The 7: Pride

by Scott Hildreth

  As far as compliments went, it wasn’t much. It was enough, however, to make me blush a little. I gnawed on my burrito and hoped he didn’t notice that my face had gone flush.

  Due to the limited amount of space on his motorcycle, I’d brought only the necessities with me, and left the rest. One thing I couldn’t bring, however, was much money.

  Fisher didn’t seem to care. He paid for everything, and didn’t ask for anything in return. Furthermore, he didn’t ask what I was running from, or what my long-term plan was. He seemed to be an in the moment kind of guy.

  The more time I spent with him, the less I could imagine leaving. It seemed out of character for me, but I was becoming attached to him after knowing him for only two days. Despite what he did to the three men in the bar, he was calm, quiet, and courteous.

  He bit the corner off his burrito and then leaned against the handlebars of the motorcycle. “So, you still planning on going all the way?”

  I wanted to go all the way with him, but that wasn’t what he meant. “To the beach?” I asked.

  “The coast.”

  “There’s a beach on the coast, right?”

  “Last time I checked.”

  I’d never been to the beach, and the thought of doing so was enough to justify me staying with Fisher at least until we got there.

  “I can’t wait,” I said. “I’ve never seen it. So, as long as you don’t get sick of me, yeah.”

  “You’re pretty good company. Doubt I’ll get sick of you.”

  I studied him. His face was covered in a few day’s growth of stubble. It only added to his masculine appearance. The tattoos scattered about his upper arms completed his bad boy persona. As he pushed his left hand into the pocket of his jeans, the muscles in his upper arm flared.

  “Let’s hope not.” My eyes lingered on his bicep. “I’m getting kind of used to having you around.”

  He poked the end of his burrito into his mouth and then patted me on the shoulder. “Saddle up. We’ll finish this conversation in Mesa.”

  He talked very little, but his actions spoke more than words ever could, or would. Sexually, he was far more reserved than the men I’d been with in the past. If anything was going to happen between us, it was obvious I was going to have to be the aggressor. I had no idea how much longer I could wait, but when the day came, Fisher Know was going to get the ride of his life.

  All I could do was hope that he liked it as much as I liked thinking about it.

  FOUR

  Fisher

  Her hands rested loosely in my lap. She was comfortable on the back of the bike, which was more than I could say for those who had ridden on my motorcycles in the past. It seemed to me that women either got on a motorcycle to satisfy an urge to go against their father’s wishes, or because they truly enjoyed it as much as the man who was riding it.

  I believed Anna to be the latter.

  She didn’t fidget in her seat or thrash about while we were riding. She simply relaxed on the long straight runs, and leaned with me as I rode through the curves. It was as if she was an extension of me. A surprise while riding a motorcycle is rarely a good thing, and her predictability was appreciated.

  I slowed behind a truck as traffic maneuvered around an SUV that was coming to a stop. “Mesa’s half an hour out,” I said over my shoulder.

  Her chest pressed against my back. “Okay.”

  “We’ll be there long before dark,” I said. “Figured after we got to the hotel we could ride out to the desert and watch the sunset.”

  “That’d be nice.”

  “Ever watched the sun set in the desert?”

  “Nope.”

  “I’m not sure why, but it looks different. Better. More colorful. You’ll see.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  The truck inched forward. After passing the SUV that was pulling off the shoulder of the road, I twisted the throttle back and passed the long line of vehicles that had become all but stationary.

  I cocked my head to the side. “I’m not much on sitting still,” I shouted.

  “You have ten years of making up to do,” she responded. “Sitting still is wasting time.”

  I didn’t have any making up to do, I only needed to resolve one thing that had been lingering in the back of my mind for the last seven years. My pride wouldn’t allow me to simply walk away from it.

  As soon as I resolved matters, I could go on with living my life.

  “All I’ve got to do is make it to the coast,” I said. “After that, my life will be golden.”

