by DD Prince
“Trust it. Maybe it doesn’t have to be so hard.”
If only.
Before I left, I went on to tell her about the part-time job I wanted to offer her at the salon doing reception as well as to help me with the upcoming weddings.
I’d offered Ella a job before, told her to go to beauty school and come cut hair, but it wasn’t her thing.
She’s smart, business-minded. She’d fit in perfectly at Mom’s bank or at Dad’s real estate office. But, she wouldn’t fit in with their stuffy attitudes.
She agreed to take the job with me, temporarily, as her hours were being cut at the taxi company she answered phones for, and I was glad to help her out with some hours for now, suspecting she wouldn’t be with me for long.
As I turned the key in my car, my mother looked through the front drapes. She shot eye daggers at me.
I looked at her with unguarded sadness. I didn’t normally let her see that from me. But this time, I did. And she startled, and her lips parted.
I pulled away and headed back home.
***
I was getting ready for Rider and heard a text alert.
I grabbed for my phone, which was plugged in, lying on my bedside table.
“Been thinkin’ about dirtying that duvet all day.”
I smiled and chewed my lip.
Me: “It’s spotlessly clean. It’s very ready to get dirty.”
Him: “Been thinking about your smile, your legs, that gorgeous hair, too.”
Me: “Me too. Your smile and your hair. Your eyes. Not sure I’ve had a chance to develop a thing for your legs yet, but I seriously dig your gear stick.”
I laughed at myself. How lame was that?
Him: “My gear stick? Funny babe. It’s now twitching, thinking about you too.”
Me: “See you soon. I look forward to you taking me for a ride… Rider.”
Him: “Not as much as I look forward to it. Not sure I can get away yet. But I’m tryin’.”
Me: “Lookin’ forward to getting dirty with you. That’s from my duvet. lol. I concur.”
Him “Can’t wait. Text you soon.”
Me: “Hurry.”
I was ready. Hair and makeup. Casual jeans with a sexy top and heels and hidden away for (hopefully) unwrapping later: ultra-sexy undies. I got my bedroom ready for what I hoped would be a great night. Duvet off. Seductive scented wax melting in a warmer for a half an hour and then shut off, letting the aroma linger but not be too in-his-face.
I got a text from Rider.
“Sorry, gorgeous. I can’t get away after all. Raincheck?”
Seriously?
“K”
He hadn’t promised. But, I guess I’d hoped.
I put the phone down, changed into a pair of sweats, and ate my feelings in the form of three bowls of Ben & Jerry’s in my room, avoiding the living room because Pippa and Joe were watching a movie, snuggled up like lovebirds.
5
It was Thursday morning and he was standing there with his glorious mane of hair loose and blowing in the wind, dressed in a denim jacket with his leather Dominion Brotherhood vest over it, faded jeans with those fawn cowboy boots. He was knocking on the glass door of my salon, holding two take-out cups of coffee in a tray in one hand, a paper bag hanging from his teeth, so he could knock.
I wasn’t due to open for ten minutes. I was at the reception desk. I unlocked the door and opened it.
He handed me the tray of coffees and transferred the bag from his mouth to his hand and his lips touched mine.
I licked my lips, meaning I licked both of our lips.
He made an Mm sound.
“Good morning,” I said softly.
“Mornin’, beautiful. Sorry about last night.”
“What happened?” I asked, trying to hide the hurt I was feeling.
“Found Scoot. He’d been attacked.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Attacked?”
He let out a big breath and leaned against the tall reception desk. Scoot was Scooter, a.k.a Scott, the blond scruffy dirty-pretty prospect.
“Yeah. It was bad.” His eyes held a darkness that chilled me.
“How bad?”
He shook his head, “He’ll live. Not gonna sugarcoat it; it was bad.” He opened the lid and sipped his coffee.
“Oh God. Is he in the hospital?”
“He’s home now. We were there with him a good part of the night.”
I winced. And then I noticed he had a scratch over his eye.
I touched it with my finger. “What happened?”
