He'd rather compromise himself than try to coerce her to do something she wasn't ready to do. He took a seat on the couch and stared. Her modest hijab hid her hair. Her loose-fitting clothes cloaked her figure. Yet, she was the reason he had sleepless nights, trying not to torture himself with dreams of plunging into her body. Other women advertised everything, leaving nothing to the imagination. He had never seen anything wrong with that in the past, and he still didn't. However, Zoya's modesty held its own allure. There was something about just not knowing .
Zoya eyed him over the brim of her mug, a smile teasing at her lips. His hair was tousled and his face had a five o'clock shadow. He lounged on the couch like a panther in repose, ready to leap if he had to. She decided it might be prudent to alert him to the fact her brother was more and more determined to catch her doing something wrong.
She told him about Miad's questions and suspicions and what lengths she had gone to just to keep him mollified. Micah listened intently. He didn't have any siblings, but enough of the guys in his circle had kid sisters for him to understand Miad's overzealousness perfectly.
"He's trying to protect you," he stated plainly.
"I wish he would work harder on taking care of himself. He's plagued me for months now, and he's no closer to finding out about you than he was before. I try to be careful. Callie wouldn't tell a soul, and I don't talk to anybody else. The only way he'd know anything is if he saw with his own eyes. He's just being paranoid."
"He's being vigilante."
"He's being a nuisance."
"Hey, it's kept you in line so far," he said with a grin.
Zoya paused and shot him a dirty look, laughing out loud. "For your information, I keep myself in line. Thank you very much."
Micah chuckled and set aside his coffee mug. "What about that Javid guy?"
"He'll be popping the question any day now."
"And?" He didn't want to sound possessive, but it was hard not to. He gazed into her mesmerizing eyes. She flicked her tongue along her lips and grinned, hesitating to respond merely to toy with him. Micah smirked and rolled his eyes. Zoya giggled.
"And, that will be the end of that. I'll politely explain how I've suddenly changed my mind about our courtship. He'll disappear into the annals of history like all the other men my parents have tried to get me to settle down with."
"I need to ask you something important, and I don't want you to be coy with me. I need an honest response."
"Why so serious? What is it?" She leaned forward on her chair, letting him know he had her full attention.
"Where do you see our relationship going?"
A still silence descended, heavy with the weight of the question. She didn't know how to answer that. If she was honest, she would have to say that she didn't see them going anywhere. Eventually, her little dating games with men like Javid would have to end. She would have to pick someone, and that someone couldn't be a man like Micah. If she was even more sincere, she would say that she saw them forging ahead together and seeing what life threw at them next. There was no way of knowing.
"I care about you, Micah. A lot."
"That isn't an answer."
She swallowed and shook her head, and her eyes met his. "It's the only answer I can give you that has no caveats and no escape clauses. I think you knew what this was when you entered into it."
He held his comment. It was true. He couldn't deny that she had always made it clear that what her family expected of her would ultimately be the route she took. He had things in his own life holding him back from being able to fully commit, but he had wondered. It was worth asking.
"For what it's worth, there's no one else in my life but you. You never have to wonder if I'm dividing my time between you and another woman because I'm not. And, I care about you too, Zoya. The same way. Just so you know...Anyway, let me show you to your room. I can get your bags out of the satchel on my bike and help you get settled in. It's fairly late."
Zoya pouted. "I thought we were about to engage in witty banter and engaging conversation."
His laughter rumbled up from within, and he launched himself from the sofa to lead her up the stairs to his guest room. "We have three days for that. Three days we totally, completely need to fill from sunup to sundown with only witty banter and engaging conversation."
Saturday morning dawned bright and early at Micah's. Zoya was awakened by the happy humming of her boyfriend taking a shower in the other room, the one directly next to hers...his bedroom. She flushed as dreams from the
night before flashed to mind. Her scandalous mind was throwing everything at her in her weakest hour. She suppressed a squeal of excitement. She was waking up in his guest room in his house. She couldn't believe herself.
Zoya kicked off her covers and forced her body to get out of the super comfy bed before she got too attached. She'd have to ask him where he got his mattress. Her stomach grumbled for breakfast, and she pulled a terry cloth robe over her silk pajama pants. Her pedicured feet slipped into house slippers, and Zoya padded softly down the stairs to see what she could find in his kitchen.
By the time Micah made it out of the shower and followed his nose, he found her cooking fluffy buttermilk pancakes and scrambled eggs. He had thoughtfully purchased turkey bacon the day before. Thin strips sent a hickory smoke and maple sweet smell into the air. He inhaled sharply, wondering what he had done to get such treatment.
BIKER DADDY: The Chain Gang MC Page 22