by Ava Frost
“You drive a hard bargain.” I say, surprising him so bad, he drops the ring and loses his balance.
Falling on the bathroom floor, he stares up at me, stunned. Seeing it’s me standing here, he grabs the ring and dusts off his clothes, a meek smile and a blush crossing his face. “Um, how much did you hear?”
“Enough to say yes.” I say, grinning like a loon.
Jaxon punches the air and runs over to me, kissing me hard. When we break apart, he places the ring on my finger and kisses it. In the process, the picture I was holding falls down and Jaxon bends to pick it up. “What’s this?”
I smile softly. “It’s our daughter.”
Jaxon’s face snaps up. “You’re pregnant?” I nod my head. “With a girl?” Again, I nod. He looks at the picture for several long minutes before he speaks, “She has your nose.” I laugh at his comment and he joins in. “Seriously, Mia, this is amazing.” He picks me up and spins me around in a circle. Putting me down gently, he kisses my nose and stares back down at the picture. “Do you have any names in mind?”
I smirk at his question. “I do. Danielle.”
He frowns but inclines his head in approval. “I like it, don’t get me wrong, but why did you pick that name?”
“Well, the doctor said I’m about four months along and I’ve only been with you, so that means I got pregnant that night I lost my virginity to you.” He grins broadfully, proud of himself and his super-sperm. I roll my eyes at him. “And Jack Daniels is what started that night, so I thought it was fitting to name our daughter, Danielle.”
He chuckles. “Okay, now I love the name. But let’s make up some other story as to why we named her Danielle. I don’t think I can tell my daughter with a straight face that we named her after whiskey, in memory of the night I took her mother’s innocence.”
I blush and nod my head. “Yeah, let’s just say I saw the name in a baby book.”
“Good idea.” He grabs me into an embrace and rubs his face against my neck. “We’re going to be parents.”
I smile. “We’re going to be married.”
We lean back and seal our future with a kiss—for a kiss was the start of what is now becoming our little happily ever after.
THE END
Ride Me
Chapter 1
I just needed a place to sit where no one knew who I was.
Coming back home after my failed engagement had proven to be a terrible idea. Everywhere I went I was met with sad faces and smug married couples patting me on the back of the hand saying, “There, there. There are plenty of fish in the sea.” I wished I'd grown up in a larger city, then at least even my mom, with her prolific talent for spreading gossip without realizing it, wouldn't have been able to tell literally everyone I knew about how my fiancée decided the best time to tell me that he'd been having an affair for about 90% of our entire relationship (and she was pregnant) was two months before our wedding.
Walking into the shady looking dive bar was just the bolt of adrenaline that I needed to shock myself out of my self-pity. The place was crammed full of large men with lots of unwashed hair, tattoos, and bad attitudes. The scent of the place was oppressive and thick. Leather and gasoline. Alcohol and male sweat. I was distinctly aware of the fact that I looked like a lamb being led through a den of wolves, but I just balled my keys in my fist, jutted my chin up in the hardest expression I could muster, and walked right up to the bar to order a pint.
I could feel the gaze of multiple people boring into my back, but I tried my best to ignore it. Maybe the plan about being left alone was misguided. The woman behind the bar gave me a warm smile, which was nice. I felt like there was an unspoken agreement between us, as apparently we were the only two women in the bar who were not a part of the motorcycle club that was currently in residence.
“Is it always this busy?” I asked her. A bit of code wherein I was really asking if this was always a biker bar or if they were just riding through.
“It comes and goes according to the season.” She answered.
I nodded and she handed me my drink.
“What about to eat, love?” She asked.
Answering the grumble in my stomach, I added a bunch of cheese fries to my order and took a sip of my beer. It was hoppy and bitter, but it suited me fine for the time being. It wasn't long before one of the curious onlookers approached me. He was tall and thin and sickly looking. It seemed like the sum weight of his clothing probably weighed more than he did.
“Hey.” He sneered, standing awfully close.
“Uh. Hi..?” I said. I purposefully did not turn to look at him, and I constructed my tone of voice very carefully to convey that I was not interested in a chat. He didn't seem to care. He moved even closer.
“Are you waiting for someone?” He asked. He was practically whispering in my ear. His breathe was warm and stunk of cigarettes and beer.
“Yeah. He should be here soon.” I lied. I was unfortunately aware of the fact that many men would not back off from a disinterested woman unless there was the subtle threat of another man coming to her rescue. He seemed to call my bluff though, because he didn't back off. If anything, he doubled his efforts. He kept trying to drag me into conversations about who I was and why I was there and if I knew where I was and if I was lost. I stuck to monosyllabic answers but he kept pressing on.
It wasn't until he laid a hand on my shoulder that I started to feel afraid. He gently pulled me towards him until my arm was against him and he was about to wrap his arm around me when another man approached.
“Billy.” The newcomer pronounced the name with undeniable authority. Billy let go of me immediately, dropping both of his arms to his sides.
