Biker with Benefits

by Mickey Miller

  I open up my heart to the pain and the sadness.

  My stomach coils, but I channel the energy into my voice and sing.

  A few hikers glance over at me, but I barely notice them as I sing my heart out.

  I feel a tap on my shoulder. Fiona is holding her book, wide-eyed.

  “What song is that?”

  I shrug. “Nothing, really.”

  “No, I’ve heard that before, I swear.”

  “Nope. Just made it up.”

  “You just made that up?!”

  “Yes,” I nod. “But it’s a good sign if you think you’ve already heard it. Means it’s catchy.” I run a hand through my hair. “Just need to work out a few more verses and we’ll be good.”

  “I’ll leave you alone.”

  After writing down more lyrics, I feel a whole lot better. Listening to music is therapeutic. I truly believe that.

  But you know what’s even more weirdly therapeutic?

  Writing music.

  My heart feels light on the ride home. In fact, I’m almost giddy as we approach the city again.

  Things will be fine, and I don’t have to take them so seriously.

  Jax knows my heart is messed up. He understands. And we were moving too fast—that’s the bottom line. I was moving too fast. His trip has nothing to do with another girl. He wouldn’t do that to me and my messed-up heart.

  When I get home, I cringe as I check my phone’s messages.

  There’s one from Jax: Where are you? We need to talk.

  I text back: I’m at Fiona’s slash my place. What about?

  Jax answers: Lots of things. But I need you to meet someone.

  My chest aches. “Meet someone”?

  Who?

  I have to wait almost a minute before Jax answers: I’ll explain. Just come to Baby Got BBQ.

  Right now? I answer.

  Yes.

  I shower off as quickly as I can and put on a dress. Who would I be meeting in person?

  My mind races through the possibilities, but I draw blanks. Something’s off.

  Jumping in a Lyft, I get out at Baby Got BBQ. I’m greeted by the hostess, but her words turn to mush as I look behind her and see Jax sitting at a table.

  I stride toward him.

  “Harm,” he says, getting up to pull out my chair for me. “I’ve got quite the story for you.”

  “Oh?” I arch an eyebrow. “Tell me all about this fun California adventure of yours. Did you hang out with your cool West Coast friends?”

  He shrugs. “Sort of. I found my mother.”

  30

  Harmony

  My jaw drops.

  His mother.

  That’s the “other woman” I was worried about.

  Jax talks me through the tale of meeting her, almost not being able to forgive her, and then hearing someone playing my song.

  “You know,” Jax says, leaning back. “I always used to think some things were just plain coincidences, that nothing was related, and everything is just random.”

  “And now?”

  He takes a swig of his whisky and sets it down.

  “I have a hell of a hard time believing that at two points in my life when I was feeling especially low, I heard the exact same song.”

  I nod. “That’s synchronicity all right.”

  “Kind of makes me . . .” Jax trails off, and his eyes wander around the room.

  I furrow my brow. “Makes you . . .”

  Taking a deep breath, he brings his gaze back to me.

  “Makes me believe in God for the first time in a long time.”

  I get a head rush when he says those words.

  “You don’t—didn’t—believe in God?”

  He shrugs, putting his tough-guy face back on.

  “When I would sit in that cell, sometimes all I could think about was, if there was a God, why would he make my sister sick? And then why would he punish me for trying to help her? But when I heard that silly blond hippie playing that song on the beach in Monterey, everything made sense. Beautiful, fucked-up sense, but sense nonetheless.”

  “So you think everything happens for a reason now?”

  His hand slides across the table and touches mine, sending bolts of heat through me.

  “I’m undecided. But you—you’ve happened to me for a reason. That much I know.”

  I take a deep breath as the server approaches with our food. We turn the conversation to slightly more mundane topics.

  There is a notable air of awkwardness tonight that wasn’t there yesterday. And it’s because I’ve moved out—though he seems to be taking my “pumping the brakes” argument as well as a guy could.