  “Will we get there tomorrow?” she asked.

  “Easily,” I said.

  She leaned against her backrest. “I can’t wait.”

  I couldn’t either. I accelerated up to the speed limit, and held the throttle firm. Now out in front of all the traffic, it seemed I had the road to myself. Nothing but pavement and desert was in front of me.

  Behind me, memories of my past, and a stinging reminder that there were seven years of my life that would never be returned.

  All I needed to do was get to the coast.

  We made it to Mesa in twenty minutes and checked into a hotel. After showering and changing clothes, we took sub sandwiches and a six pack of beer to the most remote spot we could find.

  We parked the bike and then hiked through the remote section of desert toward a large flat rock that gave an unobstructed view to the west.

  I lowered my backpack from my shoulders and glanced around the desolate countryside. “Looks like a good spot.”

  Anna sat on the edge of the rock and gazed off in the distance. “It seems like we’re out in the middle of nowhere.”

  I gestured toward the mountainous horizon and chuckled. “We are.”

  “No. I mean, like, nowhere. There’s not a house, a sign of life, or any cars driving past. There’s nothing.” She looked to her left and then to the right. “It’s so peaceful.”

  I sat down beside her and stared blankly toward where the cloudless sky met a series of rock formations in the distance. The contrast of red earth against the pale blue sky was remarkable. “This is what life’s all about. It’s the exact opposite of how I’ve been living for the last seven years.”

  “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

  “No need to dwell on it.” I handed her one of the sandwiches. “We’ve got a sunset to watch.”

  She unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. “It’s hard to believe that you’re the same guy that saved me from those drunken hillbillies.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You were all business when you walked into the bar,” she said. “You beat the crap out of all of those guys and then took the gun from the bartender like it was nothing. Now? Now you’re all calm and serene. It’s not what I would have expected.”

  “Contrary to what a pacifist might claim, there’s a time and a place for violence. There always will be.” I gestured toward the thousands of acres that surrounded us. “I prefer this, but life doesn’t always offer us these moments. I take them when I can get them.”

  “I think I like that about you.”

  I gave her a look. “What’s that?”

  “The fact that you can transition from what I saw in the bar to this. I’ve been around violent men, and I’ve never known one to have a side like this.”

  “I’m not a violent man. I’m a man who isn’t opposed to resorting to violence when it’s necessary.”

  “But only when it’s necessary?” she asked.

  I raised my half-eaten sandwich. “Correct.”

  “You’ve never hit a woman, have you?”

  I choked on my food, almost spitting it out in the process. The thought of a man laying a hand on a woman filled me with anger, and her questioning of me caused me to become defensive.

  “Me?” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and then met her gaze. “A woman? Not no, but hell no.”

  She smiled ever so slightly. “That’s good to know.”

>   “It’s a man’s job to cherish a woman. To protect her from harm, not cast it upon her.”

  “I was in a relationship with a guy who was pretty crappy. He hit me a few times.”

  Based on her attempt to drive across Texas in a car that was clearly incapable of making the trip – and that it was filled with her belongings – I’d guessed that she was running from something. I figured she’d tell me about it when she was ready. Now that she was, I needed to be attentive to her desire to discuss it.

  “I’m sorry that happened to you. As long as you’re here with me, you’ll never have to worry about it happening again, I can promise you that.”

  She patted her hand against the portion of rock that was between us and grinned. “Here on this rock?”

  “No. Anywhere. If you’re with me, no one will hurt you. Ever.”

  “You can’t make promises like that. If he wanted to find me, he could, and he would. He’s too lazy, though, so it’ll never happen.”

  “You might send him a text message, or whatever, and tell him it’s in his best interest not to try and find you. If he’s ever in my presence, he’ll get the ass whipping of a lifetime for what he did to you.”

  She gave me an innocent look. “For hitting me?”

  “That is correct.”

