Born to Ride

by Kasey Millstead

  “I am.”

  Wow, this is really fucking awkward.

  A few hours ago I was making out with her in the supermarket and now we’re edgier than a couple kids with their dad’s porn collection. “And I brought beer.”

  “Great. I’ll show you where the eskies are.” She leads me through a maze of people, bikers and their old ladies, plus a few more who I’ve seen in the shop. At least twenty of them give me the evil eye as I walk behind Ana and pretend I’m not checking out her arse. She doesn’t make any introductions and I’m guessing that’s for my benefit, because I just know some of these guys are dying to grill me about my intentions toward her. And I might even have an answer for them, if I knew what the fuck was going on myself.

  As soon as I’m done putting the beer away, an excitable ball of six-year-old boy barrels into my legs and almost knocks me to the ground. That would have made it twice in one day that I’d been bowled over by Belles. Something tells me that, if I overstepped the mark with Ana tonight, then Bob would make it a trifecta, though I’m not sure I’d be able to stand after he was done beating the shit outta me. Maybe not ever. “Elijah, you’re here, you really came.”

  “Yep. I’m really here.” I smile at Ana before squatting down to Sammy’s level. “How you doin’, little man?”

  “Awethome now that you’re here.” He jumps up and down. “You wanna come thee my Mathbox carth?”

  “Hey, Sammy, Elijah just got here and Ana Cabana was really hoping she could spend some time with him first—”

  “But he thaid he wanted to thee them.”

  “And he will, just not now.”

  I stand up and look at Ana. “I don’t mind. Really.”

  “Yeth!” Sammy grabs my hand and bolts for the house. “You hath to come thee my room, Elijah, ith tho awethome.”

  “I bet it is,” I say, as I throw Ana an apologetic look over my shoulder. She’s tagging along behind us, looking less than happy that Sammy’s whisking me away and a part of me is fucking thrilled she doesn’t want the kid monopolising my time.

  Sammy leads me up the backstairs, past even more bikers that look about ready to beat the crap outta me, and into the quiet house.

  Bob is standing in the kitchen with his wife, helping her carry several dishes filled with salads. He stares at me, at my hand clasped in Sammy’s, and at Ana, tagging along behind the two of us.

  Yeah, this isn’t awkward at all.

  “Hey, Mr Belle. Mrs Belle.” I offer up the first greeting, mostly just to fill the silence in the room.

  “So, I’m Mr Belle when you’re in my home, putting the moves on my daughter, but just plain old Bob when I’m at work?” he asks, and his face is all scrunched up and serious.

  “Bob, leave the poor kid alone,” Ana’s stepmum chimes in. Being called a kid by a woman who’s barely out of her twenties is kinda weird. Bob just grunts and brushes by us as he carries the trays outside after his wife.

  “He’s gonna castrate me for this, isn’t he?” I mumble to Ana once the screen door closes behind him.

  “Are you kidding? That sentence contained the most syllables I’ve ever heard him utter to someone other than Sammy and I.”

  Sammy glances up at me. “Whath cathrate mean?”

  “Ask your sister, she knows everything.”

  “But thee’sth a girl?”

  “Buddy, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that women are always right. Never question it. It’s as sure as gravity. Women are always, always right.”

  * * *

  I spent the next half hour playing with monster trucks in a six-year-old’s bedroom, weaving them in and out of the empty beer bottles I’d accumulated. It wasn’t at all how I’d seen this night going in my head.

  Sammy was a lucky kid. I didn’t know much about the woman that Ana called “Dragon”, but I knew he was loved. Ana doted on him and big bad motherfucker Bob was reduced to a teddy bear when it came to his son. Sammy didn’t know it yet, but he’d grow up one lucky son of a bitch.

  I was maybe even a little jealous. Not every kid has people willing to do anything to protect them. I just hope he grows up to respect and love his family the way a family like this should be loved.

  Now, as I watch Ana and Holly spin Sammy around to some Beasts of Bourbon song that really should have been left back in the nineties, I can’t help but feel a little like I don’t belong. Ana may be a teeny, tiny little thing, but her heart’s as big as an Ox’s.