He shook his head. “No biggie. Cash my raincheck in tonight?” he asked, and he caressed my cheekbone with just the tips of his fingers and tucked my hair behind that ear.
I moistened my lips, feeling tingly.
His eyes moved to my mouth and then back to my eyes.
I gave a nod.
“Skeptical?” he asked.
“No.” I smiled. “I understand. I hope Scooter is gonna be okay.”
He clenched his jaw.
“Be careful, gorgeous. You see rabid dogs on leather you am-scray. Don’t even make eye contact with those fuckers. Prospects are supposed to be off limits. These guys have no scruples, whatsoever.”
I winced. I wanted to ask what happened, but I didn’t. I watched him, waiting to see if he’d offer further explanation. He didn’t.
“Gotta go. I’ll pick you up at nine. Pop that cherry. Go to the Roadhouse for a drink. See where the night takes us?”
I smiled. “Yeah.”
He kissed me again. This time his lips lingered.
I put my hands into his hair at the sides of his head and held on.
His body was plastered against mine and it felt good. It felt right.
Man, he was a good kisser. And he smelled amazing. Like fresh air and green apples.
He backed away, grabbing his coffee from the counter and he left, smiling at me.
I left the door unlocked, flipping my sign to “Open”, watching him walk to his orange muscle car. He gave me a wink as he started it up. I bit my bottom lip and wiggled my fingers in a little wave.
I watched him drive away and then I opened the paper bag and it was a chocolate éclair donut in the shape of a heart, with a thick layer of whipped cream inside.
I texted him.
“What a sexy donut.”
He replied about ten minutes later.
“Not so bad yourself…”
I laughed out loud and then took a selfie of me eating it, the donut tilted sideways, my tongue dipped into the whipped cream center suggestively. I put a dramatic filter on the pic and sent it to him. And then I ate the donut, while daydreaming about that night, hoping our date would actually happen.
***
I was getting my make-up done when Ella phoned me.
She was talking a mile a minute about Deacon moving in with her at her parents’ house.
“Why are you so mad?” I asked.
“Did you hear anything I said?” She was acting like she was outraged.
“I heard it all,” I told her.
“To recap,” she started unnecessarily recounting, “We’ve been dating like four days, including the day that I sort of broke up with him, and he has moved in with me. My father is conspiring to marry me off. He and my dad discussed him staying here. Without me being in that conversation!”
She went on for a minute, continuing to recap all she’d already said but in a high soprano voice, assigning demerit points to Deacon and her parents while listing their infractions.
“So, from everything you’ve told me, Deacon has gone full steam ahead with your relationship,” I stated.
“Double warp speed,” she said. “Is Rider like this?”
I wish. I felt a stab of jealousy.
“No. And I gotta say, I’m a little jealous. Ten points against you, Elle. Everything I’ve heard points to him being protective. Let him protect you. He’s giving you orgasms. He wants to be with you as much
as he can. You like everything about him so far?”
“Everything. Except these controlling alpha male ways. He’s amazing so far. But I haven’t even practiced my signature with his name yet.”
She was such an over-thinker. Well, I guess I was a bit of one, too, but I bottled it up. Ella needed to verbalize it.
She ranted some more until I reminded her to breathe and told her to roll with it. It was time for me to finish getting ready for my date with Rider.
If he actually showed up this time.
My text went off.
“Outside @ your back door.”
“Oooh… dirty…got a diamond ring for me?” I wrote back and added a winking emoji.
“Get that sexy ass down here so I can pop that cherry.”
I was excited. I was a tad downtrodden that he hadn’t come to the door. I pushed it away and grabbed my bag, said bye to Pip and Joe, who were making fajitas together in the kitchen, and went out back to the roof patio and down the stairs. He was there, on his motorcycle, looking casual and so sexy.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he greeted.
“Hey,” I returned with a flirty smile. I was in jeans and high heeled open-toed Jimmy Choo boots with black nail polish on that had little silver stud embellishments (aka: biker girl toes), a leather jacket, and I was wearing a black bustier underneath. My hair was loose and wavy, and I had my irresistible blue-red lip stain on. He eyed me, head to toe, and I read approval on his face.