  Jax sees Andrew—who is working tonight—and heads over to talk with him. At the same time, I get up to go to the bathroom. When I come out, Jax and Andrew are still chatting within eavesdropping range on the other side of some plants.

  “Harm’s an amazing girl you got there,” Andrew is saying. “Truly.”

  “I know,” Jax replies. “It scares me in a way.”

  Raising my eyebrows, I try to get a better look at Jax’s expression on the other side of the plant.

  “Scares you? Why would it?” Andrew asks.

  “Because I think I’d do fucking anything for her. I could have killed that Roddy guy. It was like I was overcome with temporary insanity. I wanted to bash his head into the floor and break his guitar when he did what he did.”

  “I agree. She’s amazing. She even convinced me to go out on a date.”

  Jax sniggers. “You. On a date? I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe it. Next week.”

  Jax laughs. “Man, there are going to be some disappointed ladies when they see your ugly mug show up.”

  Andrew laughs back. “Hey, if you found a girl like Harm, why can’t I?”

  I beam, leaning in a little more toward the plant so I can hear them.

  Jax mumbles something else and starts to walk away.

  Losing my balance, I fall through the plant and spill onto the other side of the divide, landing smack-dab on my ass in front of Jax and Andrew.

  Offering a smile, I pretend to act as natural as possible.

  “Hey, whatchall talking about?” I say, bubbly.

  “Oh,” Jax shrugs. “Just about how one good person can change the world.”

  Jax grabs hold of my left hand, and Andrew my right. They pull me to my feet on the count of three, and then pull me into the air.

  I let out a yelp as the two big men hoist me off my feet and then catch me.

  My heart hammers rapidly as I lie in both of their arms.

  “So Harm,” Jax says. “You ready for your boudoir shoot tomorrow?”

  “That’s tomorrow?!”

  Andrew nods. “I took the day off.”

  “We’ll start outside, get some professional shots of you with your guitar in the city, and then head in.”

  I feel like a pool of Jell-O in their arms. “Head in for . . . some sexy shots or something?”

  Jax nods. “Exactly. Since you’re the sexiest guitarist of all time.”

  “I don’t get it. What are we going to do with those shots?”

  I feel Jax’s forearm flex under my thigh. He shoots Andrew a look, and they put me down onto solid ground.

  “Some of the shots will just be for our personal collection, if you know what I mean.”

  “I’m not sure,” I say in a pouty voice. “Maybe you’ll have to show me what you mean tonight?”

  “I mean, I guess I can have you do some poses tonight.” Jax brushes my hair behind my ear. “You sexy fucking thing, you. We’ll do a lot more than practice poses, though.”

  My hair stands on end, and I tremble. “So I guess I’ll crash at your place tonight.”

  31

  Harmony

  I’d totally forgotten that I had agreed to do a boudoir shoot. The idea had started out one drunken night weeks ago. Give me a guitar and get me short shorts, boots, and a cow
boy hat, and then spend a day taking pictures around the city for my music Instagram—which I haven’t yet started using but badly need to if I’m going to make it in this business.

  The goal is to toe the line between sexy and musical, because music taps into the same part of the brain that sex does.

  Faith Hill is my favorite example of a female musician who does this. I went to see her when I was young. The way she alternates between tempting the audience with sex appeal and being a strong woman with an incredible voice who plays the crowd like a fiddle has been what I’ve wanted to do ever since. I never knew music, power, and feminine strength could be combined so flawlessly. And I certainly never felt I could be someone who did something as difficult as that on a stage.

  In the morning, I put on my short denim shorts with frayed edges, a cowboy hat, and a tank top. Standing in front of the mirror, I practice different poses.

  I try to look tough.

  I growl at the mirror, imitating Jax’s one hundred percent angry face. It’s the face he made when he charged Roddy at the show that night.