  Yeah, there’s a nice visual, I think, and pull another long draught of my beer.

  She’s been silently coaxing me over, trying to get me to dance, but I don’t dance on account of looking like a freaking chimpanzee with two left feet. Some dudes have rhythm with that sort of thing, but me? I save all my rhythm for the bedroom. Give me a blonde with soft curves and a nice rack and I can make her body dance with my hands alone. But on a dance floor? Not so much.

  Ana grins like an idiot and makes several weird hand gestures to get me to come closer but I just smile and shake my head and store the memory away for a later date when I might need something pleasant to think about.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?” Bob asks from beside me. I wonder how long I’ve been gawking at his daughter like a total dick.

  “Yeah, she is.”

  “She looks just like her mum did at her age. Got the fire of the devil in her, too. Just like her mother.”

  “Yeah, I’m starting to see that.”

  “But she’s soft underneath, breakable.”

  Surprised by the reverence in his tone, I turn toward him. “I can see that about her, too.”

  “Ana’s a good kid. She’s suffered through a lot of shit from the kids in this town after that Turner fuck finished with her. I would have broken both his legs already, but I’m on pretty thin ice with the Constable as it is, and I’ve got my businesses, my wife and Sammy to think about.”

  “I’m kinda surprised you let that stop you.”

  “You gotta know when to pick your battles, Son. Sometimes you gotta let your kids sort out their own shit.”

  “Like choosing who they date?”

  He guffaws, “You’re a good kid, Cade. I like having you around the shop. But not around my daughter.” Bob takes a long swig of beer. “’Course, it’s not up to me who Ana dates, and she rarely takes notice of anything her old man tells her these days. But know this: you take her down that road you’ve been on, drag her down, you hurt her in any way and I’m gonna finish you. I don’t care if I have to follow you to the back of beyond. You hurt my little girl and I’ll put you to ground quicker than you can fucking blink. Are we clear, Cade?”

  “I’m not gonna hurt her, Sir. Ana’s about the best thing to happen to me in the last ten years.”

  He swigs the remainder of his beer and leans in to set it down on the table behind me. “Just make sure you’re the best thing to happen to her, too. Ana doesn’t need you to be another decision she’ll regret.” He gives me a long hard look and strides away, over to his wife.

  Fuck. He’s right. I’m not the best thing for Ana. I’m not even close. I’m just a kid who made some pretty fucked up decisions, who turned into a man who made even more fucked up decisions. The worst of which I did time for. It doesn’t matter that I’ve spent every waking minute since I got out working my arse off and trying to keep my tarnished record clean. It doesn’t matter that I’ve spent every second of my life since trying to be nothing like my father. I’m his flesh and blood and that alone makes me not good enough for her.

  She deserves a man that went to uni to get a degree, someone who makes a killing and wears a monkey suit and comes home every night to their big fuck off house full of riches, not some dick who didn’t finish high school, works a job “the man” tells him to because his stupid-as-fuck decisions took away all his other options, and who can fit all his worldly possessions on the back of a motorbike, like me. Which then begs the question—what the fuck am I doing here?


  I chug the remainder of my stubby and set it down alongside Bob’s. I’m outta here, I think, and head around to the alley where I left my bike. I don’t get much further than the side of the house before I hear Ana behind me. “Elijah, wait. Where are you going?”

  “Home,” I reply without turning around, and then I laugh to myself, because the motel room where I sleep and store my overnight bag while I work is hardly a place to call home.

  “Without saying goodbye?” It’s impossible to ignore the hurt in her voice. Fuck. “What did he say to you?”

  “Nothing I didn’t already know.”

  “Which means?”

  I stop walking, but stand with my back to her. I’m not sure I’m strong enough to walk away. I’m drunk and acting like a complete tool and I can’t seem to make myself stop. “Forget it, Ana. Just go back to the party.”

  “No! I want to know what he said to you.”

  I whirl around and pin her to the brick wall. She startles, but doesn’t try to escape when my arms pen her in on either side. Her chest is heaving, those gorgeous tits are just inches from my hands, from my mouth, and suddenly all I can think about is rolling my tongue around her nipple and teasing it with my teeth. My cock jerks inside my jeans and I’m instantly hard.

