I scoffed. “Frank wasn’t a body builder by any means.”
“That’s why I had to drink three glasses of wine and take a Xanax before we had sex.” She tapped the tip of her index finger against her temple. “In my mind, he was a gym rat.”
I finished my coffee and stood. “Back to what I was saying. It’s really bothering me that I didn’t get a chance to thank this guy. I think I said, ‘thank you’, but I can’t really remember. Everything happened so fast, and then the cops were here.”
She shrugged. “He might be one of those guys that’s always riding down the street at midnight. Maybe you’ll get a chance.”
I rinsed my cup and put it in the dishwasher. “I doubt it.”
The sound of an approaching motorcycle caused me to shift my attention to the street. I filled with nervous hope as the sound grew louder. The rumble from a Harley’s exhaust was something I’d become accustomed to over the years, as a group of bikers were constantly zooming up and down the block. I wondered, however, if each approaching bike would now bring butterflies to my stomach and a tingling in my nether region.
My eyes went wide as the black Harley came into view, and then pulled into the drive.
“Jesus,” Jennifer said. “It sounds like we’re being invaded.”
“He’s uhhm.” I wagged my finger toward the window. “He just pulled in.”
“Who?”
I swallowed heavily, wondering what caused him to stop by on a Saturday morning at nine thirty.
“The skinny twit,” I responded.
She rushed to my side just in time to see him remove his helmet. Dressed in dark jeans, boots, and a faded black shirt that said Cars Suck across the chest, he looked every bit the part of the biker that he undoubtedly was.
He set the helmet on his seat and sauntered up the driveway.
Jennifer flattened her chest against the counter top and peered over the window ledge. “He’s not skinny.”
“No,” I admired his confident strut. “He’s sure not.”
“He’s uhhm.” She swallowed and then let out a breath. “He’s sexy as fuck.”
He sure is.
As he disappeared from our field of view, she gave me a curious look. Then, the doorbell rang.
She flipped her blonde curls over her shoulder and tugged her shorts out of her twat. “Let him in.”
I gestured toward the door with my eyes. “Go home.”
She coughed. “I don’t think so.”
“Go. Home.”
“Go to hell,” she said.
I brushed past her. “Fine, but you’re going to be quiet.”
“You won’t even know I’m here.”
I pulled the door open and smiled. “Good morning.”
I felt Jennifer’s breath against my left arm. I wanted to swat her like a picnic fly but feared pushing her onto the floor might appear juvenile. As Cash pushed his hand into the pocket of his jeans, I took a step to my left and nudged her from his view.
“I wanted to make sure everything was alright.” He wrung his hands together. “Didn’t get to see you after the cops got here.”
“I’m just fine, thank you. The police were here until four in the morning asking questions and having me sign reports. It was a long night.”
“I filled out a report, too,” he said. “They’ll probably see if our stories jive with one another.”
The sound of Jennifer’s heavy breathing reminded me that she was still present. I stepped to the side and wedged her between my hip and the side of the console table.
I looked at Cash and widened my eyes. “You can come in, if you’d like to.”
He stepped inside, glanced at her, and then looked at me.
“That’s Jennifer. She was leaving.” I shot her a look. “Say ‘hi’ before you go, Jennifer.”
She darted around me and extended her arm. “I like your shirt.”
His shirt?
Really?
He grinned and shook her hand. “Thanks.”
I gestured toward the front door with my left hand. “Goodbye, Jennifer.” I tilted my head toward the living room and offered Cash a smile. “Come on in.”
With the speed of a rabbit on crack, Jennifer slammed the front door, shot into the living room, and came to a screeching halt on the end of the couch.
Cash stepped into the room and gave it a precursory look. Jennifer forced a fake yawn and arched her back, heaving her massive boobs toward the ceiling in the process. Mentally, I rolled my eyes at her theatrics. The only way Cash wouldn’t see her melon-sized mammaries was if he was blind.
For whatever reason, however, he didn’t seem to notice.
Cash – 1, Jennifer – 0.
I gave her a quick laser-sharp glare. She crossed her tanned legs, flashed me a grin, and then looked at Cash.
“Do you live down at the end of the block?” she asked.
He sat in the chair at the corner of the room. “No. One of the fellas I ride with lives down there.”
“When I hear you guys ride by, it reminds me of that show on Netflix,” she said. “I’ve watched every episode. I’ve always been partial to motorcycles and muscles.”
Jennifer was flirtatious and outgoing, but she was acting ridiculous. For the last four years, all she’d done was complain about the late-night window rattling caused by the neighbor’s loud exhaust. I sat at the opposite end of the couch from her and clenched my jaw tight to keep from calling her out on her fictitious claims of biker love.
“Paints a pretty fucked up picture of us if you ask me,” he said dryly. “Bikers aren’t really like that.”
“I think the ones that ride in clubs are,” she said. “The hard-core bikers.”
He glared at her. “Hard core?” He chuckled. “I’ve ridden a motorcycle every day for the last ten years. Our club rode from here to Connecticut last year. We ate gas station burritos and slept beside our bikes in rest stop parking lots, using our jackets for pillows. Six thousand miles in four weeks. We make trips like that a couple of times a year. How’s that for hard-core?”