“Ma'am, is this kid bothering you?” The second man asked. It was impossible to guess his age. At first glance you'd think he was nearing middle age. He had the air of someone with a lot of life experience, a confidence and surety in the way he stood and a sternness in his voice that seemed to imply age and earned authority. And yet, if you looked closer, his face had a youthfulness to it, underneath the dirty blonde stubble and wisps of matching hair that fell in disheveled locks around his temples. His eyes were an oddly gentle blue and when he smiled it took ten years off his appearance.
“I'm fine. Thank you.” I mumbled, a little embarrassed that I needed a stranger to defend me against someone like Billy. Billy who, in comparison with this other man, could only be described as weasel-like.
“Billy. Go away.” The stranger dismissed. Billy obeyed without argument and I let out a slow breath as he disappeared back into the crowd.
“He don't mean no harm, usually. Bit of an idiot, but not much of a threat, I mean.” The blonde continued.
“Thank you. I could have handled it. I mean, I was about to..” Despite my gratitude, my pride was wounded.
“I know you were. Still, he's my responsibility.” The stranger said, his eyes flitting away from me over the rim of his pint glass from which he took a hearty swig.
“Your son?” I asked with the hint of a grin.
He snorted. “Might as well be.”
A heavy silence fell between us, but he didn't stray from my side. I felt slightly uncomfortable, like he had set himself up as my guardian, but when I thought about it, I realized that I was grateful for his presence. And maybe even more grateful that he didn't say anything about it. I enjoyed being able to eat and have my drink in peace, thanks to him.
At the end of his drink, he swallowed what was left and placed the glass down on the bar as if punctuating an unspoken statement.
“Ma'am, I gotta ask. What on earth are you doing here anyway?” He looked pointedly around the room, then at me. In one quick glance he took in my whole appearance. He noted my freshly styled hair, my pastel dress, my heeled boots. I could sense the judgment in his gaze, which made me square my shoulders.
“You stick out like a sore thumb.” He pronounced.
“Yes, I noticed that.” I answered. “But, I don't believe
that you actually own this bar. I was hungry. My money is as good as yours.”
“There's a Starbucks around the corner.”
“I didn't want coffee.” I said, taking a sip of my beer.
“No.” He smiled. “But you didn't want Billy either.”
I shrugged. Fair enough.
“What's your name?” He asked me, nodding over his shoulder to the bartender who took his glass to refill.
“I don't want you either. Whoever you are.” I sniped back, on the defensive. I wished he'd go back to being my own silent sentinel.
He laughed, his head tilting back. I noticed a few of the people around us turning to look at him as he did so.
“Easy. Easy.” He said, like he was calming down an agitated horse. “My name is Cole.”
“Hi Cole.” I said flatly, finishing the rest of my drink. I slapped a few bills on the bar and hopped off the stool. “I'm gonna go.”
He raised his eyebrows but didn't try to stop me. “Alright. Goodnight, mystery girl.”
Leaving the smoke of the bar and stepping out into the crisp evening air, I sighed in relief. That had been a very stupid experiment. While it had been successful in that I had succeeded in eating a meal without anyone trying to talk to me about my failed engagement, it was been an unnecessarily harrowing experience. I'd been in a relationship for four years, and at twenty three years old I was already so estranged from the dating and bar scene that being approached by men was enough to send me running home with my tail between my legs. I wondered if the fact that they were leather-clad gang members even had all that much to do with it. I didn't imagine that I'd be any more comfortable if they had been in suits or active wear. I vowed to try to think of better places to fade into the background.
Chapter 2
I hurried to my car. Once inside I checked the mirror to gauge just how red my face was. Quite red. Whether it was from anger or flattery was uncertain, so I looked away. I put the key in the ignition and…
...nothing.
The engine didn't even try to turn over. I had a momentary flashback to my dad reminding me to get my engine serviced soon. That was....two months ago? I tried again. Still nothing. Dread coursed through my veins, as visions of mechanic bills danced in my head. There was just no way I was going to be able to afford this if it was anything remotely serious. I pulled out my phone and noticed, to my dismay, that it was nearly out of charge. I only managed to pull up the nearest mechanic's website before it black-screened on me. Great.
I must have sat there bashing my forehead gently into the steering wheel for a while. When the group of bikers came out of the bar, I didn't notice them until the bikes started firing up with a loud roar that split through my abject, car maintenance related, misery. I jerked my head up and watched them, unconsciously seeking out Cole's semi-familiar face. He moved with an odd sense of grace, his movements perhaps more fluid than one might expect. He was taller than most of the other men, and his profile was chiseled with a sharp jaw and high cheekbones. If Billy was a weasel, then Cole was a German Shepherd, all muscle and agility, intelligence and veiled threats.
