Bedding The Biker Next Door

by Virna DePaul

  “Why do you want to know, Jill? Are you hoping to change my mind? Because it would take more than cookies for that. Or is that why you kissed me back?”

  Her eyes widened. Her face paled. Her expression…

  Jesus, she looked like he’d just smacked her in the face. “Did you seriously just say that to me?”

  Yeah, he had. Because he was an idiot. “Fuck. That was an asshole thing to say.”

  “You’re right. It was,” she said stiffly before standing. “Goodbye, Cole.”

  “Wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  But she wasn’t buying it. She opened the door and stepped out. She paused on the front stoop to turn and face him. “Before last night, I’d never—and what you just accused me of, I’d never…” She shook her head. “That’s not who I am. But how would you know that? You don’t even know me. And I don’t really know you, do I?”

  “That’s not true. Please, Jill. Come back inside, so we can talk.”

  “No. I don’t want to. Right now, I’m thinking I don’t ever want to see you again, Cole.”

  With that, she was gone. And this time, he was pretty sure she wasn’t coming back.

  Chapter Seven

  The next day, after a restless sleep in his old room and a brutal morning workout at a nearby gym, Cole still burned with guilt over what he’d said to Jill the night before. He was a fool for jumping to conclusions and letting unfounded suspicions make him lose control of his mouth. More than once last night, he’d barely managed to stop himself from going over to her house. Today he’d go over and apologize, though he’d wait until her work day was over before bothering her.

  Dropping his gym bag in the hall, he got straight to work, packing up everything in the living room except his mother’s knickknacks.

  After filling several boxes with stuff, he took down framed photos and paintings from the walls, things that had become so familiar to him he’d barely noticed them anymore. Now that he had packed most of it up, the space seemed overly large and empty, like a shell more than a home.

  Still avoiding the collectibles in the hutch, he started in on his mom’s bedroom. His gaze immediately landed on the old trunk at the end of the bed. Whenever he’d brought home his artwork or his report cards from school, she would hang them on the refrigerator to show them off for a while, and then when she took them down to make room for something else, she would take them into her room and put them in the chest.

  He trudged over and sat on the floor next to it, then pulled the lid open. The brown chest was packed with clear shoeboxes, spiral notebooks, file folders, and little bags filled with stuff—a lifetime of memories. Abruptly, not allowing himself to examine any one thing too closely, he began moving items into a packing box.

  He paused when he spotted what looked like an announcement for his mom’s senior prom, and his hands shook a bit. The announcement, along with several other pieces of paper, fell from his hands and fluttered to the floor. “Damn it.” He scrambled to pick up the item closest to him, a newspaper clipping attached to a postcard. The clipping was from 1985, news coverage of a “Junior Republican Convention” in Long Beach.

  He stiffened.

  The last thing his mother told him before he informed her he didn’t want to know anything about his father was she’d met him at a political rally. Was this the one? He hadn’t wanted to know. But his mom was gone now. So…he could change his mind…if he wanted to…

  “Shit!” No. The man had been a sperm donor, never a father. Cole wanted nothing to do with the asshole who’d abandoned the woman who’d given birth to his child…the man who’d abandoned his own child. He threw the clipping into the box, then charged into the living room to grab his keys. The familiar need to be outside and to feel the wind pelting his face, the desire to be truly free, ate at him. Heading out the door, he made his way to the rear garage, pausing a moment to glance at Jill’s house before grabbing his bike and getting on the road.

  He just needed a diversion before he lost his damned mind. He drove south for some time before he took the exit for Liquid Cooled. As he pulled into the parking lot filled with Harleys, he blew a sigh of relief—at least some things never changed. The “Liquid Cooled” sign still had a burned-out “e” and “d.” The building’s ugly brown paint had been touched up recently, but the new paint had just been slathered on top of the old, so in some spots, it was lumpy or peeling right off.

  He made his way through the sea of hogs to the front door. There, he heard the refrain from Witchy Woman floating from the jukebox out to the parking lot. Witchy woman indeed, he thought. The heavy wooden door groaned on its hinges when he pulled it open. He immediately spotted several familiar faces and the tightness eased from his chest.

