But I was only fooling myself. There really wasn’t any competition, at least not as far as I was concerned. The reason being was that I wasn’t even in the running.
Too young? Check.
Seen as one of the guys? Check
Best friend’s sister? Checkmate.
But still I told myself…one day. One day had turned into years and here I was still thinking about him.
“I do. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”
“Good, because I’m dying to tell someone.”
“Hit me,” I say. It’s the same lingo the players at the blackjack table use. It’s already finding its way into my vocabulary. Pretty soon I’ll sound like a walking casino.
“So. Remember that guy in the motorcycle jacket from a couple days ago?”
“How could I forget? You haven’t stopped talking about him.”
“Well this time it’s more than just talk. There’s some actual…shall we say…action.” She squeezes one eye shut and her mouth cringes to the same side.
“We kind of did it on his bike.”
“On his bike?” I yell.
“Shhh.” She lowers her voice. “And the bike was, um…in motion.”
“You had sex on a moving vehicle?”
“Technically a motorcycle, but yes.”
“Oh my god. Weren’t you scared?”
“Are you kidding? I was absolutely terrified.”
“But…”
“But it was the best sex I’ve ever had by a mile.”
“Pun intended?” I say.
“Well, it probably only lasted a mile. That’s for sure. I was riding him so I was looking backwards. I was so scared. I had no idea what was in front of us.”
“You are scaring me just telling me this.”
“But I have to tell you. I must be off or something. Off my rocker because just as much as I was scared I was turned on beyond belief. I bet I only lasted half a mile before I was exploding like I’ve never exploded before.”
“And him?”
“He lasted maybe another half a mile,” she says. She starts laughing.
“Oh my god. Please tell me he had a condom on.”
“Yeah. That’s the one thing I did right.”
“How did you even get into that position?”
“Well. He just started up the bike and motioned for me to get on. I started to get on behind him, but he grabbed me by the waist and maneuvered me onto the gas tank. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but I just went with it. I’ve got my hands on his shoulders and at first we’re going slow. We were outside of town so the roads were wide open. I could feel the wind in my hair and the gusts on my back. I felt so free.”
“Wait? The wind in your hair? You didn’t have a helmet on?”
“It wasn’t at the top of my priority list.”
“So you somehow made sure he wore a condom, but neither of you wore a helmet?”
“Yeah. Kind of crazy, huh?”
My eyebrows raise involuntarily. I really don’t know what to say.
“Violet it was incredible.”
“You’re incredibly lucky to be alive.”
“True, but it was the most alive I have ever felt. Ever.”
My cheeks puff and I blow out. Penelope isn’t afraid to have a good time with a guy. She’s told me stories before, but this one takes the cake. I don’t want to come off sounding like her mom any more than I already have. I figure why not live vicariously through her for a minute. It’s not like anything’s going on in the romance department for me anyways.
“Was he good looking?”
“Good looking? He was beyond hot. And his cock? Let’s just say if it had been a truck instead of a motorcycle it would have been the stick shift of an eighteen wheeler?”
“That big?”
“And just as hard, but a lot thicker.” I know she’s exaggerating but still. That’s quite a specimen. “And his balls—”
“Okay! Thaaaaat’s enough. Let’s save the ball talk for roulette,” I say.
Penelope laughs. “You’ve got to try it out yourself sometime.”
“Oh yeah. Sure. Just give me his number and I’ll give him a call. Maybe he’ll fly me upside down in a fighter jet at low altitudes over Lake Mead while I blow him.”
“That’s a great idea! I wonder if he has a pilot’s license.”
I playfully slap Penelope on the arm. “You are out of control.”
“You know guys have this saying. ‘If it floats, flies, or fucks, rent it don’t buy it.”
“That sounds disgusting!”
“Exactly, but I’m taking a page out of their book. Flipping the script. That bike of his definitely flies and he definitely fucks so I’m going to rent him on an as needed basis.”
“You paid for it!”
“Not a chance, but you catch my drift. He’s not Mister Right, but he can surely be Mister Right Now.”
“If you say so,” I say. I never saw the difference between the two. I was always hoping when I met Mister Right he’d be both my Mister Right and my Mister Right Now. My Mister Everything. The only one I’d ever considered as Mister Anything was Chance, but that dream floated away when he left California years ago.
“Come on. It’s just a little fun. We’re young. I’m sure you’ve got some stories of your own. You’re from California after all. There are definitely some bad boys there. Maybe you rode some surfers like they ride those big waves?”
