HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  “You haven’t seen it yet.”

  “Don’t need to see it to make that statement. Nobody’s without fault. They were dumb fuckers.”

  “My uhhm. My entire left leg is covered in scars. I’ve had a few grafts, and the skin looks like.” I shook my head. “It’s gross.”

  “Shit.” He stood, reached for his shoe, and pulled it off. After taking off his sock, he raised his left foot over the edge of the table.

  Two-thirds of his toes were missing.

  “Look at this fucker. That’s gross. Cut the little one almost all the way off. Next one is half gone, and the third is missing the end. Guess I’m a lawnmower victim.”

  “Oh wow. It’s not gross, but what happened?”

  “I was a junior in high school, just started school. Grass was wet, and I was mowing the lawn. Pulled the mower backward down a hill, even though my pop had taught me not to. I slipped, and the mower ran over my foot. Cut the end of my shoe. I didn’t even know my toes were fucked up until I took the shoe off. Makes me walk funny. Kind of like a limp.”

  “I like the way you walk. It’s sexy.”

  Crap.

  I called him sexy.

  Somehow, it simply slipped out.

  “Sexy? I doubt that. You want to see sexy, go look in the mirror.”

  My face went flush. I needed a fan. Or a cold shower.

  Something.

  “Thank you,” I muttered.

  I couldn’t even look at him.

  He stood, walked around the corner of the table, and then motioned for me to stand.

  I had no idea what was next, but I stood, nonetheless.

  He hugged me. “I don’t give a fuck what your leg looks like. I really don’t.”

  I closed my eyes. “Thank you.”

  He hadn’t seen it yet, but it felt good to hear him say it.

  I opened my eyes and gazed down at his foot. With one shoe on and one off, he held me in his arms. His interesting gait now made perfect sense.

  I liked it that he was a lawnmower victim.

  “I’ll uhhm.” I broke our embrace. “I’ll be right back.”

  He gave me a look of slight concern. “Okay.”

  I walked to my room, rifled through the closet, and eventually found a pair of jean shorts. After a slight mental struggle, I put them on, paused, and then took a deep breath.

  He either meant what he said, or he didn’t. There was only one way to find out.

  I stepped into the hallway, spread my arms wide, and cocked my hip. “Ta-dah!”

  I felt vulnerable.

  The feeling only lasted until he spoke.

  “New rule in this house.” He looked me up and down. “If we’re eating dinner together, you’re only allowed to wear shorts. No more jeans.”

  A lump shot into my throat. “Seriously?”

  “Dead serious.”

  I took a step toward him. “You want me to wear shorts?”

  His gaze fell to my waist. “I’m demanding it.”

  “I’ll do it if.” My eyes welled with tears. “I’ll do it if you’ll do it.”

  He clenched his fist.

  I fought to conceal the emotion that boiled within me. As I bit against my quivering lip, I clenched my fist and walked to where he stood.

  He pressed his fist to mine.

  “Be back in a minute,” he said.

  In no time, he returned. Wearing a tee shirt, cut-off sweat shorts, and no shoes, he sauntered down the hallway.

  “If you tell any of the fellas about this, you’ll be huntin’ for a new place to stay.”

  “I won’t say a word,” I assured him.

  He looked me over, and then motioned toward the table. “Better eat.”

  I nodded in agreement, and sat down.

  “It doesn’t bother you?” I asked.

  “What? That the food got kinda cold?”

  “No,” I said. “My leg.”

  “Pfft. That?” He rolled his eyes. “You’re a sexy bitch. Nothing changes that.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. I stared at him wide-eyed.

  “Sorry,” he said apologetically. “I meant that in a good way.”

  I’m sure there were girls who would have found the remark demeaning or disrespectful.

  I wasn’t one of them.

  I found it flattering.

  “You can uhhm…” I swallowed heavily. “You can call me that any time.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

  Without speaking, we both began to eat.

  That night, for the first time in my life, I ate dinner in a pair of shorts.

  And, it felt good.

  No, it felt great.

  Chapter One Hundred Seventy-Eight

  P-Nut

  In all the excitement during our dinner, I failed to ask Smudge if she wanted to take the trip to Kansas. Her explanation of the problems she’d had in the past pissed me off to no end, and dismissing my thoughts didn’t come easily.

  For someone to have enough interest in a woman to ask her on a date, and then later cast her aside because of something that was well beyond her control confirmed how shallow mankind could be.

  I tossed and turned in bed for over an hour. Leaving things undone had never set well with me. Until I resolved the issue, I’d never sleep. So, I walked to her bedroom door, and knocked lightly.

  “Come in,” she responded on the second knock.

  Her immediate response let me know she was sleeping no better than I was. I pushed the door open. “I wasn’t sleeping too well.”

  She rolled onto her side. “Why not?”

  “I was thinking when I should have been sleeping.”

  “What about?”

  “People being shitheads.”

  “Anyone in specific?”

  I shook my head. There was no value in me reminding her that the men who had dismissed her were fucktards, so I didn’t bother.

  “No,” I said. “There’s some other stuff, too.”

  Bringing the covers with her as she did so, she sat up. “You can come in.”