  I can’t hold it up, though, and a few seconds later my “tough” face becomes a smiling face.

  Rolling my eyes at myself, I sigh and let out a laugh.

  In my younger years, I would always practice my “mean” face by imitating my stepmom. Mean and tough are in the same ballpark, but they’re also pretty different.

  Being mean for no reason isn’t an ideal you should seek out. Tough is, though.

  Pulling out my phone, I look at a selfie I took a year ago when I was living in Blackwell and wrapping up my senior year of college.

  I tried to look mean and tough, but instead I just looked . . . sad.

  My cheeks are redder now. Fuller. I look more confident.

  I take a picture in the mirror and compare the side-by-side of me now and me one year ago.

  Damn. I look hot, if I do say so myself.

  Maybe it’s being away from my family. Maybe it’s the beautiful city of Nashville.

  Or maybe it’s the afterglow from the makeup sex Jax and I had last night.

  Who knows.

  My phone buzzes on the bathroom counter with a text from Jax. He’s here.

  It’s so hot, I have a nice sheen of sweat on me while we head to all the different spots across the city.

  We shoot at the pedestrian bridge and a few street-art murals, and then we end up at the Country Music Hall of Fame.

  Andrew has me strike different poses, and Jax stands to the side for much of it as the prop man, handing me my guitar or shining the light reflector onto me to get the best shot.

  A few hours and many fancy poses later, I’m surprisingly worn out.

  After we finish shooting in front of the Country Music Hall of Fame, I clear my throat. “So when does the actual boudoir portion of this photo shoot get going?”

  I bite my lip as I say the words, feeling my stomach clench.

  Jax smirks at me, poking his tongue into his cheek. “I’ve been looking forward to this part of the shoot all afternoon.”

  Andrew leans back, examining the shots in his camera. “We’ve got a few hundred photos of you all over Nashville. I think that will suffice.”

  “Let’s head to the boudoir location,” Jax says.

  I scrunch up my face. “I thought we were just going to go back to Andrew’s place.”

  “Well, we can. How about this? We can either go back to Andrew’s, or we can do the shoot in a new secret location.”

  “Well, when you say it like that, of course I’m going to choose the secret location.”

  “Hell yeah you are, because you’re amazing like that.”

  I jump on the back of Jax’s bike, and Andrew gets into the car with his equipment.

  Five minutes later, we pull up to a corner property.

  It’s an old bar that has clearly been out of business for a while.

  Running up to the window like a little kid, I look inside.

  The place has a bar and barstools, as well as booths and tables. Jax opens the door so we can go inside.

  The place is very clean—with no layer of dust like I thought I was seeing from the outside.

  “I just closed on it this week. Still have the keys from the real estate officer. Officially, I have to wait for the building inspection and some other red tape. But this is it, Harm.”

  “This is what?” I say in a sultry voice, strutting sexily toward him as he stands close to the bar.

  I pop my hips a little more than usual, and as I head toward him, Jax runs his tongue over his lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

  “Don’t do this, Harm.”

  “Don’t do what?” I bait, halting my stride a foot in front of him. I frown exaggeratedly.

  “Don’t sashay toward me like that when you’re looking so sexy, and this is supposed to be a day of taking care of business.”

  Before I can ask him what he means by “taking care of business,” he takes hold of my hips, presses my back up against the bar, and spreads wet kisses down my neck.

  His strong hands handle me smooth and gentle, sliding down my sides.

  Letting out a moan, I arch my neck and thread my hand through Jax’s hair.

  “Oh God yes, Jax. Don’t stop.”

  His hands fall to my stomach and slide up until they’re on my breasts.

  My entire body aches with pleasure, wanting his mouth and hands to be everywhere on me at once.

  I hear the click of a camera, and adrenaline surges through me.

  “Andrew,” I say, looking toward him. “When’d you get here?”

  “I’ve been here for a couple of minutes,” he says, holding the camera up to his eye. “Keep going. This is amazing.”