Cash – 2. Jennifer – 0.
Riding across the country and using an asphalt parking lot for a bed sounded hard-core to me. My eyes shot to Jennifer, curious to see how she would crawl out of the hole she’d managed to dig.
“Hollywood always glamorizes the violence. It doesn’t surprise me that the show’s a farce.” She tossed her hair and gave him a semi-serious look. “If it bleeds, it sells, right?”
“I guess so,” he said dismissively.
“So, you ride in a club?” I asked.
He cupped his left hand over his clenched fist and nodded. “A small one.”
I studied him, wondering what he’d look like without the scruff on his jaw. The entire beard thing looked good while he was whipping my ex-husband’s ass, but the longer I looked at it, the more I wanted it to disappear.
Millennials with untrimmed facial hair that hung down to their chest ruined my desire to see a man use a beard as anything other than proof that he had a long, tiring weekend.
“Maybe the bigger clubs do things differently,” Jennifer said. “You know, like the Hells Angels.”
“If you say so,” he said dryly.
He brushed his hair to the side and looked right at me. “What?”
“Huh?” I muttered.
His eyes narrowed. “You were staring at me. Something wrong?”
“I was just…” I shook my head. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”
“You can’t start explaining something and then say, ‘it’s nothing’.” He cocked one eyebrow. What?”
“It’s nothing.”
He lowered his chin and raised both eyebrows.
I sighed. “Is the beard a permanent part of who you are?”
He stroked his jaw with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. “I don’t have a beard.”
I pointed toward the hall bath. “You might want to go look in the mirror.”
“It�
��s not a beard.” He rubbed the sides of his face with the palms of his hands. “I just. I haven’t shaved in a while.”
“Is it common for you to go a month or so without shaving?”
“I think it’s sexy,” Jennifer chimed.
I shot her a quick glare.
“Depends on what I’ve got going on,” he said. “I’ll shave when I get time.”
“So, you’ve been too busy to shave? That’s your answer?”
“I’ve been saving barefoot women from being raped, and then checking up on them to make sure they’re doing alright.” He crossed his arms over his chest and grinned a smug smile. “Yeah. Been pretty fuckin’ busy.”
I’d become used to Jennifer’s in-your-face wit. Seeing his dry sense of humor was a nice change. Before I could devise a comeback, he continued.
He nodded toward me feet, which were bare. “You ever find your shoes?”
“They were beside the porch.”
He glanced at Jennifer. “She your little sister?”
“No, She’s my neighbor.” I shifted my eyes from him to her. “She lives across the street but spends most of her time here.” I looked at him. “We’re friends.”
“Sometimes I wonder,” she whispered in a snide tone.
He motioned toward the hallway with his eyes. “You mind if I use your bathroom?”
“Not at all.” I pointed toward the hall bath. “It’s right there.”
He stood, and then gave a nod to each of us before disappearing into the bathroom. As soon as the door latch clicked, Jennifer turned toward me and widened her eyes.
“He’s a-fucking-mazing. Holy shit, girl. He’s…” She shook her head while she exhaled through her teeth. “Sexy as fuck.”
“Not a skinny twit?” I whispered.
“Not at all.” Her eyes darted toward the bathroom and then shot back to me. “Did you see his boots?”
“I did, but I didn’t look at them. Why?”
“They’re like, three feet long,” she whispered.
I grinned. “Probably doesn’t have a cock like a grape.”
“I bet he’s got a dick like a donkey.” She took another look toward the bathroom. “You should fuck him and then tell me about it.”
“He’s probably fifteen years younger than me.”
“Age doesn’t matter. Bikers love MILFs.”
I wondered if she learned that tidbit of information on Netflix. I shrugged, knowing there wasn’t much I could do to interest him in me, regardless.
“I’m not a mother,” I said.
“You look like a MILF. And, he didn’t come here to check on you,” she said. “He came here to fuck.”
The thought was laughable. “No, he didn’t.”
The bathroom door opened. He walked into the center of the room, checked his watch, and then looked at me.
“I need to get going.”
I realized that I’d clung to the belief that Jennifer was right, and hoped he was going to stay for a while. Feeling a little disappointed, I stood. “Okay.”
He glanced at his watch again, and then shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. After rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet for a moment, his lips parted slightly.
“You want to go out tonight?” he asked. “Maybe get something to eat?”
I nearly fainted.
“With you?”
His brows knitted together. “Who else would it be with?”
My mouth curled into a guilty smile. “How old are you?”
His chin lifted slightly, as if he was proud of his intended response. “Thirty-one.”
I tilted my head to the side and widened my eyes playfully. “I’m forty-four.”
He pulled his right hand from his pocket and presented his empty palm. “If I had a cookie, I’d give you one. But, I’m fresh out.”
“It doesn’t bother you?”
His eyes thinned a little. “To be cookie-less?”
“No, smart-ass. That I’m thirteen years older than you.”