  Dressed in my cut-off sweats and a wife beater, I felt a little uncomfortable being in her room.

  My belief that Smudge was off limits had almost completely vanished. I had always known she was physically attractive, but learning that she was not gay and that she did not judge me for who I was smashed the last of my resistance. I never would have guessed I’d see her any differently than I always had. There I stood, however, looking at her with wanting eyes.

  What troubled me was knowing she wouldn’t be my typical one and done relationship.

  “Maybe for a minute,” I said.

  I stepped inside the room and sat down on the floor.

  She peered over the edge of the bed and let out a laugh. “You can sit up here if you want.”

  “I’m good right here.”

  She released her covers and bunched them around her waist. The thin tee shirt she wore did nothing to hide her erect nipples.

  Jesus.

  “Okay.” She let out a sigh. “You sit there, and I’ll sit here.”

  I looked away. “Probably best for us both.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means what it means.”

  “You’re tough to figure out sometimes,” she said.

  “If that’s the case, everything’s the way I want it, then.”

  “Suit yourself. I’ll figure you out one of these days.”

  I shifted my eyes to her. “Good luck.”

  She folded her arms over hear chest. It was a good thing, because it allowed me to look at her while I spoke without fear of my cock embarrassing us both.

  “I was thinking,” I said. “About taking a road trip.”

  “To where?”

  “Kansas.”

  She lowered her arms and arched her back. “Really?”

  I looked away. “Yeah. Really.”

  “To find my cousin?”

  I looked at her. “Y
ep.”

  Her nipples commanded my attention for a split-second, but I quickly tore my eyes from them and met her gaze. “I was wondering if you’d want to go.”

  “I don’t know if my car will do too well on a trip that long. But we could rent a car or something.”

  I coughed out a laugh. “I only travel two ways, and they both start with an ‘H’. A Harley or a hearse.”

  “You’re going to ride all the way to Kansas?”

  “That’s my plan.”

  She tossed the covers and leaped off the edge of the bed. Her bouncing tits and bare legs caused me to look away.

  My eyes shot to the far wall. “Put on some clothes.”

  She giggled. “You put on some clothes.”

  “It’s tough looking at you when you’re dressed like that.”

  “I’ve got news for you, mister. It’s tough looking at you all the time. I’ve been looking at you for years, and not one minute of it’s been easy.”

  Hearing that she’d had interest in me for years made me feel that I had some catching up to do. I shifted my eyes toward her voice.

  She loomed over me with her lips pursed. Her hair was down, her legs were bare, and her nipples were pitching two small tents in the fabric of her paper-thin shirt.

  I stood and crossed my arms. “You want to go or not?”

  “On the back of your bike?”

  “We’re sure as fuck not going in a hearse.”

  She crossed her arms mockingly. “Yes. I’d love to.”

  “It’s a lot of ass time.”

  She grinned. “I’ve got a lot of ass. I’ll be fine.”

  “Two days to get there, two days to get back. Figure seven days to be safe. If it goes well, we’ll be back right in time for your birthday. Can you get off work?”

  “I think so,” she said with a nod.

  “Let’s plan on it,” I said. “It’ll be fun.”

  She glanced at my crotch and then looked up. Her mouth curled into a smirk. “I can’t wait.”

  I looked down.

  Shit.

  “Sorry, that happens sometimes.”

  “I’d go crazy if I had one of those things.” She chuckled. “Does it just happen randomly?”

  “No. Just around sexy bitches.”

  She cocked her hip playfully. “I’m a sexy bitch?”

  I looked her up one side and down the other. It was painfully obvious she was wearing nothing more that panties and a tee shirt.

  She was as sexy of a woman as I had ever seen.

  “You sure as fuck are.” I took another look at her and shook my head. “I should get to bed.”

  “Probably best for us both,” she said with a laugh.

  “What’s that mean?”

  She glanced at my crotch and then met my gaze. She cocked her head playfully, flipping her hair to the side as she did. “It means what it means.”

  I liked the attitude that she had grown comfortable throwing my way. It seemed she’d gained confidence in who she was, and it was as attractive as her smoking hot body, if not more.

  I took one last look and then turned toward the door. “See you in the morning, Smudge.”

  “See you tomorrow, you sexy M-Fer,” she said under her breath.

  As I walked away, my mouth curled into a smile. It was the first time I’d heard her say anything close to a cuss word, and I liked that she was coming out of her shell. Who I thought she was and who she was becoming were two totally different people.

  And the latter was going to be impossible for me to make a celibate 3,000-mile trip with.

  Chapter One Hundred Seventy-Nine

  Joey

  I’m sure many would have found the heat unbearable, the noise intolerable, or the wind simply too brutal.

  I, on the other hand, viewed everything about riding as rewarding. Traveling in a car was quiet and simple. A sense of taking part in the journey came with riding on the back of the motorcycle.

  It was as if I was earning each mile I traveled.

  I leaned against the backrest with my hands folded in my lap. As much as I wanted to hold onto Percy’s waist, I’d realized I didn’t need to. At least not on the highway. Our steady speed made any movement of the motorcycle quite predictable, leaving me comfortable in my relaxed state.