  With her sandwich in hand, she leaned toward me. I expected she was going to whisper something in my ear, but she didn’t.

  She kissed me. On the cheek. It was simple and quick, but it was heartfelt.

  As she pulled away, her eyes locked with mine. “Thank you,” she said softly.

  I swallowed hard and then gave a sharp nod.

  Everything that followed was dwarfed by that kiss. In the future, when I recalled the night we drove out to the desert to watch the sunset, my memories never included anything but that kiss, that much I was sure of.

  FIVE

  Anna

  Fisher Knox was different. Soft spoken and satisfied with life’s simplest offerings, he was an anomaly. From the time he woke up until the moment he went to sleep, he was the polar opposite of my former boyfriend, Josh.

  He spoke very little. When he did, it was typically confirming something I’d said or had asked. That is correct was a phrase I’d become accustomed to hearing. I wondered if his simplistic manner of being was a result of the time he’d spent in prison, and further wondered if he’d become more outspoken as time passed.

  My full bladder awoke me from a sound night’s sleep. I glanced around the hotel room, surprised that the sun was already up. Beside me, Fisher was motionless, still deep in sleep. As much as I needed to relieve myself, I didn’t want to move for fear of waking him.

  For as long as I was able, I remained motionless, admiring his muscular physique and handsome looks. I wondered what experiences he had during the war, and how they might have changed him.

  Regardless, I liked the man who was with me.

  My pounding bladder eventually forced me to get up. With reluctance, I lifted my head form the pillow, hoping to slide from the bed unnoticed. Curiosity caused me to peer beneath the blankets, hoping to catch a glimpse of just what Fisher Knox had stuffed inside his cut-off sweat shorts.

  A glimpse of his left arm and the waist band of his shorts were all that was visible. I lifted the blankets a little higher. Then, a little more. And then…

  Holy shit.

  I pulled the blanket against my chest. With my heart thrashing against my ribs and my mind wallowing in the sexual gutter, I stared at the ceiling, feigning innocence.

  Based on his confidence and his Marine Corps swagger, I was convinced that he was well-endowed. The massive bulge in his shorts confirmed my suspicions. He was hung like a horse. After taking a moment to collect my thoughts, I faked a yawn, lifting the blankets as I stretched.

  I stole another glance of his magnificent cock, and then slid off the side of the bed without so much as a shred of grace. When I landed to the floor, he stirred.

  “Sorry,” I said as I rose to my feet. “I had to pee.”

  He sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and looked at me. “I needed to get up anyway.” He looked around the room. “It’s late.”

  I walked backward toward the bathroom, keeping my eyes fixed on him in the process. “Late for you, maybe. It was nice to sleep in.”

  He lifted a handful of his hair and looked at it. “Are you any good at cutting hair?”

  I paused at the bathroom door. “What do you mean?”

  “Can you cut my hair? You know, make it look good? Girls can do that kind of stuff, right?”

  “Girls can’t, no. But, I can. You’re lucky. I learned to cut hair when I was young, I had to.”

  The thought of cutting his hair was exciting. I liked it long, but it needed something.

  “Let me pee,” I said, trying to mask my excitement. “Then, I’d love to.”

  He stared at the ends of hair that sprouted from his fist. “Go pee.”

  As mysteriously as my menstrual cycle had arrived, it had also vanished, leaving me horny as hell in its wake. Initially, I found the thought of cutting Fisher’s hair intimate. In the time it took me to pee, that intimate thought became sexual.

  Fisher Knox had a cock like a porn star, and I wanted it. I imagined riding it cowgirl style, sinking my fingers into the flesh of his broad chest while I bucked my hips wildly against the girth of his massive shaft.

  I came out of the bathroom horny, embarrassed, and feeling guilty for stealing a glimpse of his manhood. My level of sexual frustration multiplied the instant I opened the door.

  Fisher stood directly in front of me with a shallow smile on his face. His hands were filled with clothes and toiletries, and hung directly in front of his waist, obscuring any more views of his massive bulge.

