by Devyn Dawson
HEY BEAUIFUL, I’M READY ANY TIME YOU ARE. I HOPE EVERYTHING IS OKAY. STILL PINING 5:22 pm
HEY RIGHT BACK AT YA. WE SHOULD REMEDY YOUR PINING. 5:22 pm
YOU ARE MY REMEDY. 5:23 pm
I’M FINISHED HERE IF YOU WANT TO COME GET ME. 5:23 pm
I’LL BE THERE IN FIVE. I’LL MEET YOU AT THE FRONT ENTRANCE. BE STILL MY RAPIDLY BEATING HEART. 5:24 pm
TATE, I’LL TAKE SOME EXTRA CHEDDAR. 5:25 pm
CHEESE PLEASE 5:25 pm
DON’T TEXT AND RIDE 5:25 pm
IMPOSSIBLE ON A MOTORCYCLE. SEE YOU IN FIVE 5:26 pm
***
Chapter Eight. Storms
My tummy flurries at the thought of seeing him. Something so simple like a text message has changed my mood to excitement. I gather up my napkin and toss it out as I walk to the entrance. A woman in a wheelchair is in the foyer with her new baby in her arms. A nurse is standing next to her with a cart full of flowers and balloons. I watch from the teak bench I decided to sit on, as the new father cradles his newborn in his arms. The nurse and him together were making sure everything was nice and tight to keep the baby secure. He takes the plants and fills up the front seat with them. As he takes his wife’s hand into his, they pass a look to one another. That look of love. They are most indubitably in love. My heart swells with compassion and hope as I watch them drive away. She sat in the backseat with her newborn child and he pulled away no faster than a tortoise. They are the epitome of the perfect family. I imagine them sitting by the fireplace on Christmas Eve. He gives her a little box with a beautiful piece of jewelry and they drink hot cocoa as he reads Twas the Night Before Christmas out loud to his little baby darling. I want every single part of that fairytale.
A black motorcycle pulls up and my stomach flips all the way over as he gets off the bike. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans and a black fitted t-shirt. From head to his boot clad feet screams bad ass. He pulls off his black riding gloves and comes over to me, without any warning, he wraps his arms around me and kisses me in the entrance to the hospital. The automatic doors behind us open and close twice before we were done. Young, dumb, and madly in-like with a motorcycle riding military guy.
“Pining doesn’t even begin to describe my feelings when I’m away from you,” Tate whispers seductively in my ear.
His whisper gives me the shivers, quivers and downright panty dropping thoughts. “Mmm, I can tell.”
“Have you been on a bike before?”
“I have.”
He smiles at me and goes over to a leather thing on the side of his bike. He pulls out a black half helmet and a pair of motorcycle glasses. They’re not goggles, but they’re definitely not something I’d wear walking through the mall. Together, we put the helmet on my head and he tightened the straps up under my chin.
“Is there any room for me to put my purse in your leather basket?” I ask and hold up my small purse.
“The leather basket is called saddle bags. Yes, I have room.” He holds his hand out to me and takes my purse. “You carrying a defense brick in here or something?”
“Oh ha ha. No, just a wallet and some girlie stuff.”
“Girlie stuff? That’s scarier than a brick,” he says and climbs onto his bike.
I swung my leg over and shimmied up behind him. I put my hands on his sides, barely touching him. He grabs my hands and wraps them all the way around him. I interlace my fingers and lean into him. My front pressed against his back makes me keenly aware of how there’s only a thin layer of cloth between us. When my jean clad legs rub up against his, he takes a hand and rubs my knee. That one little act of flirting sends my receptors into overdrive. Now all I can think about is how to make him do it again. Then I think about him keeping both of his hands on the handlebars. We drive past Midwest City and head toward the country. Periodically a gargantuan bug would commit suicide on my leg or against my helmet. Now I understand what they mean about bugs in the teeth. My cheeks feel funny when I move my head out from behind Tate and take the wind face first. It reminds me of the hand dryer at the mall, it will dry your hands in five seconds. Whoever invented it must ride a motorcycle. For a minute I try to visualize what Tate’s face looks like, with the wind contorting it out of place. Within seconds I’m laughing at my visual image. He pats my hand in a way to ask if I’m okay. He must feel me chuckling against his back.
