Biker's Virgin MC Box Set

by Claire Adams

  I found myself actually hoping that it would need to be replaced, because then maybe we could all take a trip into town to go to the hardware store, but after I closed the gap a little and reconnected it, it started just fine.

  “My hero,” Allie said, a dry note in her voice. She smiled. “Thank you. I really mean that.”

  “If you need help with anything else, just ask,” I said. “You know where we live.”

  Most Sundays, my parents made the drive west for a visit and to take Declan out for the afternoon. Sometimes I’d go with them, but more often than not, I’d either hang out with Ben or have some time alone, which I had never realized was such a commodity until I became a father.

  Declan sat on the front steps, eagerly waiting my parents’ arrival. When their sleek black Range Rover pulled in, he let out a joyous yelp, but waited until the car came to a complete stop before he went caterwauling over to them.

  My father, a retired physician, and my mother, who had stayed at home with the kids, stepped out of the vehicle, my mom holding her arms open for Declan to jump into. As she stood up, wrapping her arms around her grandson, I could tell that she was trying to hold back tears. It was early June, normally a time when people in New England rejoice, the brief respite between the unrelenting cold of winter and the brutal heat of summer, but for the Beckers, forever tainted since my little sister Marissa died four years ago, on June 17th. She’d just come back home, and it was supposed to be a happy time. Everyone had been looking forward to it.

  We were not a family who was used to having bad things happen.

  Sure, life wasn’t perfect growing up, but it was pretty damn close. A large house on a hill, with a spectacular view of the Atlantic, a neighborhood full of friends, vacations to Vail, Paris, Milan, Tokyo. Marissa had liked Tokyo best. I liked them all—the novelty of going somewhere new. I was vaguely aware how much better off we were than most of my peers, but my parents never acted like it made us better than anyone else, so my sister and I didn’t, either. We went to public school. We didn’t have a housekeeper or personal chef or anything. My mother didn’t carry designer handbags or wear $900 shoes. My father was a popular family physician, who sometimes still made house calls. His one vice was luxury cars, which he’d always had, though he never made a big deal about it.

  I visited with my parents for a little while, and then Declan said he was hungry, so they were going to take him out for lunch and then to a playground, giving me a couple hours to myself to do what I pleased.

  I put my kit on, found my sunglasses and helmet, and then said bye to my parents and Declan. There would be no 80-mile ride today, but I’d go out for a couple hours, push myself as hard as I could, and come back feeling exhausted and happy.

  Later that afternoon, Declan and I both seemed equally exhausted but happy from our earlier activities. He went up for a nap, and I relaxed on the deck with a tall glass of lemonade.

  “So how are you doing?” my mother asked. “Declan really seems like he’s thriving.”

  “Things are going all right,” I said.

  “How is work?”

  “It’s good.”

  She smiled, though I could tell it was partially forced, and that there was an overarching sadness to her every move. “I met a nice young lady when I was at the bookstore the other day,” she said. “Her name was Melanie. Would you like her phone number?”

  “I think I’m all set,” I said.

  My parents were eager for me to find someone to be with, that perfect match made in heaven which I knew did not actually exist. They were still hoping for some sort of storybook relationship, but after everything that had happened, I had zero interest in that at all. I would be perfectly happy with casually seeing someone, or a couple someones, when and if I ever had the time to do that sort of thing again.

  “I really don’t need you guys to try and set me up on any dates or anything like that,” I said.

  “I think it’s just a matter of you meeting the right person,” my mother said. “I know she must be out there somewhere.”

  “But I’m not looking for her. And I don’t happen to believe that.”

  The problem with my parents was that they met in high school, fell in love, and got married right after they graduated. And all these years later, they were still together. It gave them a warped view of things, at least where love was concerned. It had been so easy for them they assumed it should be just as easy for anyone else, or, if not just as easy, then only a little bit harder. I just didn’t think like that, though. Marissa did, and a lot of good that had done her.

