Biker with Benefits

by Mickey Miller

When I open my eyes, my heart drops, and my stepmom is right in front of me, staring me dead in the eye with her hands on her hips.

  “And where on earth do you think you’re going with that bag?” she spits out.

  18

  Harmony

  “Harmony Lane.” My stepmom says my name like it’s a magical spell that will freeze me in place.

  And it does, the skin on the back of my neck tingling.

  “Lisa,” I reply, matching the vitriol in her voice.

  My whole body stiffens as I brace myself for her verbal assault.

  “I know you think I’m a monster for not letting you go with him. But you can’t go with that man out there. He’s a beast, and you’ll regret it forever.”

  I grind my teeth, feeling my blood boil. She continues: “Before I dated your father, I was with someone like him.”

  “You don’t even know him,” I answer, seething.

  “Maybe not. But I know his type. And I know what he did. Maybe he hasn’t told you what he did yet, so I’ll tell you. He assaulted that poor old man—”

  “Jax did tell me,” I interject, stepping forward. “He told me everything from his side of the story.”

  She scoffs. “And you’re okay with dating a man who tries to rob restaurants and beats up old men?”

  “It’s not the prettiest moment of his life. But everyone makes mistakes.” I swallow my nerves and make my move to walk past her.

  She swerves to the side so I can’t go out the door.

  “Please, Lisa, excuse me.”

  Expecting another rant from her, a chill runs through me when I see her wiping away tears. “You can’t go. You think it’s hot and fun now, but you’ll regret it. I know you will. Because I do. I wished I had never dated the man before your father. He was bad news—I could feel it in my gut from the beginning. I’m begging you—don’t go. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

  Gripping her wrist, I brush her arm away from me and step past her.

  “I’m not you,” I retort. “Let me live my own life and make my own mistakes.”

  Her face hardens. “Fine. Not like you haven’t made one mistake in Nashville already. Why not two?”

  I clench and unclench my fists, turning back to her.

  “I might have only known Jax for a week. But at least I know he won’t leave my guitar out in the rain.”

  Shaking her head, she starts to walk toward me, but I bust out of the door.

  My heart drops when I see Jax on the hood of the cop car. Officer Hanks is patting him down.

  “What the hell is going on here?!” I scream, running toward them.

  “Stop right there!” Officer Hanks says. “We’ve been informed that this man was present at a party where there were underaged teenagers earlier this week.”

  My blood runs cold. The damn Malek party.

  “Dad,” I say, pinching the skin of my throat. “You can’t be serious, can you? Really? You have no proof that he was there.”

  “You were there,” my dad says. “So he was there.”

  I try to calm myself.

  Lisa appears at the door, and I pull my dad over to the side of my front yard, out of earshot of the rest.

  “Dad, why are you doing this?”

  Putting his hands on his hips, he glances to either side of me but refuses to look me in the eye. “Your stepmom. She’s worried about you going out with this Jax character. Let alone going on a trip with him to some city eight hours away.”

  I hold back the tears welling behind my eyes. I do my best to stay strong.

  “But Dad, What do you think? Do you trust me?”

  He swallows, his gaze still flitting about the lawn. “I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

  “Believe me. I’ll be fine. I’m twenty-three. If you can’t trust me now, what are you going to do, baby me forever?”

  I jump when I feel my stepmom’s hand on my shoulder.

  “Don’t you let her change your mind,” she says to my dad. “A trip on a motorcycle with a guy like that?” She gestures at Jax. “Buying booze for underage kids. Real piece of work.”

  I scoff at my dad’s inability to stand up for himself—and at Lisa for her control over him.

  Glancing at Officer Hanks, who has Jax cuffed on the hood of the car, I make my move.

  “All right then, arrest me! I was at the party too!” I yell, walking toward Officer Hanks with my wrists facing out. “You’re only doing this because my stepmom told you to, right?”

  Officer Hanks furrows his brow. “Your dad told me to do this.”

  “Well then,” I say. “Cuff me, please. I was drinking and playing beer pong with twenty-year-olds. Because we all know that’s a horrible crime that is tearing this town apart.”