As I watched him, it was as if he could feel my gaze on him, and he turned right at me. We made eye contact through my windshield and I jumped a bit, sitting up straighter. I thought I saw the ghost of a smile touch one corner of his mouth before he started striding towards me. I felt a rising sense of...something. Panic, maybe. Or excitement.
He knocked with the backs of his fingers on my window and I rolled it down. He leaned his arms on the roof of the car, leaning in slightly towards me.
“Either you've got car troubles or else I'm in a place to be flattered that you've been waitin' for me.” He said.
“The engine won't turn over.” I answered, demonstrating my car's lack of willpower with a silent turn of my keys in the ignition. “Won't even try.”
He pressed his lips together. “I can take a look if you want.”
“Listen.” I said, my hand on the button to roll the window back up. “I know what you're getting at. I know you aren't some heart-of-gold good Samaritan looking to fix a girl's car without expecting anything in return.”
“Are you setting a price?” He asked with a grin.
I rolled my eyes. “You're too expensive.” I said, rolling the window up.
I turned the key in the ignition again, as if it would make a difference, while he just chuckled to himself as he sauntered over to the front of the car. He waved off the other guys and they started taking off without him as he opened the hood.
“Hey!” I shouted. He either didn't hear me or didn't care. He rummaged about on my engine doing God knows what. I shivered. The cold December air was seeping in and I couldn't turn on the heat. With the rest of the motorcycle club gone, I found myself suddenly, frighteningly alone with this man. The parking lot was dark and foreboding, lit by only a single sickly streetlamp. I was miles from home, with no phone, alone with a strange man, at night, in the cold. This was beginning to feel more and more like the beginning of a horror movie. I wrapped my arms over my stomach, hugging myself.
After a while he came back around to the driver's side window and knocked again. I rolled it down a few inches.
“Your spark plugs were flooded. They should be alright for now, enough to get you home if you don't live too far away. But you badly need new ones altogether. Don't get to the end of the week without having this car serviced, ok?”
I nodded, chastened.
“Give it a try.” He said, miming turning a key in the ignition. I did, and after a warning sputter, the car hummed to life.
“Thank you. I'm sorry for--”
He cut me off with a wave of his hand. “Don't apologize for not trusting an unknown man in the middle of the night. I prefer an intelligent woman, myself. Now I don't mean to brag, but the best mechanic around has a little shop on 16th and main in Meridian. Open Monday through Friday till 7.”
I smiled. “Is that you?”
He shrugged. “My price for new spark plugs, for you, is 15 bucks. Roadside assistance is free of charge. Still too expensive?”
“Thank you.” I said.
He nodded once and straightened up. With one final knock on the roof of my car he ambled over to his motorcycle. I watched him for only a few moments before taking off in the opposite direction, watching him fade from view in my rear view mirror.
Chapter 3
The next day I drove by 16th and Main in Meridian and was a little bit surprised to see a nice-looking car shop. I chided myself for being prejudiced, expecting it to be some seedy looking place. Though, to be fair, he had made first impressions for being a patron of a rather seedy bar. But then...so had I.
I pulled up and parked my car in a spot outside and walked into the office. It was a utilitarian building, but impeccably clean and about as welcoming as a mechanic's office can be. Immediately, I saw Cole standing in front of a computer, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he inputted some data.
“Just a sec.” He said without looking up.
I crossed my legs and leaned against the counter, waiting. When he finally looked up a wide grin spread over his face. In the light of day, he looked younger. Where before I'd been thinking he might have been nearing forty, in the bright fluorescent light it was clearer that he must have only been in his early to mid-thirties. His skin was rough, thanks to the contents of the cigarette pack in his shirt pocket. He looked blonder here.
“Hey....you.” He said.
“Hi Cole. It's Annabeth.”
“Annabeth.”
He looked into my eyes for a long moment. I realized that his eyes weren't blue, like I'd thought, but a light green. I didn't even notice that neither of us spoke for an awkward amount of time until he seemed to shake himself and continued.
“Here for those spark plugs then?”
“No one else could beat your price.” I said truthfully. I had intended on going to one of those big franchise mechanics, but they'd all quoted me
at least 20 bucks for new spark plugs.
He winked at me and, pulling gloves on, walked past me out to the parking lot. I followed, my shorter legs necessitating I take two quick steps for every one of his. I felt a bit like a kid following him around.
“You got your keys?” He asked.
“They're in the ignition.”
He pulled my car into the garage and I leaned against a workbench, breathing into my hands to keep them warm. It was overcast and threatening to snow and my nose and fingertips were already pink with the cold. He seemed utterly unperturbed and focused on his task.
After a while, feeling completely useless, I came and stood next to him while he worked. Maybe if I pretended to pay attention at least, some knowledge of cars would rub off on me from proximity alone. As soon as I was next to him he started narrating what he was doing. The scent of motor oil was strong, his gloves were thick with it, and when he wiped a stray lock of sandy blond hair from his brow he used the exposed back of his wrist, the only part of him that seemed untouched by the black oil.