  That night, Declan was ready to go to bed before the sun had even set completely, so his room was awash in a deep orange glow as I tucked him in.

  “You have a good day?” I asked.

  He nodded sleepily. “I like getting to see Gram and Grampi.”

  “I know, bud. They really like getting to hang out with you, too.”

  “I told them about Miss Allie.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah. How she lives next to us and she’s my teacher. No one else in school has a teacher who lives next to them, you know.”

  “That is pretty special.”

  His eyelids drooped closed, so I leaned over and gave him a kiss on the forehead. “Sleep tight,” I said. “I’ll check on you a little later.”

  I quietly walked out of the room, pulling the door shut behind me. I went down to the kitchen to clean up from dinner; chances were good that Ben would be stopping by, probably with several cans of high test beer.

  I was out in the backyard when I heard him come in through the side door. I hurried back inside to tell him to be quiet so he wouldn’t wake up Declan.

  “Shit, sorry,” he said. I could tell he’d already had a few beers, probably after he’d finished up at the shop.

  We sat out on the deck, and he cracked one of the beers open for me.

  “You know, it’s going to be a really long summer if I have to keep coming over here and seeing that neighbor of yours, especially if she starts laying out in a bikini or something,” Ben said.

  “I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you when you went over there and propositioned her.”

  He sighed. “She doesn’t seem like she’s interested in any guy.”

  I snorted. “Just because she turned you down doesn’t mean she’s not interested in anyone.”

  “Oh yeah? You think you can get with her?”

  I thought back to the day I did her pap smear, the way her thighs had trembled slightly when I touched her, the way her nipples had hardened when I pressed my fingers against her.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I do.”

  He grinned. “Cocky Cole. A friendly gentleman’s bet, then?”

  “Gentleman’s bet? With you?”

  “I know, I know, I ain’t no gentleman. Just a regular old bet, then.”

  “What on earth could you possibly have to bet that I would want?”

  Ben scrunched his face up. “You have a point,” he said. “I might not have anything you want, except maybe... free time.”

  I had to give him that. “True. You sure as hell have a lot more free time than I have.”

  “So if you win, then I’ll watch Declan for you. I’ll watch him once a week, you can pick when, so long as I’m not working.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “Should I even trust you with him?”

  “Eh, you know, I’ll make sure he doesn’t play with matches or run out into traffic. That about covers it, right?”

  We both laughed. The thing was, I did trust Ben, probably more so than anyone else. In some ways, he was like a big kid himself, and Declan adored him. They’d both have a ball if this bet thing worked in my favor. Which it would, I knew.

  “I’m going to need proof, though,” Ben continued. “You know, it can’t just be your word.”

  “My word’s not good enough?”

  “it is, my man, but you know...
a bet like this, some sort of proof is needed. And, I’m giving you a deadline. You have until the end of the summer. Until Labor Day.”

  I smirked. “I don’t need the end of the summer.”

  “Well, consider me generous, and I’m giving it to you, anyway.”

  “And who said chivalry was dead? And hold up—what is it you get if I don’t win? Which isn’t going to happen, by the way, but I’m curious what it is that you’re looking to get out of this whole thing.”

  “Ah...is someone conceding already?”

  “No. But if you’re making a bet, it’d be foolish not to know what’s on the line—even if you’re sure that you’re going to win.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “That doesn’t make sense,” he said. “If I knew that I was going to win a bet—if I was as certain about it as you seem to be—then I wouldn’t need to know. Because it would be completely irrelevant, since there would be no doubt in my mind that I was going to lose in the first place. So I think it’s fair to say there’s at least a tiny part of you that isn’t 100 percent sure you can win this bet. Which is fine; it shows you’re mortal. And the thing is—after talking to her, I am pretty sure there’s no way in hell you’re going to win this bet. You’re a handsome fucker and all, but I just got a vibe from that chick that makes me think it’s all hands off.”