  Jax glances at me, his cheek on the hood of the car. “You don’t have to do this. Just forget it.”

  “Oh, but I do! Serve up some justice, Officer Hanks, come on!

  Officer Hanks is Cole’s cousin and a family friend of my dad. He knows as well as we all do that bringing Jax in on this trumped-up charge of ‘allegedly drinking with underages’ is a charge that no one has been written up for here in decades.

  He glances at me and then shifts his gaze to my stepmom and finally to my dad.

  “Take her. Take them both!” my stepmom barks out, taking hold of my dad’s arm. “We need to teach them a lesson.”

  He looks at me, then back at her, and then at Officer Hanks.

  “Let them both go.”

  He arches an eyebrow.

  “Do it,” my dad repeats.

  Lisa retracts her arm, shakes her head, and stomps inside as Officer Hanks undoes Jax’s cuffs.

  I shake my head at the ridiculousness of the kangaroo court I just witnessed.

  Only in Blackwell.

  Handing my bag to Jax, I run over to my dad and hug him.

  “Love you, Dad,” I whisper.

  “Love you too,” he says.

  “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

  “That’s impossible,” he says into my ear. “I mean, the worrying about you part.”

  “I trust him. I do,” I say, nodding toward Jax.

  He looks at Jax, who’s firing up the motorcycle.

  “And I trust you,” he says.

  I kiss him on the cheek, get on the back of Jax’s motorcycle, and we hit the open road.

  19

  Harmony

  “You okay?” Jax asks when we stop at the station to gas up.

  I nod. “Fine.”

  Putting a hand on my hip, he steps closer to me.

  “You’re not ‘fine.’ Don’t lie to me, Vanderbilt.”

  “Okay, I’m not,” I admit, a little relieved that he sees through my charade. Jax steadies his gaze on me.

  “But you’re tougher than you think. I knew that the moment I saw you.”

  As much as I want to believe him, my stomach feels like a dull knife is twisting into it.

  We both head inside of the gas station, and I use the restroom.

  Jax is smiling when I come out, holding a gaudy pink leather jacket.

  I squint at him. “You can’t be serious.”

  He laughs. “But pink is so your color.”

  “This isn’t what I had in mind when we talked about a shopping spree.”

  “I know. But your cute little skin is going to get sunburned driving across the country on a day like today. This will get us to Nashville. Then we’ll stop somewhere for your spree.”

  His eyes widen as he runs them over the initials on the jacket. “And look, it says, ‘JR.’”

  I giggle, trying the jacket on. “I’m pretty sure that stands for ‘Junior.’ Like this is a high school jacket.”

  He shrugs, and then he pulls me close for a surprise kiss. “Either way, you look damn hot in it.”

  The fuel tank is filled to the brim.

  Although my stepmom’s worries were clearly overblown, a host of questions creep into my mind as we pu
ll onto the main highway.

  Where will we stay?

  Who is this friend of his?

  What if my stepmom was right—what if I fail and have to come back to Blackwell again, tail between my legs, and beg to stay rent-free?

  Letting my arms settle around Jax’s waist, I close my eyes and feel the wind on my face through my helmet. I take a few slow and easy breaths, letting my muscles loosen. It’s an odd sort of therapeutic feeling, being pressed up against a man like Jax. Strong but gentle, and still a total enigma to me.

  Our connection is undeniable. But part of my brain—the logical, overtrained, and overcautious part of my mind—doubts what I’m doing. That logical part of me sounds too much like my stepmom, though. So I ignore it.

  Deep in my gut, I know it’s not a mistake to take this risk with Jax. Even if he is quiet and mysterious sometimes. Even if his past is checkered. I rub Jax lightly on his arm, and he turns slightly to acknowledge me.

  By the time we’re approaching the Nashville city limits, a zenlike calm has come over me.

  “I’m hungry,” I say over Jax’s shoulder. “Are you?”

  “Yeah. But there’s somewhere we need to go first.”