  “What is this?” I demand.

  “What’s what?” Obviously Ana has no idea what I’m talking about. I’m guessing she has no idea why I’m so fucking mad about it either, but I don’t care. I want an answer to this question so badly that I feel it like an anvil on my chest. I’ve never been this tied in knots over a girl before and I don’t fucking like it. Not one bit.

  “This shit between us, what the fuck is going on here?”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re drunk.”

  “Answer me.” I snap.

  A crease forms between her brows. Fuck she’s hot when she’s mad. “Give me your keys. I’m not letting you drive home like this.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No. You’re drunk and being an arsehole,” she says, holding out her hand. “Give them to me, or I’ll go searching for them.”

  “Knock yourself out,” I say leaning back to allow her to frisk me.

  She’s got this determined look on her face as she plunges her hand inside my pocket. I’m not wearing boxers on account of skipping my laundry tonight and the heat from her fingers on my cock as she skims my thin pocket lining is so hot I want more. She gasps when she realises that her hand is on my dick with only a thin piece of cotton separating us. “See what you do to me, Ana?”

  “Sorry!” she blurts out, all high and breathy, and yanks her hand away like the damn thing just bit her. The pink in her cheeks is so delicious it makes me want to kiss her. So I do. I push her back against the wall and lean into her, claiming her mouth with my own, my hard on pressing into the soft flesh of her stomach.

  “Don’t be sorry, darlin’,” I whisper as I break away and trail kisses down her neck. “Just don’t stop touching it.”

  I run my hand down the side of her hip and lift her leg until I’m pressed firmly against her and she has no other choice but to wrap her leg around my own. The space between our kisses is taken up with Ana’s breathy moans and my grunts as I thrust between her thighs.

  My jeans are in the way and her dress is all crushed up between us. There’s too much material between my skin and hers, and yet neither of us seeks to move it out of the way. I just keep grinding into her as she moans my name and tilts her neck so my lips have easier access to her flesh. I know she must be uncomfortable in that position, thrust up against a brick wall with so much of her back exposed in that little sundress, my pelvis smashing into her so hard I can feel the folds of her pussy moulding to my cock, despite the fact that our clothes are in the way.

  I know I must be hurting her with how hard I’m pushing, but I’m too selfish to stop. Instead, I run my hand along the back of her thigh and my fingers slip beneath her dress, beneath the barely there lace underwear and slide into her wet heat. She inhales sharply and exhales on a moan. Fuck. She’s so hot against me I feel like my skin might catch fire. I slide the pad of my thumb down into her wetness and circle it over her clit, smiling as I feel her body tremor. She’s so responsive to my touch. I flick my thumb back and forth, move my fingers faster once I hear her breath catch and her hips rock into the rhythm. She’s trembling and panting, so close to coming. The need to take her over the edge consumes me. I feel it like a kick to the gut, this desire to please her, own her, and be good enough for her.

  It scares the shit outta me.

  “Jesus, Ana, you’re so damn hot, I wanna bury myself inside you and live there,” I murmur against her ear and I feel her go instantly still. Seriously, she went from being seconds away from orgasm to being so still she’s not even breathing. My hand freezes. I look at her face. Her eyes are filled with panic. “What’s wrong? Where’d you go?”

  “Uh ... sorry, I think that beer kinda went to my head a bit.”

  “So then, let it take you over the edge,” I say as I continue my assault with both my hands and mouth, but I know the second she puts her palms against my chest that the moment is gone.

  “Just ... give me a second? I haven’t ...” she whispers, and I gently remove my hands from her body and take a step back. No fucking way. That’s not possible ... Is it?

  Is that why Holly warned me away? Because this walking wet dream of a woman is still a virgin? And here I am, dry humping her up against the side of her father’s house. Fuck! Ten minutes ago I was walking away from Ana Belle because I’m no good for her; now, that’s even truer than before, and yet I’d willingly give my left nut to be balls deep inside her.