  The best thing about Liquid Cooled was how it was off the beaten path. Ninety-five percent of its clientele were true bikers—men and women alike. Most rode every day and would die with their hands on the bars or gravel in their back. Some had become too arthritic to ride, so instead they sat around and talked about the good ol’ days when they could, the places they visited, the accidents they’d been in and how they lived to tell about it. The last five percent were usually women who simply loved bikers.

  In the dim lighting, worn, black vinyl stools lined the bar. Cole took the empty stool at the end and ordered a beer. The leather-faced man next to him was arguing with the guy on his other side about whether Harley changed their engines to 700cc in ’76 or ’77.

  “Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch!”

  Cole grinned and slowly turned around to face a three-hundred pound, bald hunk of flesh sporting a salt-and-pepper beard down to his chest and a three-inch scar gracing his right cheek down to his neck, disappearing under his T-shirt.

  “How the hell are you, Cole?”

  “I’m doing all right, Smash.”

  “Where have you been? We were just talking about you the other day, weren’t we, Stitch?” Smash called. An old guy sitting at a table across the room looked up, grinned, and joined them.

  “Well, well, there’s that pretty little bastard!” Stitch was about five-foot-seven, but he was pushing eighty, so they all let him think he was seven feet tall if he wanted to.

  “How the hell are you, Stitch?”

  “I ain’t doin’ worth a shit,” he said, his standard reply.

  “Hmm...” Cole took a long swallow of his beer. He stared at it even as he felt the other men’s gazes on him.

  “What you been up to?” Smash gripped Cole’s shoulder in a death grip, then slapped him on the back so hard he almost spit out his beer.

  “Up to no good,” Cole drawled out. “Would you have it any other way?”

  “Nah, but maybe you can be up to no good with us some time. How about the Ride Home?”

  Cole had no idea what he was talking about, and apparently his cluelessness showed on his face, because Smash pulled another guy in as he passed. “Viper, tell this pretty boy about the Ride Home.”

  Viper realized the “pretty boy” was Cole and perked up. “Hey! What’s up, man?”

  “Same old,” Cole muttered. “What’s this ride home Smash is babbling about?”

  “It’s a cross country trek from Glendale to Milwaukee,” Viper said. “I did it back in ’08. It was a hell of a time.”

  “Sounds like it,” Cole said. “When is this happening?”

  “We leave in a couple of months. You have to go with us, man. We stop and see all the major attractions along the way, plus all the Harley dealerships, too. Party every night. But mostly we just ride. It’s indescribable,” Viper said, getting a glazed look in his eye.

  “Why’s it called the Ride Home?”

  “We end up in Milwaukee right where the first Harley was created. It’s a pilgrimage, my friend, started back in ’08 for their 105th birthday, but now we just do it every year, because we can.”

  “Sounds great,” Cole said, thinking it honestly did. Too bad he couldn’t join them. “But I can’t g
o.”

  “Why the hell not?” Smash asked, leaning into him “You got an old lady we don’t know about, pulling the strings? Is that why we ain’t seen you around here for so long?”

  Cole thought about Jill, then instantly slammed the door shut on the image of her in his mind. He wasn’t even supposed to be thinking they would have more than that one night. Now someone mentions an old lady, and she’s the first one his mind goes to? “No, but I do have the new office to get set up in San Fran as soon as possible.”

  Smash flapped his thumb and fingers together. “Yack, yack, yack. We all got jobs and shit to do, man. You can’t just work all the damned time.”

  Suddenly, Cole remembered what Luke had said about having fun, taking time off, getting back to himself. He’d always wanted to travel more. His mother had encouraged him to do so while he was still young enough to enjoy it. Although he’d snuck in numerous adventures over the years, he’d never felt comfortable being gone for long, and he’d never done such a long trip on his bike. He had to admit, a road trip with the guys sounded better and better the more he thought about it. Maybe taking a break between selling his mom’s house and opening the business in San Fran might just be what he needed. Could clear his head. Get those images of Jill’s naked and writhing body out of his mind.