  My stomach grumbles. “We just drove eight hours with two stops. What could possibly be more important than food right now?”

  We stop at a red light, and he turns to me.

  “Food for the soul. Your soul.”

  I fumble for words, and before I can respond, the light turns green.

  I feel the hunger in my gut but wonder what Jax could mean.

  At least he’s off to a good start in Nashville when it comes to being Mr. Enigmatic.

  But a few minutes later, my worries float away when we pull up in front of Bob’s Guitar Outlet—one of the biggest guitar stores in the city.

  I take off my helmet and shake my hair out. My eyes are as wide as a kid’s in a candy store.

  “They’re open till eight. So we’ve got a half hour to get your new guitar, Vanderbilt. You game?”

  As we head inside, a wave of lightheadedness nearly knocks me over as I look at all the guitars. It’s overwhelming.

  Grabbing my hip, Jax hooks a hand around my waist. “Consider me your guitar genie,” he quips.

  I blink a few times. “You serious?”

  He nods.

  “Why are you doing this for me?” I ask.

  “Because you’re fucking amazing and once you get a new guitar, everyone is going to know. And because it makes me happy to see your eyes light up like they are right now.”

  Gripping his neck, I give him a lingering kiss on the lips and skip—literally skip—over to the acoustic guitar room.

  My heart races as I look around, almost dizzy from all the options.

  My eyes lock on a blue acoustic guitar high on the ceiling. A store employee sees me staring at it and brings it to me.

  It’s perfectly in tune, and I play the first melody that comes to mind—the same one that’s been playing in my head since yesterday, the one that goes along with the lyrics I wrote. I sing the lyrics ever so softly, almost a singing whisper.

  “Holy shit.” I hear Jax’s voice behind me and jerk my head around. “What song is that?”

  I shrug. “Just something I wrote.”

  “Sounds amazing.”

  “Really? Maybe it’s the guitar.”

  “I think it’s you.”

  “Excuse me, sir,” I say, tipping my forehead toward the store employee. “How much is this? It has no label.”

  He walks over and takes a look.

  “Sixty-five,” he says.

  My jaw drops. “Sixty-five dollars?! That’s so cheap!”

  He chuckles a little. “No. Sixty-five hundred dollars. Six thousand, five hundred.”

  “Oh, shoot. Never mind, then,” I say, handing him back the guitar.

  Before I can hand it back, Jax steps in front of me and takes it.

  “She’s kidding. We’ll take it.”

  My eyes bulge. “But—”

  “Ring it up,” he says, handing the employee a card.

  My chest hitches as he walks away with the guitar and card. I rock back and forth.

  “I can find a cheaper guitar.”

  “I have a lot of money saved up. You’d be surprised. I’m not a musician, but I’m a chef. And like a chef, a musician is only as good as her tools.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say you’ll play your fucking heart out every time you touch that thing.”

  “I will.”

  “Good. Now let’s get some food, because I’m about to die of hunger.”

  We head into downtown Nashville to a place a few blocks off the main strip. After we park the bike, I bring the guitar with me as we head inside.

  “This is where my friend works now,” Jax says, nodding at the sign that says Baby Got BBQ.

  “Where do you know him from?” I ask as we wait in line at the host stand.

  “He was my first cellmate,” Jax says, a little stoically.

  A voice calls out. “Holy shit! Jax to the Max!”

  I squint. “Jax to the Max?”

  He shrugs. “Nickname.”

  A man wearing a blue suit coat, jeans, and boots damn near bowls Jax over with a hug. He’s handsome, young, and blue-eyed, and he almost looks like a more boyish, leaner version of Jax, with softer features.

  “Holy shit, man!” he says. “When you said you were coming today, I didn’t think you were serious. And who is this?”

  “This is Harmony,” Jax says with a slow grin.

  “Harmony, my name is Andrew. What an honor to meet you,” he says. “This is a great man. Saved my life. Twice.” He pats Jax on the back.

  My stomach churns as I look at Jax again with wide eyes.

  Who is this man?