“No. No surfers,” I say. I reach into my locker and grab my backpack. Could I ever be as crazy as Penelope? Not a chance. It’s not even a question. Just taking pictures of strangers was more than adventurous enough for me, as I was not so gently reminded of today…on multiple occasions.
“That state is full of studs.”
“No studs,” I say. I’m trying to pack up my things even quicker now.
“Okay, military guys? There are a bunch of bases there. I know that for sure.”
“G.I. Joe? G.I. No,” I say.
Penelope laughs. “You don’t have a thing for guys in uniform?”
“Oh, I definitely have a thing for guys in uniform. It’s just a different kind of uniform I prefer.”
“Clown costume?”
“Gross!” I say. I can’t help but laugh though. Penelope may be wild, but she’s also pretty fun. She teases me just as good as Vic and Chance used to.
“Suits? Billionaire businessman type?”
“Money doesn’t do it for me.”
“A fireman to put out the flames?”
“Closer, but still no. No flames here.”
“Well from your lack of stories I’m guessing that coochie of yours is as dry as driftwood in August. It could ignite at any second and when it does Fireman Frank can come and spray it down with his hose.”
“Oh my gosh. Did you work at a 1-900 call center before flipping cards in Vegas?”
“Actuuuuually…”
I gasp.
“Joking! Okay. Must be cops then. Those men in blue who serve and protect. Crime fighters who patrol the mean streets and keep us law abiding citizens safe.”
“Now we’re talking,” I say. “But I’m not sure you qualify as a law abiding citizen after last night.
“I like me some po-leese man. If being naughty is a crime, lock me up and throw away the key officer. Just make sure you cuff me to your bedpost first.”
I try not to laugh but can’t help it.
“Could you imagine if we would have gotten pulled over and I would have had a motorcycle bad boy and a cop at the same time? Now that’s a fantasy. Talk about opposites attract, at least for me they would.”
“Opposites do attract,” I say.
I think of Chance. He’s tall, confident, gorgeous yet still rugged, and a true man’s man. Me on the other hand…well I’m a bit plain Jane, not so confident, and I barely even have any good girlfriends. We’re polar opposites as in the North Pole and South Pole. I could be the last female polar bear in the Arctic Circle and
he’d still just see me as Vic’s little sis.
“So what kind of cops are we talking about? State troopers? Detectives? Guys who work the beat?”
I don’t reply. I never really broke it down to that level.
“Wait, you have a thing for cops and you don’t know the type? Or is it all of them?” Penelope’s head moves closer as I turn away.
I look into my locker and fumble with the first thing I can find, trying to avoid the topic.
“Wait a second,” she says. “What’s his name?”
“Who’s name? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Violet. You cannot fib a fibber. Who’s the guy?”
I shut my locker and throw my backpack over one shoulder.
“Wait! Did you get arrested today so you could see him?”
“No! Are you crazy?”
“Well, actually I am. But now I’m starting to wonder if you’ve got a little crazy inside you too. You know what they say about the quiet ones. Gotta watch out for them. They’re the absolute craziest.”
“I am not crazy.”
“Okay, maybe not. But you’re obviously crazy about some guy. Some guy you won’t tell me what his name is or where he works.”
“There’s no guy,” I say.
“Ummm hmmm,” she says. “If you say so.”
“I’m telling you,” I say.
I sling my backpack over my shoulder and walk out of the employee area.
Is it that obvious? She barely knows me, and she can see it’s written all over my face.
Chance Dawson. He was my brother Vic’s best friend since we were kids. The guy was an absolute stud muffin, even when we were little. Or should I say I was little. He was always a bit…uh hmm…bigger than everyone else.
I remember going to one of his high school football games. It was easy to tell people I was just going to support my brother, but the real reason I was there was to see Chance.
He was the QB and whenever he lined up he would crouch down to start the play and I had the perfect view of his tushy. It didn’t matter the position on the field. I was equipped with binoculars. It’s embarrassing just remembering it. It’s my first memory of an attraction towards a guy.
But it wasn’t just his behind that was in perfect form. Those football pants they wear are so tight, and not only in the back. He would run and twist and turn and you could just see the outline of his thingy. At least that’s what I referred to it as back then. Sure, he had on one of those protective cups, but I swear it was molded to fit him. I think you can get them made-to-order online or somewhere like that, but it really doesn’t matter. Every girl in half of Los Angeles knew the guy was hung.