  He tapped my leg with his left hand. “We’ll be stopping in Mesa. About five minutes.”

  “Okay.”

  I found the thought of stopping unsettling, but knew we wouldn’t be stationary long. Mesa, Arizona was one-fourth of the way to Kansas. We’d traveled 350 miles, yet in many respects, I felt like we’d only begun.

  He pulled up alongside the gas pumps and shut off the engine.

  “Stretch your legs,” he said. “Next stop will be Holbrook.”

  “I’ll just sit here.”

  He pushed the kickstand down and stepped off the bike. “You should probably take a piss.”

  “I’m good.”

  I gazed across the highway. The desolate land was nothing but uninhabited desert. An occasional cactus and a sea of sand were all that was offered for scenery. In the distance, a few hills gave some shape to the horizon.

  From my vantage point it was beautiful.

  “You sure you don’t need to piss?” he asked.

  “I’m sure.”

  He filled the tank with gas, went inside, and then returned holding a bottle of water. “Sure you don’t need anything?”

  I grinned at the sight of a tumbleweed rolling alongside the highway, then turned to face him. “The wind on my face. That’s all.”

  My response made him smile. He reached in his back pocket, and then handed me something.

  “What’s this?”

  “Jerky.”

  I turned the package over and studied the contents. “Looks like a random piece of meat.”

  “That’s what it is.” He chuckled. “You’ve never had jerky?”

  “I’ve heard of it. I’ve never had it, though.”

  “It’s part of traveling,” he said. “A biker staple.”

  I wondered if my father ate it when he rode.

  I questioned whether he’d ever been on the stretch of highway we were on, and, if so, if he’d ever stopped for gas where we’d stopped.

  “Do all bikers eat it?”

  “Every damned one of them,” he said with a laugh.

  I peeled the package open and took a bite of the salty meat. After I swallowed it, he handed me the bottle of water.

  We sat in Arizona’s summer heat and ate our beef jerky. It seemed I was being drawn to him even more, and I couldn’t quite understand why. I was attracted to him, not doubt. But what I was feeling wasn’t sexual. It was as if we were the closest of friends.

  Different friends than what we’d been in the past.

  He tossed the wrappers in the trash when we were finished. When he turned around, his mouth curled into a slight grin. “Ready?”

  I gave a nod. “Yep.”

  Halfway to Holbrook, I realized what it was about riding that I enjoyed the most.

  It was being an integral a part of everything around me. The motorcycle. The road. The horizon. The sky. The weather. Even the bugs that gave their lives to become a semi-permanent part of my wardrobe.

  I wasn’t hiding inside the confines of a car. I wasn’t hiding, period.

  I tilted my head back and looked up at the sky. The dark marshmallow-like clouds looked like they could spit out rain at any minute.

  I glanced down at the road.

  The asphalt rushed past us, mere inches from my feet.

  I glanced up and focused on the mountains along the horizon. A raindrop hit me, stinging my face much more than I would have expected.

  Then, another.

  Within a few seconds, it began to pour.

  He slowed down, and then signaled that he was going to pull over.

  I leaned forward. “What are you doing?”

  “I’ll grab you some rain gear out of the saddl
ebags.”

  Raingear would have changed everything. As far as I was concerned, it would have ruined the experience.

  “Keep going,” I shouted.

  “You sure?”

  “Positive,” I responded. “I bet my dad didn’t even own rain gear.”

  “I bet you’re right,” he said.

  He cancelled the turn signal, checked over his left shoulder, and twisted back the throttle.

  The raindrops hit me, one after the other, until I was soaked. When that moment came, I stretched my arms out to the side and closed my eyes.

  I was no longer a parentless child.

  Nor was I a burn victim.

  Or the girl who was being abused.

  I was simply Joey.

  And, I was free.

  Chapter One Hundred Eighty

  P-Nut

  I sat in a wooden chair in the corner, slightly weathered from the 13-hour trip, half of which was in a torrential downpour.

  She came out of the bathroom wearing a tee shirt and shorts. The occasional streaks of blonde that were woven through her brown hair gave hint that she’d spent time at the beach, but her pale skin told another story.

  I’d always believed her to be attractive. Attractive, but off limits. After learning she wasn’t lesbian, the age difference between us was the only hurdle that remained.

  With each passing day, it seemed the bar was being lowered. At the rate things were going, by the end of our trip, I’d be able to step over it without effort. The thought of it excited me.

  And scared me to death.

  “Sorry they only had a single room,” I said.

  She flopped onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. “Okay with me.”

  “I just don’t want you to think--”

  She turned her head to the side. “Stop it. I don’t think anything.”

  “I was just saying--”

  “Stop it. We’re both adults. Act like one.”

  “You smart mouth little--”

  “Little what?” She sat up. “Bitch?”

  I started to respond, but she interrupted my thoughts.

  “When you call me a sexy bitch? I like that. If you’re just going to call me a bitch, prepare to fight. I’m not going to let another man run over me. Not now. Not ever.”

  Damn.

  I raised my hands in a mocked surrender. “I wasn’t.”