We pull into an old fashioned gas station, the kind without a place to insert your debit card. He goes in to pay and comes out with two bottles of water. I feel silly standing next to the motorcycle with my helmet on. I’m not sure why I find it silly, but I do.
“Were you laughing back there?” Tate asks, his voice startles me out of my thoughts.
“Yeah, could you feel it?” I barely say the words and I realize that I’ve left myself open for an embarrassing moment.
“Hon, I was very aware of your movements. I was hoping you were laughing and not crying.”
Hon? He called me hon. “No, I was thinking about the wind in our faces. Too much alone time in my head can lead to crazy thoughts. Not crazy like my dad kind of cray cray, more like too much idle time.”
“I do the same thing. I forgot to give you a job before we got on the bike. When we pass another biker going the other direction, we hold our left hand out in a too cool to wave but we’ll let our hand float in the wind kind of wave.”
“Oh yeah, I saw you do that a couple of times, I just thought you knew a lot of bikers. They aren’t your friends?”
“No, just a way of being friendly. Every once in a while you’ll hear a bell go off under my bike. Whenever I hit a bump in the road the bell will ring to keep the road demons away,” Tate says in his serious voice.
“Road demons? There are demons on the road and a bell scares it away? Okay, so my flavor of cray cray isn’t too far away from the Kool Aid you’re drinking.”
“They’re a superstition that some bell maker invented I’m sure. A biker never buys one for themselves, it has to be a gift. My mom bought me my first one.” He finishes up with the gas pump and puts his gas cap back on. I climb on behind him and he pats my leg and leans back into me. “Hang on.”
I wrap my arms around him and he starts up the bike. For the next twenty minutes I get lost in the ever-changing scenery and the feel of his abs under my hands. Every once in a while, he rubs my leg or gives my knee a squeeze. We pull into a long driveway, set back behind tall evergreen trees is a ranch style house. It is newer, maybe ten years old. I’m not a good judge about things like that, considering I live in a shack that cave people built. We drive the bike all the way up to the house, passing a couple of cars parked in the drive. Voices from the backyard yell out Tate’s name. They must have heard the bike as we pulled up.
The big wooden gate opens with a loud squeal. There’s only four people on the deck that Tate and Don built.
I’m introduced to a stocky Hispanic guy, his name is Marcus and his girlfriend June, but ironically she was born in October. She’s fiery redhead with a big personality, that’s the only thing big on her. Don is ruggedly handsome, he reminds me of the vampire named Eric on True Blood. It was Andy’s favorite TV show and my least favorite. I happen to like a sparkly vampire. Tracy is a petite brunette with a larger than average sized nose and long straight auburn hair. Don and Marcus have apparently had a few beers throughout the afternoon by the way they high-fived every couple of minutes. Another fun thing they enjoyed doing was screaming out, Thunder Up! Obviously they’re all basketball fans. The Oklahoma City Thunder is a NBA basketball team that has a point to prove and are doing it with their star ball player.
“Hey, Holland, June and I were about to frost cupcakes, would you like to help?” Linda asks.
The three of us gather around the large kitchen island. Tracy has prepared frosting bags filled with colored frosting and fancy metal tips. She gives us a crash course on how to frost like bakers do. It occurs to me fairly quick that I’m not very good at decorating a cupcake. June isn’t
much better than me, her cupcakes look like a six year old attacked them. Mine look more like a kindergartener decorated them.
Tracy asks if I want a sangria and after seeing all the fruit bouncing around in the pitcher, I couldn’t resist having a glass. From the very first sip, I’m convinced I’ve died and gone to heaven. Why haven’t I had these before? Andy was well versed in the all frills girly drinks. She never said anything about sangrias.
Tate comes inside and I step up and kiss him, my sangria-covered lips are a little sticky but he doesn’t seem to mind.
He smiles at me and takes a sip of my drink. Okay, so I didn’t announce I’m under twenty-one, but one glass of heaven isn’t going to kill me. His hand goes to the back of my neck and he pulls me up close to where I’ll be the only one to hear what he whispers to me. “You’re a bad girl, and I like it.”