  “Uhhm. Excuse me,” I stammered, raising my gaze from his waist to his eyes.

  “I’m going to hop in the shower.”

  “It’d be best to cut your hair wet, anyway,” I said as I brushed past him. “We can cut it after you get done. How short are you thinking?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll let you decide.”

  I turned around and gestured toward the clothes he held. “Don’t bother getting dressed. Maybe just wear a towel until we’re done. It’s going to make a mess.”

  “Okay.”

  A mental fist pump followed his agreement to get his hair cut while wearing a towel.

  Yes!

  “Okay,” I said, my tone indifferent. “Well, I’ll just be out here watching TV.”

  “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  I felt the need to remind him of his commitment to me. “You’ll probably need to rinse off after we’re done. I wouldn’t bother with, you know, putting anything on but the towel. Not until after you’ve rinsed off.”

  He shrugged and then stepped into the bathroom. “Okay.”

  Yes!

  I spent the next five minutes mentally undressing him. Although we’d slept together for the last three nights, I had yet to see him without a shirt on. The wife beaters that he typically wore left very little to the imagination, but I still yearned to see him naked.

  At least from the waist up.

  After some consideration, I removed my bra, and put it in my bag. A haircut without a bra would be nice for us both. Hopefully, he’d notice the difference.

  He emerged from the bathroom wearing a towel around his waist, and a white tee shirt covering his torso. Upon seeing him, disappointment washed over me.

  “You’ll probably want to ditch that shirt,” I said. “You’ll have hair all over it if you don’t.”

  He gave me a look. “I don’t want to sit around while you cut my hair without a shirt on. It’d be rude.”

  “It won’t bother me. You know. Considering the circumstances.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I waited anxiously, but he simply walked past me and began to dig through his bag.

  “Seriously,” I sai
d, hoping not to sound desperate. “Take it off.”

  He stood, scissors in hand, and turned around. “Alright.”

  I bit into my bottom lip and waited impatiently. He lifted his shirt over his head with one hand, and tossed it on the foot of the bed.

  Oh. My. God.

  He was an anomaly.

  I tried not to stare, but doubted I succeeded. At least not wholly.

  In addition to having a cock that commanded applause, he was built like a brick shithouse. His muscles had muscles.

  With my eyes fixed on where his tanned flesh disappeared beneath the towel, I swallowed hard and then tried to speak.

  I pointed at the chair positioned in front of the well-worn desk. “Have a…have a seat.”

  He sauntered toward the chair and sat down.

  I studied the shape of his back as I walked up behind him. His muscular build didn’t come from time in prison, or from military training. Nor was it a result of God gracing him with a certain gene.

  It came from a lifetime of discipline.

  He raised the scissors over his shoulder and handed them to me blindly. With a shaking hand, I took them from his grasp, wondering the entire time if there was any way I’d be able to cut his hair without melting into a puddle at his feet.

  “What were you, uhhm. What were you thinking?” I murmured.

  “Cut it off.”

  “How short?”

  “Off.”

  It was well taken care of, and in better condition than most women’s hair. Cutting it off seemed like such a drastic move.

  “Like, to your shoulders?” I asked.

  “No. Go ahead and cut it off. I’d like to look presentable this afternoon.”

  “Why?”

  “When we get to the coast, I don’t want to look like a bum.”

  “You don’t look like a bum.”

  “Thank you. But, cut it off, anyway. Short on the sides and back. Leave some length on top.”

  “Oh wow. You’re serious.”

  “That is correct.”

  I mentally rolled my eyes at his response. “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  I let out a breath. “Okay.”

  I cut and snipped with precision, rubbing my breasts against Fisher’s bare back every chance I got. I pressed them hard against his shoulders and brushed them lightly against his face, hoping to get a rise out of his towel. My efforts produced nothing noticeable.