  “You’re right, Smash. Tell you what, I’ll give it some serious thought and call you next week.”

  “Fair enough,” the big biker said. “Now buy me a god-damned drink, will ya?”

  He ordered up two more beers, and they shared them while the jukebox played two more songs. After a while, Smash asked, “So how are things going since you lost your ma?”

  Cole finished off his second beer. He could laugh and joke with Smash all day, or talk about riding Harleys, but talking about something as serious as his mom and getting her things in order was a little different. He shook his head when the bartender asked if he wanted another beer. “Just water,” he said then turned back to Smash. “I’m doing okay most of the time. But other times…”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet. It’s been a while since I lost mine, but I remember her like it was yesterday. I buried the old man a few years back too.”

  “Your old man was a good guy.”

  “Yes, he was. He was the shit!” Smash pounded the counter and chuckled. “Your mom, on the other hand…she was the real deal. One of those charming ladies like you see in the movies but never really meet in real life. The kind you hope to marry and have kids with. I remember she made a mean oatmeal cookie, too.”

  Smash was the second person to bring up those cookies in as many days. His mom had loved baking all his friends, but particularly Smash and Viper. “They’re just like little kids,” she had said with a laugh. “Riding their bikes and eating cookies.”

  “She made the best,” Smash said. “I miss her.”

  “You and me both, buddy. You and me both.”

  Cole continued to talk with Smash and drank enough water so that riding his bike wouldn’t be a problem. When it was time to go, he made the rounds, saying goodbye to his friends. They all mentioned the Ride Home again before he took off, and he promised at least five other bikers that he’d think about it.

  Smash and a few other guys, including Smash, were leaving at the same time. “Hey, Cole,” Smash said. “You still have that old helmet you said I could have for my kid?”

  A few years ago, Cole had found an old hot rod helmet at a garage sale. It was black and red with bright gold and copper flames, easily the coolest brain bucket he’d ever seen, so he bought it and hung it on a nail in his mother’s garage. It’d been there ever since. Smash’s kid collected vintage riding gear, so when he found out, Cole had offered it to him. He’d forgotten all about it. “Yep, it’s at my mother’s house. You guys want to just follow me over on your way home? I can grab it for you.”

  Smash looked at the others, and they all shrugged and nodded in agreement. Outside the bar, the afternoon sun blazing down, they mounted their bikes and followed Cole single-file all the way back to Mom’s house. Cole was happy for the diversion. There was more packing in his immediate future, but at least he’d have his buddies to distract him for a while longer.

  When he pulled up, he parked at the curb in front of Jill’s house. Jill and Stanley were doing sidewalk art again inside the house’s picket fence enclosure. Jill glanced up at him and the other bikers, then quickly looked away.

  Guilt at how he’d hurt her last night once again swept through him. He paused on the sidewalk to talk to her.

  Stanley immediately stood, a huge smile on his face. Cole couldn’t resist smiling back.

  “Hi, mister,” Stanley said.

  “Hey, kid. Whatcha making there?” Stanley had been drawing something on the driveway with a stick of blue chalk that looked like a cross between a bicycle and an alien baby.

  “A motorcycle,” Stanley said, proud of his work.

  “Cool. It looks like mine. Who’s that big guy standing next to it?” Next to the motorcycle Stanley had drawn a giant stick figure that might have been the alien baby’s father. He’d put circles around the upper arms to make them seem more muscular.

  Stanley grinned. “It’s me.”

  “You?” Cole laughed. “You need to eat a bit more spinach there, buddy.”

  Stanley smiled sheepishly. “It’s me when I grow up.”

  “Ah! Gotcha,” Cole said. He turned to Jill. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” she said, not meeting his gaze.

  Cole sighed. Yup, she was still pissed. He should probably come back to talk to her when Stanley wasn’t there.

  “See you later,” he said.

  “Bye,” Stanley cried. Jill didn’t respond.