“Do you have any flaws?” I waggle my eyebrows up and down at him.
“Too many to count,” He says out loud.
“What’s too many to count?” Tracy asks as she puts the final touch to her bakery perfect cupcakes.
Tate glances at Tracy before answering. “She’s wondering if I have flaws.”
Tracy had just taken a sip of her drink and she almost spit it out all over the cupcakes. “Honey, he has some serious flaws, the kind that will make you crazy if you let them.”
What the hell?
“Holland, I’m kidding. Tate’s a good guy, he’s not flawless for sure.” She squeezes some frosting on her finger and sticks it in her mouth. “You’ll figure them out once he’s off good behavior.”
Tate puts his hand over his chest like she shot him. “I thought we were friends,” he teases. “Are these for eating or do I have to wait?”
“Have at it,” Tracy says. She has a hint of an accent, I think Tate told me she’s from Michigan.
Tate takes one of the cupcakes in front of me. “Very festive,” he flashes me his crooked grin.
“Isn’t it?” My insides go mushy as he takes a bite of his cupcake.
“You want a bite?” He holds it up close to my lips.
I shake my head no.
“Are you sure?” He inches a little closer to me.
“I’m sure.”
Without warning, he swiped a finger full of frosting and puts it on my nose. I scream like a girl, I guess because I am a girl. I run out of the house and go leaping off the deck as Tate chases me with the cupcake. I’m laughing so hard I don’t realize how close he is.
“No! DON’T PUT IT IN MY HAIR! STOP CHASING ME!” I scream out breathlessly.
His arms go around my waist and we fall to the ground laughing. He has me on my back and he looks down as he hovers over me.
“You’re cute,” He says.
“So are you. Where’s the cupcake?” I’m suspicious of him as he looks at me innocently.
“It’s in the house. You ran out like crazy so I figured I’d go with it and see where we end up. Lucky for me, you ended up on your back and in my arms.” He kisses the tip of my nose.
“Oh you’re going to get it!” I lick my lips trying to make sure I don’t have any frosting on me. “I embarrassed myself in front of everyone because you faked me out? You wait!”
His arms tighten around me and he somehow flips to his back and I’m on top of him. “Why, are you going to punish me? I already told you that you can paddle me.” His laugh is contagious and soon we’re both laughing. After a minute, we stop laughing, as though someone hit the pause button, now we’re just watching each other. I’m straddling his abdomen, it felt safer than sitting across his pelvis. Tate’s hand goes up and tugs on my shirt, pulling me down to him. In my mind, the world has stopped spinning on its axis, and started revolving around us. My hair cascades down, causing a curtain of hair to guard our soon to be epic kiss. It only lasts a moment, but I’m lightheaded as I come up from kissing him.
I look down and point my finger at him, “You might have distracted me for the moment, but you’re still going to pay.” I climb off of him and stand up. He does some crazed acrobatic move and lands on his feet. “You’re talented.”
“You have no idea,” He says as he kisses my cheek.
Yeah, that will lead to trouble.
Tate drapes his arm over my shoulder, not before picking a twig or two from my hair.
As we walk up to the house, everyone is laughing and Don is taking stuff off the grill.
“Hope you’re hungry,” Don says to us.
“Starving,” Tate admits. “Here, you want me to take those in and bring out another plate for the rest?” He reaches for the stack of burgers. “Man, these look good.”
I hold the door open as we walk into a room of laughing girls. There’s always this feeling in me that people are laughing at me, but I’ll never admit it to another soul. Everyone was cool and didn’t seem to have cared that I ran out of the house twenty minutes ago.
Through dinner, everyone tells me about Tate being shy until he gets to know a person. Apparently they were all impressed that he’s so open and free with me. As the girl who’s crushing on him, the words make me feel good about being with him.
The TV is on in the other room and the familiar beeping sounds that are followed by a storm warning comes on. Tracy goes over and turns up the weather so we could all hear the warning. Gary Stratus, the weatherman is talking about a front pushing through that’s bringing strong winds and heavy rain. I hadn’t seen the news in several days so I didn’t know the weather would get bad. The weatherman says the storm is going east towards Del City and Midwest City and to be prepared for lightening and about three inches of rain.