  “I gotta go.” I gotta get outta here before I fuck this up worse than I already have.

  “Just like that?”

  “Yeah, Ana, just like that.” I take off toward the alley again.

  “Elijah.” I can hear the hurt in her voice but I block it out. She doesn’t follow me and I’m glad. I don’t know how many times I can stand to walk away from this girl before I crack.

  Ana

  “To being single.” Holly taps her plastic cup off of mine in a toast and downs the rest of her peach-flavoured wine cooler. I sit my cup back on the table without tasting it and sigh. Her toast would have been much more effectual if she didn’t immediately turn around and suck face with Red Hot Rob.

  I’m not even sure why we call him that. I mean, his body is kinda nice to look at, but he has this long greasy hair that falls below his shoulder blades and the colouring of a ginger on an emo kick. Now that I think about it, it’s like Alice Cooper and Bon Jovi had a love child. Either that or some terrible nineties rock clip threw up on him.

  Wow, when did I turn into such a judgemental bitch?

  The truth is, I know why I’m cataloguing all Red Hot Rob’s faults and staring daggers at my best friend, who is so drunk she’s having a hard time keeping Rob’s tongue in her mouth. The two are swapping spit outside their mouths and I think I may have just vomited a little bit in mine.

  I mean, who does that?

  And while I’m thinking of things that people don’t usually do—who the hell throws you up against a brick wall and kisses you senseless, not to mention the things he did with his hands, and then just walks away like it never happened? I should show up on his doorstep and demand he tell me what the hell he thought he was doing.

  I’m so mad I don’t realise I’m even moving until I hear Holly shout, “Where are you going?”

  I wave her off like it’s no big deal and stalk toward the garage. Two of Dad’s friends try to pull me aside, no doubt to lecture me on my sex life, but I shrug them off with a half-hearted line about needing to help the dragon with something inside. Once I clear the front of the house I dive into the garage, strap on my helmet and walk Bespa quietly out to the alley.

  I don’t hop on and start the engine until I’m on Main Street. The truth is, I shouldn’t be driving. I’m pretty su
re that first cup of wine cooler after Elijah left put me over the edge, but that was a good two hours ago and I haven’t touched a drop since.

  I’m not drunk, I’m just angry, I tell myself, as I coast along Main Street toward the motel on the outskirts of town. I really didn’t think this thing through, I realise, as the wind batters my bare arms and legs and skates down my back. It’s late and oddly freezing for this time of year, but I chalk it up to the fact that I didn’t think to grab a jacket before I made my great escape, and wind-chill is a bitch. As if that’s not enough, I feel a fat drop of rain hit my back and I almost drive off the road.

  I can see the motel looming up ahead, but it starts to pour down long before I pull Bespa into the gravel parking lot. It doesn’t matter that I have no idea which room Elijah is in. The Sugartown Motel has been here for years—almost as long as the Sugartown Mill. They built it for the single men who travelled to the mill for work but it mostly sits here with all the rooms unoccupied, unless the odd tourist spends the night instead of travelling through. Personally, I’d rather take my risks on the road, but that’s just me.

  All of the rooms sit in darkness bar one, right at the end on the second floor. I duck beneath the awning and shake myself like a dog to rid my waterlogged dress from the rain, and then I take the steps two at a time until I’m standing before a green door with peeling paint and a number seven that’s been nailed on crooked.

  Now that I’m staring at his door I think this probably wasn’t such a good idea. I’m freezing, my nipples are probably high-beaming through my dress and I more than likely have panda eyes. Okay, so no part of this plan was a good idea, but I raise my fist and pound on the door anyway. Several chips of paint flake off and fall onto the ragged looking welcome mat.

  Elijah yanks back the door and takes me in with a bemused expression. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans. No shirt. No shoes. And, sweet baby Jesus, the tattoos are even more beautiful up close. God damn it! I’m supposed to be mad at him.

  “Ana, what are you doing here?” He pokes his head through the door and checks the parking lot, probably worried I brought my dad and his biker friends along for an old-fashioned town pummelling. “Are you wet? Holy shit, did you ride here in the rain?”