His hair was in a low man bun and he wore his Dominion Brotherhood leather jacket, dark jeans, and motorcycle boots. He had a black bandana around his throat.
He passed me a black helmet. I fumbled with it, so he got off the bike and put it on for me, getting the strap done up tight. It made me feel looked after, which was sweet.
And even with these high heels on, he still had height on me, which I really, really liked.
“Ready?”
“To get my motorcycle cherry popped? Yes!” I was exuberant.
“Can’t believe you’ve never been on a motorcycle,” he said. “You weren’t shitting me?”
“Never,” I confirmed.
He smiled, “That’s what I was hopin’ to hear.” He winked, pulled the bandana up over his mouth, and he revved his very shiny, even in the dark, chrome Harley up.
He pulled away from the building. I put my arms around him and felt my smile go wide as we pulled away.
Being on the back of his bike felt awesome. My face hurt from the smiling I did on the way to Deke’s Roadhouse. And Deke’s Roadhouse was way too close. I wanted to do this for hours. I wanted to take it in, feel the power of the machine, feel his power in commanding it, absorb that through every single nerve in my body.
Too soon, we were getting off the bike.
My hair held up okay through helmet wear and somewhat windy weather. I fluffed it while catching my expression in the window of the Roadhouse on the way in. I gave him a huge smile.
“That effing rocked!”
He looked surprised and pleased. He held the door for me and I skip-walked ahead.
There were a lot of eyes on us as we entered and maybe it was because I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. And that I was skipping, sort of. He grabbed my hand and we went right to the bar.
Deacon was sitting there, drinking a beer and talking to Bronto, and another Dom in a prospect vest who had black hair, looked Hispanic, and was covered in tatts. He was kind of gorgeous in a Dave Navarro way. Deacon and Rider did a bro shake and then he did that with the other prospect as well.
“What to drink, gorgeous?” Rider asked and a different guy than the usual bartender, this one also a big man with a beard to his belly button, lumbered over.
“Corona,” I said. “Hey, guys.”
“Jenna,” I said, holding my hand out to the dark-haired guy when Rider didn’t introduce us.
“I know. Met you the other night when we took you two back to your place. Jesse.”
I smiled. I guess that was why Rider hadn’t introduced us.
“Ohhh, right. That was tanked Jenna you must’ve met. She’s a forgetful thing.”
He snickered and squeezed my hand just briefly and then he moved away saying, “Be back.” and he moved to two Dominion Brotherhood bikers coming in the front door. Jesse’s leather vest said “Prospect” on it.
I turned my attention to Rider, who was getting our drinks. He had our two beers and he looked so handsome, smiling with his mouth and with his eyes, that my heart tripped over itself.
“Wanna grab a table now or you mind if we have our first drink here with Deacon at the bar?”
“That’s cool.” I smiled, getting comfortable.
Deacon fished a phone with a broken screen out of his pocket and was texting someone.
I smirked, deciding I’d get ahold of his phone before the drink was over so I could program Ella’s “favorite” ring tone on her biker’s phone.
Tee hee.
***
We were on our second beer and it was now just us two at a cozy little booth. We were both flirting shamelessly as he was starting to tell me about life back in Sioux Falls. So far, I knew he was a mechanic at his family’s garage, he owned part of the three businesses that they’d just started (the bar, the garage, and a bike dealership), and he said he earned a cut of earnings from his MC, The Dominion Brotherhood, which he’d gotten his patch for when he turned 22. He and his brothers started prospecting at 21 and all three of them earned their patch at the one-year mark. He was 26. Deacon, 28. Spencer, 25. Their little sister, who was attending school in Sioux Falls to get her degree in teaching, was 19.
He also said that he and Spencer designed custom bikes. Spencer and Rider drew up the plans based on what they’d brainstorm together, and Rider built them. The other businesses and the MC took priority, but he tried to spend a day a week working on them on the side and had several orders to fill within the next year. Word was getting around and he had other potential buyers wanting to get in line.