  “I think you missed your calling as a psychologist,” I said. “A relationship expert. You could get one of your own talk shows, like that Dr. Phil guy and whatever his name is that came after him. Audiences of swooning women. They’d eat that shit up.”

  “A bullshit artist is more like it,” Ben said, grinning. “If I win, you’re going to treat me to tickets to a postseason game of my choice.”

  “The Sox?” I asked.

  Ben shrugged. “Maybe. Though maybe not. Maybe the Celtics. Maybe the Pats. Maybe the B’s. Maybe all of them!”

  “I’m not agreeing to buy postgame tickets for all four teams. I doubt all four would even make it into the postseason the same year. One team. It can be your choice, but it’s not going to be all four.”

  Ben scrunched his eyebrows up as though giving it serious thought, as though he might actually refuse. Then, he grinned and held his hand out. “Deal,” he said.

  We shook on it.

  I’m generally not the sort of guy who would wager a bet like that. I was never the sort to kiss and tell, and unlike some guys I went to high school and college with, I didn’t keep a tally of all my bedroom conquests. I myself wasn’t even entirely sure why I had agreed to such a thing, other than I did enjoy a good bet, and Ben had always brought out the competitive streak in me. When we were younger and used to race BMX together, I never really cared if others beat me, but it sure as shit mattered if Ben did. We had a very brotherly sort of rivalry between us, and it continued long after I gave up BMX.

  The other thing was there was something intriguing about Allie.

  I couldn’t say what, exactly; I had never been interested in a patient before. I’d seen my fair share of attractive women, but it had always been from a professional standpoint. I could appreciate a long, lean body, shapely breasts, tight, toned thighs—all of which she was in possession of—but it was a detached sort of appreciation, the way you might marvel at particularly nice sunset, or a magnificent ocean view. It was there, you noted its beauty, and you moved on.

  Chapter 5

  Allie

  “Hi, Miss Allie!” Declan said. He came over and wrapped his arms around my legs. It was Friday morning, and he’d greeted me this way every single day this week.

  “Good morning, Declan!” I said. “How are you?”

  “Good! I got up early and got to ride my bike this morning before school.”

  Cole was standing behind him, still looking half-asleep. “You probably heard him whooping as he rode by, faster than the Flash.”

  “I am faster than the Flash,” Declan said.

  I smiled. “I didn’t hear a thing. I guess I must be a heavy sleeper. Why don’t you go hang your backpack up?”

  Cole went over to the clipboard on top of the cubbies and signed Declan in. He yawned. “Nothing like a 5 a.m. bike ride to get the blood flowing,” he said.

  Another of the moms had just arrived, with her daughter, a curly-haired girl named Emma. “You got up at 5 a.m. to go riding?” she asked. “My goodness, Cole, you are certainly an inspiration. I haven’t been on my bike in ages.” This mom, whose name I couldn’t remember, was tall—almost as tall as Cole—and sleek and toned and slender. She might not have been on a bike in ages, but she certainly was doing something to keep in shape. She laughed and then reached out, resting her hand on his upper arm for a second. “How are you doing?”

  She turned toward him, stepping in front of me so her back was now facing me, basically creating a barrier between Cole and me. Which was fine, if not a little rude since she had barely even looked my way when she came in.

  “Oh, you know, hanging in there,” Cole said. He caught my eye over her shoulder and the tiniest of smiles curved one corner of his mouth. Then his gaze went back to her. “And it wasn’t me who was up for the 5 a.m. bike ride, so don’t start singing my praises or anything—”

  She laughed again, loudly this time. “Cole, you’re soooo funny!”

  I tried to refrain from rolling my eyes. I went over to the sensory table, which we had filled that morning with pom poms. Several of the children were elbow-deep.

  Amy came over, eyeing the doorway, where Cole was still standing talking to the woman.