  Jax pulls me in tighter, his hot mouth easing over mine, tempting me with his tongue.

  My breath hot and heavy, I pull my mouth around to his ear and nibble at it gently.

  “I wrote a song about you,” I whisper.

  His eyes widen. “Another one?”

  I nod. “This one’s better, though.”

  “I’ve got another idea for a song.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. It’s about me dominating you during a photoshoot.”

  Only the click of Andrew’s camera brings me back to the reality that there’s a third person here.

  Jax peels his body away from mine and takes me behind the bar.

  “How about you shoot some like we’re bartenders?”

  “But there’re no drinks,” I protest. “The bar looks dead.”

  Andrew tilts his head. “Or it looks haunted, maybe.”

  Jax leads me to the inside of the bar area. Where we stand, Andrew can only see from our midsections up.

  He brings the guitar over and places it on the bar as a prop.

  “Hell yeah,” Andrew adds. “This is hot. It looks like you two just had your last hurrah as bar owners, this place closed down, and you had to sell the place and leave. But not before you got one last fuck in on the bar.”

  Jax threads a hand through my hair, and I run my tongue over my lips, considering Andrew’s storyline.

  “That’s hot,” I say, hearing the click of his camera over and over. For some of the photos, he uses a flash, and for others, he doesn’t.

  Jax’s hand slips lower, and I help him pull off my denim shorts. His hand slides up my thigh.

  A small voice inside my head tells me I should be embarrassed as he ever so gently touches my clit.

  “Don’t be shy, Harm,” Jax says, his voice full of the devil.

  My mind flashes to the first time we made out in a bed at Malek’s house. That time, Jax was the one who had to tell me to take it slow.

  Not anymore.

  I can see in Jax’s eyes that he wants to take me right now, right here—witness or no witness.

  Waves of pleasure flow through my core. Slipping my hand under Jax’s shirt, I drag my fingernails across his back, causing him to let out a slow growl and rub m
e harder with his finger.

  Our eye contact is intense. Staring into Jax’s deep browns, I do my best not to let on to Andrew exactly what’s happening on the other side of the bar.

  My resistance betrays me when a rogue moan escapes my lips.

  Jax spins my body around, pressing his hips into my ass as I curl my spine up into him. His hard cock presses against my bare ass through his jeans.

  “Get these off,” I mutter, clumsily reaching my hand around to his belt.

  His pants fall to the ground, and I gasp when I feel his hard cock pressing between my cheeks.

  “No briefs?” I wonder aloud.

  He shakes his head and then kisses my shoulder. The way he licks me, there might as well be an earthquake rolling through me.

  All the while, Andrew keeps snapping.

  Jax spins me around and hoists me onto the inside counter of the bar. My midsection is still lower than the customer bar, so Andrew can’t see what’s going on below.

  But he must know by now.

  My legs dangle off the sides of the bar, and Jax teases me, rubbing his big tip back and forth over me.

  “You want this, don’t you?” he asks.

  “You know the answer to that.”

  Jax cups my cheek and runs a thumb across my chin.

  “Harm, baby,” he leans in and growls. “I’ve thought about this a lot. And I’m not just saying this because of what we’re about to do. I fucking love you.”

  I can’t even mumble a coherent response.

  “Oh gosh, J. Just let’s do it.”

  He scrunches up his face in confusion, but then a smile eases onto his expression as he presses into me.

  As he penetrates me, it’s like we’re the only two people in the world.

  Jax and Harmony.

  The biker with a fucked-up past and a heart of gold, and his girl.

  He doesn’t define me. He doesn’t walk over me.

  He just knows how to give me the boost I need, when I need it.

  We’re the only two people in the room.

  Jax thrusts all the way inside me, and I whimper loudly.

  That’s when I hear Andrew mutter “Dear God in heaven,” and I realize we definitely aren’t the only two people in the room.