But although I certainly noticed him, I’m not so sure he noticed me. The line of girls to talk to him was long. How could he remember just one when he had so many?
I take an Uber back to pick up my car. The whole way there I’m hoping I didn’t get toed. I’m also thinking about what I’m missing out on in life. Penelope’s riding a motorcycle guy as she speeds down the interstate backwards. And motorcycle man has apparently got a big piece of man meat too. A member that he was more than happy to share with the dealer from his blackjack table.
He sure must have liked the hands he gave her. I can’t help but laugh. I bet she’s used that line before when offering a hand job. Penelope’s so much fun. It’s great that she just claims her wildness and promiscuity. She doesn’t try and hide it at all. At times she almost makes me think I’m missing out in life, but then my head clears and I know I’m not.
I’m going to wait on Mister Right if it’s the last thing I do. I’ve waited this long. What’s the worst that can happen?
And speaking of worse I’m expecting my day to get worse as we approach my car. But to my surprise my day gets a little bit better, even though by this point it’s well into the night. My car’s still there and there’s not even a ticket on it.
I don’t know if that makes me feel any better or just relieved. Either way I drive home thinking about everything that’s happened today. When I walk through the front door all I can think about is how nice it would be to be greeted by someone special. A hug. A kiss. A how was your day? That’s all I want, but of course from the right guy. I’m not even asking to come through the door and have some hunk waiting on my ready to rip my clothes off and devour me from the hunger which has built inside him since the last time he saw me. The last time of course being my lunch break when he swings by and we almost get caught being naughty in the backseat of my car like two teenagers. Then again it’s better to make it his car. Mine’s on its last leg. I’m not sure how romantic it would be to make out on top of my unused gym bag in a beater that smells like Febreze.
I imagine sliding into the back of a nice SUV. Cream-colored leather seats as he mounts me and unbuttons my work shirt.
Why am I doing this to myself? I can’t imagine, especially when the face is always the same. His. Chance’s. As much as I want something deep, right now I’m almost ready to settle for something that’s hot and heavy.
But I can’t. I can’t break the promise I made to myself. I’ve stayed strong for years. What’s another few days…or weeks…or months?
Who am I kidding? This is depressing beyond belief.
CHAPTER 7
Chance
We pull right onto the front yard of the apartment complex. I’m out of the car before we’ve even come to a complete stop.
“What are we looking at?” I ask.
“Robbery in progress. Husband’s at work. Mother slipped out with the baby,” Officer Jones, who’s the officer in charge, says.
“Is he armed?”
“Yes. Nine millimeter.”
“Am I good to enter? I’ve been in this situation before.”
Jones looks at me. It’s a knowing look. He knows my history and he knows this could be trouble.
“Dawson. I don’t think you should—”
“I got this. It was a long time ago. I’m here to do my job.”
“Sir,” one of the junior officers says. “The wife says there’s another child inside. A boy about five. Suspect has him upstairs. Back bedroom. Far northwest corner of the property.”
“Awww shit. What’s the ETA on a negotiator?” Jones asks.
“One’s wrapped up on domestic dispute. Another’s at a casino off The Strip.”
“They’re both deployed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We don’t have anybody else?”
“Skeleton crew, sir. Holidays and all.”
“This is not good.”
“Jonesy,” I say. I go way back with Officer Jones. “I got this. Let me in there.”
Jones purses his lips and shakes his head. “Not a good idea, Dawson.”
I’m caught between a rock and hard place, and that kid’s in an even tougher position. Jones was first on the scene and technically we’re the same rank. Protocol says it’s his, except I have more time served at the same rank. I could try and pull rank on him, and I’d probably get away with it but it could cause a huge fiasco down the line at the station. It would definitely burn a bridge between the two of us if I try to muscle my way into this situation versus trying to finesse my way in.
“Three years as a negotiator,” I say, referring to my experience. I lower my voice. “I got this buddy.”
Officer Jones exhales hard and looks at me with sad eyes. “Just don’t—”
I’m already gone. I walk to the front door calmly. It’s almost one hundred percent the guy has eyes on us from whichever location he’s in at the moment. I get my navigational bearings and realize that means he’s facing out the back.
I eyeball the building. I know the blueprints of this kind of apartment building. They layout is familiar in Vegas. One of the old school designs from the days when The Rat Pack was all the rage.
This one has double stairwells.
“Tell them I’m coming around back,” I say into the walkie-talkie.
/> “Roger that.”
I hear the call go over the airwaves and a second later I round the corner.
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