  “Ew,” she whispered. “Would you look at her? It is so obvious how much Lily is into Cole. She flirts with him all the time.”

  Even from halfway across the room like this, I could see a huge diamond ring on Lily’s ring finger, along with another smaller band.

  “She’s certainly very friendly,” I said. “At least to him.”

  I had thought that the weekends might be hard, that having two whole days where I didn’t have anything to do would get boring or lonely—that my mother would be right after all—but so far, that hadn’t proven true. I knew that in part, it had to do with the fact that it was June, usually one of the nicest times of year in New England, and that I might be feeling very different if it was say, the middle of January and 10 degrees outside. But on Saturday morning, I slept in, woke up to the sound of cardinals outside my window, got up slowly, and made some coffee.

  I took it outside to the backyard, which was another thing I really liked about this house. There was a generous-sized deck with teak patio furniture, and then beyond that, two Adirondack chairs amidst the grass, facing a dense pine forest. It was easy to imagine those woods going on forever; during the height of the day, the sun barely dappled the ground. I sat with my coffee and a book, and I read several chapters while I thought about just what it was that I might like to do for the rest of the day.

  I didn’t come up with any concrete plans, but that was all right, because when I went back inside, I made myself a fried egg and a piece of toast, had another cup of coffee, then cleaned the kitchen up. I started a list with a few things I’d need to get from the grocery store, and then I went and got dressed. I was about to go in and brush my teeth when I heard my phone ringing from the kitchen counter. I went and glanced down at the screen. It was my mother.

  “Hi there,” I said.

  “Good morning!” she chirped. “Just calling to see if you were bored out of your mind yet! Are you ready to come back to the city?”

  “Ha ha,” I said. “Very funny.”

  “It’s not a joke.”

  “Nice to hear from you, too, Mom,” I said. “And I’ll have you know, that I’m actually still very much enjoying things up here, away from all the noise and the chaos. How is everything with you?”

  “It’s fine,” she replied breezily. “Bill says hi.”

  My stomach clenched at the sound of his name. My stepfather was movie star handsome, a successful investment banker, and very charismatic
, the sort of person that most people wanted to be around; the life of the party. Up until I’d hit puberty, I really liked him, too—but once I started growing breasts, things had changed. At first, I had been flattered. He was paying more attention to me, looking at me in a way that I hadn’t remembered him looking at me before. Of course, this never happened when my mother was around, and I started to think of it as a little secret that Bill and I had between us. A little benign secret, that would never go past a look across the room, or his hand brushing my arm, his fingertips resting there for a second longer than they might have before.

  The benign-ness of it all changed when I turned 15, though.

  I didn’t like to think about it.

  “That’s nice,” I said, my voice tight.

  “I’ll tell him you said hello. We were thinking of maybe driving up there to see you at some point.”

  “You were just up here,” I said. “I mean, not that I don’t want to see you, but it’s a drive and everything, and I’m sure that you guys are probably pretty busy.”

  “Well, of course we are, but that doesn’t mean that we wouldn’t be able to set aside some time to come up there. I’m sure you’re probably getting bored. Hey, how’s it been going with that neighbor of yours? I suppose you couldn’t get that bored, living next to someone like him.”

  I decided not to mention that he had been my doctor; she would want every single last detail and then probably call and make an appointment with him for herself.

  “He’s nice,” I finally said. “But I’ve been pretty busy with work and stuff. That’s going well, in case you were interested.”

  “Oh, I’m glad to hear it,” my mother said, though I could hear the distraction in her voice. She had never been able to understand why I’d gone to school and gotten a degree in early childhood education; didn’t I want to do something a little more... meaningful with my life? Yes, she really did ask me that. Of course, she was someone who equated meaning with money. She was right that there certainly wasn’t a lot of money in early childhood education, but I was getting paid decently enough at the Learning Center, and getting to be around 3- and 4-year-olds all day as opposed to adults like her was far better in my book, anyway.