“I don’t give a fuck how old you are,” he said. “I like feisty women. You stomped your ex’s nuts in the driveway. That’s pretty feisty in my book.”
I scrunched my nose. “You want to take me out because I stomped Marvin’s nuts?”
“Yeah. There’s other reasons, too.”
I cocked my hip and flashed a slight smile. “Like what?”
“You’ve got the second nicest ass I’ve ever seen.”
“Who had the first?” I snapped back.
He chuckled. “Some chick in fourth grade.”
I was playing second fiddle to a fourth-grader with an award-winning ass. I didn’t know if it was meant to be a compliment, but I took it as one. His delivery of it brought out the devil in his eyes.
Seeing it secured the dinner date. I simply needed to know how to dress. My eyes widened in wonder. “Would we go on the bike?”
“Yep.”
“Because cars suck?”
“Yep.”
“I’d love to,” I said with a nod of reassurance.
“Seven sound good?”
I fought to keep from smiling. “Sounds great.”
“Alright, then.” He looked at Jennifer. “Nice to meet you.”
He gave me a quick study, grinned, and turned away. After taking a step toward the door, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Almost forgot. You’ve got cool hair, too. That was the other thing.”
Then, he left without another word.
It was ten o’clock on a Saturday morning, and I felt invincible. I had a great ass, cool hair, and I was going on a date with a hard-core biker.
Cash – 4. Jennifer – 0. Kimberly – 3.
FOUR - Cash
I pressed the tine of my fork through my third enchilada, and hesitated. I searched my mind for any recollection of being on a conventional date with a woman and came up with nothing. Hell, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten in a restaurant with anyone other than my brothers in the club.
I wasn’t relationship material by anyone’s standards. Committing to the MC was the only vow I planned on ever taking. I was considered irreverent by most who met me. Thoughts spewed from my mouth unfiltered, and I offered no apologies for offending the recipients of my opinions.
Men feared me. Those who didn’t, respected me.
Women, on the other hand, saw me as a calloused asshole. As fate would have it, I was a take me as I am type, and didn’t care what others thought. The way I was, however, didn’t open many relationship doors.
Kimberly peered over the salted rim of her margarita glass. “It’s crazy how different everything seems when you’re on a motorcycle. I’ve been coming here for years, and I’ve never noticed much about this neighborhood until tonight. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t boxed in. There’s a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree field of vision on that thing.”
Sitting across the table from her and maintaining any level of civility wasn’t easy. Every time her pouty lips parted to take a bite of food, I imagined sticking my dick in her mouth. So far, I’d received no less than a dozen imaginary blowjobs from her while watching her nibble on her bowl of chile verde.
She wore her hair up. Typically, I preferred a woman’s hair to be worn down. Seeing the definition in her jawline, the tanned smooth skin of her neck, and her unobstructed eyes caused me to reconsider my preferences.
At least with her.
“Cage.” With the fork still hovering over my plate, I paused and met her gaze. “You weren’t in a ‘cage’. That’s the difference.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Cage?”
“A Car. Biker lingo for a car is a cage,” I explained. “When you get in one, you’re like a caged animal. The difference between a bike and a car is the difference between being free and being caged in a zoo.”
“I’ve never looked at it like that.”
I lifted the chunk of enchilada to my mouth. “I can’t help but look at it like that.”
S
he sipped her drink. “How long have you been riding?”
“Got my first mini bike at six. Been riding ever since.”
“I’m guessing you don’t have a car?”
“I’ve got a truck.” I put down my fork and took a drink of beer. “A truck is a tool. It’s a necessity. I don’t have a car, though. Cars suck. Remember?”
She laughed. “That was a cute shirt.”
“Cute?” I lowered my bottle and glared at her jokingly. “That wasn’t the look I was going for.”
“Maybe ‘cute’ wasn’t the perfect choice of words.”
“If you thought it looked cute, then ‘cute’ was the perfect choice. Hell, it’s the only choice. I always say what comes to mind, not what I think someone wants to hear. You shouldn’t second-guess yourself.”
She tilted her head to the side and gazed through me. “It was pretty cute.”
“Cute it is, then.”
“I like the way you think,” she said.
In the midst of my fourth enchilada, I looked up. “Be careful saying shit like that.”
“Shit like what?”
“That you like ‘what I’m thinking’.”
“Why?”
“You don’t know what I’m thinking,” I said. “You only know what little I’ve decided to share with you.”
She looked me over. One corner of her mouth curled into a curious grin. “You’re not sharing all of your thoughts?”
“Nope.”
She rested her cheek against her hand and batted her eyes. “Why not?”
“Because if I told you everything, you’d get up and leave.”
“Try me.”
I hoisted my fork. “Can I finish my meal first?”
“You’re not going to offend me.”
I took the bite and laughed. “There’s no doubt I’ll offend you. The question is whether or not I’ll offend you so much that you’ll want to leave.”
“Now you’ve got my interest.” She leaned forward and widened her eyes. “You’ve got to tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Fine. Just remember.” I wagged my finger at her. “You asked for it.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she said mockingly. “I’m a big girl.”
Cash Page 3