  Shaking Andrew’s hand again, Jax pats him on the back. “Get back to work, you slacker. We’ll grab some food, and you can join us when your shift ends.”

  Andrew walks away, and my hand flies to Jax’s back pocket as the host leads us to our table in the back.

  I tilt my head, looking at Jax and then back at Andrew.

  Butterflies fill me up. “I wish I could have recorded what he said to tell my stepmom. You saved him? How?”

  Before he can answer, the server interrupts us, sporting a broad grin. “Hi there. Welcome to Baby Got BBQ. Are y’all hungry?”

  “Hell yeah, we are,” Jax says as we order what seems like the entire menu.

  After an hour or so later of conversation in which Jax and I debate the importance of the color of a guitar, Andrew sits down next to Jax in our booth, and I realize Jax never answered my question.

  “So,” Andrew says, “you and Harmony need a place to stay. Mi casa es su casa.”

  “Not necessary,” Jax says. “We’ll find a spot somewhere in the city for a few nights.”

  “The hell you will. I’ve been Airbnb-ing my extra room. I’ll put that on hold while you’re here. Not a discussion.”

  “Andrew, this isn’t—”

  “We’d love to stay with you,” I interrupt, flashing a smile.

  We share an awkward pause, and Andrew glances at both of us, swallowing hard and obvious.

  “Thanks, man,” Jax adds.

  We’re about ready to leave when I glance at a booth across from us. I almost drop my water in my lap when I see who it is.

  The face looks my way, and I dive into my seat.

  “Hey,” Jax says, standing up to see me lying on the booth seat.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s my ex,” I swallow. “He’s here.”

  Andrew glances across the room.

  “Your ex is Roddy Stillmaker, the famous singer?”

  “Can we get the server over here? I’d like a drink.”

  Jax looks over at Roddy. Then he turns back to me, steely-eyed.

  “That’s the motherfucker who stole your song?”

  I nod. />
  “I’ll deal with him.”

  My eyes widen, and I lunge forward, grabbing his arm. “No! Don’t do anything. I don’t want you to get in trouble!”

  Jax snarls, halting and biting his lip. I can see the vein in his neck popping out. “All right,” he acquiesces.

  Just as my heart rate is lowering, Roddy sees me.

  “Dammit,” I say, picking up my fork and moving it around my empty plate. Roddy strolls over to our table with his big, phony salesman smirk.

  “Ho-ly shit. It’s been so long I thought you went and died! Come here, sugar!”

  Flexing my jaw. I don’t budge.

  “Hello, Roddy,” I say flatly.

  “Oh, now that’s no way to greet the most famous man you’ve ever known, is it? And an old friend.”

  “Friend isn’t the word I’d use for you,” I say.

  “Look, buddy—Roger, you said your name was?” Jax cuts in.

  “Roddy,” he replies, obviously irritated that Jax doesn’t know him.

  “Right,” Jax continues, his muscles tensing. “Well, Randy, I think unless you’re looking for trouble, you should—”

  “Just get the hell away from me,” I cut in.

  Roddy scrunches up his face. “Yeah, right. So anyways, are you back in town now?” He slides into the booth, sitting next to me. “We should hang out. Maybe do another collaboration.”

  “Fuck you!” I spit out. “Get away from me!”

  Jax stands up and reaches across the table, grabbing Roddy’s collar.

  “Look, Ralph. You heard what the lady said. You’re not welcome here.”

  Roddy’s eyes bulge as he sees the veiny muscles popping out of Jax’s shirt.

  “Do you know who I am? I’ll have you arrested,” Roddy says.

  I narrow my eyes at him, and my heart thumps hard as hell. “Get the hell away from us. And don’t touch me.”

  He scoffs. “What? What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t—”

  I cut him off. “You did. I didn’t ask you to sit here. Please leave.”

  Roddy’s face widens with fear, and Jax lets him go, clearly reluctant to release his grip on Roddy’s collar.

  Standing up, Roddy readjusts his shirt. “Small world. Thanks for the chat. See you all around.”