Tate and I exchange a knowing look.
“Tate, looks like you picked a great night for a bike ride. Why don’t you and Holland stay here tonight? They said it will be clear in the morning,” Tracy asks.
Spend the night as in sleep here? Oh good lord, how in bloody hell am I going to keep my promise to myself not to have sex with him? His body pressed next to mine in a bed. He wouldn’t wear jeans to bed. I bet he wears boxers. No, he could be a boxer-brief guy. What if he wears old fashioned tighty whitey’s? There’s so many scenarios running through my head.
“It’s up to you Holland,” Tate says.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a burden.”
“Girl, you’re not a burden at all. Tate stays out here most weekends. It’s nice seeing him with someone. He sits by the fire pit and plays that guitar like a lost puppy,” Tracy says.
Don clears his throat. “Don’t pay her any attention. We’d be happy to have you stay over. We knew when we moved out to the boonies, we’d have to have a place for our friends to crash.”
“Sure, that sounds good. My car should be fine where I left it, and I don’t need to rush home for anything. I guess that means I can have another sangria.”
Tate’s hand goes to my back and he rubs it up and down. “I can take you home in one of their cars if you want,” He whispers. “I’d rather have you in my arms during the storm though.”
Exactly! What if I don’t stop and we aren’t only in each other’s arms but we’re doing things a good reclaimed virgin shouldn’t be doing? “No, I’m good here. It sounds like the weather is going to be pretty bad, and it sucks being alone.”
Tracy has fresh glasses of sangria for us and beers for the guys. They’re drinking something one of the pilots brought Tate from Germany. He leans forward and tells me about the beer and how people are always bringing stuff back from other countries. He tells me how he doesn’t have the heart to tell the guy he doesn’t drink much beer, or much of anything.
The lightning flashes and thunder booms across the night sky. Every single time I hear it, I jump. Tate sits back on the oversized couch and pulls me back with him. With his arm over my shoulder I’m comforted knowing I’m not alone in that little house listening to the windows rattle.
“Holland, follow me,” Tracy says as she jumps up from the chair her and Don were sitting in to
gether.
I get up and follow her back to her room at the end of the hallway. It is decorated as though a fancy designer put it together. The wall behind her headboard is done in geographic red and white wall paper. It stands out against the large black furniture throughout the room. The bedding is white with giant red poppies across the puffy comforter.
“Your room is beautiful,” I gush.
“Thank you, my sister-in-law is an interior designer, she put it together.” She pulls open a neatly organized drawer and pulls out a pair of shorts and t-shirt. “You and I wear about the same size, here take these to sleep in,” she says as she hands them to me.
“Thank you, I appreciate it.”
She smiles up at me and I can tell her eyes are glassier than they were an hour ago. “You know he really likes you, don’t you?”
“How can you tell?” I say without thinking.
“Because he’s laughing and having fun. He’s not quiet and reserved. Tate may not have said anything to you, but he hasn’t had a girlfriend since he’s been stationed here. So do me a favor will ya, don’t mess with his head. If you’re in this for a good time and run, go ahead and run away now. I’d hate to have to hunt you down and beat your ass. I kind of like you, but I like him more.” She holds her hand out for me to shake, “Deal?”
Andy, did you just hear her? She just threatened me. “I wasn’t planning on it, but it’s a deal. So what happens if he runs out on me?”
“You’re kidding right? He said he invited you to meet his grandma! Guys don’t introduce girls to their grandma if they’re not serious. Tate’s good people. Earlier we talked about his flaws, well the one flaw he has, if you call it a flaw, is his fighting. I shouldn’t be telling you this but I will. He’s had a few run ins with the law back in Oregon. Our broody musician likes to fight. Or shall I say, he did like to fight. Oh don’t look at me like that! He doesn’t hit women! No, he had a temper on him. That’s why he doesn’t drink too much, he likes to stay in control. I’m telling you this so you don’t panic if you see him get pissed off. He’s like one of those Gremlins, don’t let him drink whiskey.”