“I’d love to see one sometime,” I said.
“Got an album of pictures back at my place,” he said.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
Maybe I’d get to see his place sometime. I sure liked the look in his eyes.
We were side-by-side in the half-circle booth, and my left leg was thrown over his right one when Paige Simpson walked by for the third time, shamelessly giving him ‘fuck me’ eyes.
He’d made eye contact with her the first time, but his face was blank. He ignored her the second. The third time, I could swear I saw irritation. And I couldn’t hide my own, either. This time, he watched me as she walked by and I didn’t stop myself from shooting daggers at her with my eyes.
Paige had been here trying to be all over Deacon the past Saturday night. We knew her from high school. She was a few years ahead of me and Ella and she might as well have had skank written in red Sharpie across her cleavage.
She’d been seen on many bikes since our teens, including Ella’s Wyld Jackal cousin Christian and the president of the closest Wyld Jackals club.
Chris had kissed me once and groped me at a high school party. I’d been drunk as a skunk and thankfully it didn’t go further. Ella would never have forgiven me if it had. And the fact that it happened was one of my few secrets from her. Maybe my only real secret from her.
The worst part was that it didn’t stop because I’d stopped him, it’d stopped because the underage party got raided by the cops. I’d always joked with Ella that Christian was a hottie before that night and had to keep it up after that night, so she wouldn’t know anything had happened. She hated him. And for good reason. He tormented her endlessly when they were kids going as far as cutting one of her pigtails off, once. I’d probably let it go as far as I did because I was in self-destruct mode post break-up with Michael, the guy who’d taken my virginity and then broken my heart.
In case Skanky Paige decided to do a slow swaying walk by, yet aga
in, I moved in a little closer to Rider and touched his hair. I took it out of the elastic and fluffed it out. His eyes twinkled.
“You have zero split ends. I’m impressed.” His eyes twinkled even more as I inspected the ends of his hair.
“Joelle turned me onto the right hair band. Comes out easy. I also trim it every month or two.”
“Joelle?” I asked, on high alert.
“My little sister.”
“Ah,” I said, “And who cuts it?’
“Not had it cut for a while. It’s due.”
“Well, you can’t let just anyone touch it. It could be a very bad idea if you don’t choose your stylist carefully.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, baby,” he said huskily and leaned in like he was going to kiss me.
And that was when she stopped at our fucking table.
Seriously?
“Hey, Riderrrr. How’s it goin’?” She was oozing with sluttiness. She was dressed in a micro-mini skirt and her bustier had netting through the torso that equated to under-boob cleavage. Too much boobs. If I had boobs like that (though they were definitely fake; she didn’t have those boobs in high school), I’d be tempted to flaunt them, but leaving something to the imagination. She looked like a porn star.
Her red hair was teased and stripper-hair big and it looked not far off from an 80’s hair band groupie. She had on an inch of make-up. She was maybe 27, 28, but she looked ten years older than that. Hard living. Too much sun. Not enough moisturizer. And I could see her split ends from where I sat even in the dimness of the bar.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Hey. Good.” He then dismissively turned back to me. He caught the way I looked at her. He gave me a heated look.
And I liked it a lot that he didn’t let her engage him in small talk or give her any inclination whatsoever that he wanted to chat (or do anything else) with her.
“Don’t I know you?” she asked me, instead of leaving.
Of course she knew me. She was being a bitch.
“Yeah, you know me, Paige.”
“You seem a little familiar. Ohhh, you work at Walmart?”
What a catty cow. Not that there was a thing wrong with working at Walmart, but she’d been in my salon. Twice to buy hair spray. She knew I owned it. She’s called me Jenna at the counter both times and the salon was called Jenna’s House of Allure, for fuck sakes. She probably figured by the way I dressed that I was a label whore, and this was clearly her attempt to rattle me in front of Rider, who she clearly wanted.