  Cole walked up to join Smash and the other guys. Smash was staring at Jill, his eyes twinkling. “Pretty lady.”

  “She is,” Cole agreed.

  The door to Jill’s house opened and the blond girl he’d seen yesterday—Jill had called her a teacher’s aide—came out. She called Stanley, who took one last look at Cole before running inside. “You guys want to come in?” he asked Smash.

  Smash shook his head. “Thanks, but we’ll let you get back to things. Catch up later.”

  Cole nodded. “Be right back.” He went to the garage to retrieve the helmet for Smash. When he returned, Cole’s friends were standing on one side of Jill’s picket fence while she stood on the other. They all watched as Jill’s pretty aide walked to the street corner and began talking to a punky-looking guy in baggy low-slung jeans and a black baseball cap. The girl looked stiff at first but she quickly relaxed when the boy gave her a hug. Then she waved at Jill and she and the boy got into a beat up pick up truck and drove off.

  Smash looked up and saw him. “Hey, Cole. We were just introducing ourselves to Jill.”

  Cole slowly crossed the yard to join them. He got there just in time to hear a guy named Juicy call her “ma’am.”

  Jill laughed softly, sending a shiver through Cole. “Oh, no way am I a ‘ma’am’ already. But yes, that’s Monica’s boyfriend. They were heading on a vacation today but they got into a fight. She was upset and asked to come by, but he called. I guess they made up.” Jill shrugged. “I don’t particularly like him, but she obviously sees something in him I don’t.”

  Jill still didn’t look at Cole. The smile she gave the other men was dazzling, however. “I’m so pleased to meet you all. It’s a nice day for a ride, isn’t it?”

  “Beautiful, ma’…uh, Jill,” Smash said, looking up. “Beautiful day. Do you ride?”

  “No. I mean, I’ve been on a Harley…once.” She looked quickly at Cole before glancing away again.

  “You should try it again,” Rod told her.

  “Maybe I will,” she said with an indulgent smile. “Well, have a great day. Liz and the kids are waiting for me.” With a wave, she walked back into her house.

  Smash glanced at Cole. “Pretty and sweet. The real deal.”

  Cole couldn’t help but
smile. “She and my mom got along well.”

  Smash raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Your mom was a good judge of character. She loved me, after all.”

  Cole laughed and handed Smash the helmet for his son. He bullshitted with the guys for several more minutes before they got on their bikes to leave. They’d just pulled out when Jill came back outside and started gathering toys and art supplies.

  Taking a deep breath, Cole crossed the yard once again, calling out just as she turned back to her front door. “Jill, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  She hesitated and looked over her shoulder at him. Her expression was wistful but she shook her head. “I think you already said enough,” she said quietly. “Have a good day, Cole.” She stepped inside and softly closed the door behind her.

  * * *

  Jill knew Stanley was still thinking about Cole from the way the boy kept looking out the window toward Cole’s house. Jill understood perfectly. She had spent the day trying to stop herself from doing the same thing.

  The biker next door was like the sun, a magnetic force that attracted her and made her want to stay in his orbit. A sun who sometimes said rude things as if it were a newborn, immature star. But despite that, he still drew her in. She knew, if she circled too closely, if she stayed too long, she would burn up and disintegrate. That was easy enough to remember when she was angry with him for saying asinine things. But since he’d apologized multiple times now, it was getting more difficult to fight her attraction. Because of that, she’d tried so hard to hold on to her anger from last night; it had been almost impossible given the way he’d asked Stanley about his drawing, smiled at the boy and given him compliments.

  For a moment, she’d felt her heart swell. Cole’s warmth had swept through her, pulling her dangerously close to the sun once again. She had forced herself to pull back and reject his apology. If she didn’t let herself fall victim to his magnetic pull, she wouldn’t be devastated when he decided to insult her again. Or when he left, for that matter. Because he was leaving. She had to remember that. And that’s why she had to act, not with emotion and desire, but with the cool logic that told her to stay away. Simply put—it was in everyone’s best interest.