Ride: A Bad Boy Romance

by Roxie Noir

“I did,” he says. “I’ve got eighty thousand dollars and no way to spend it, so I may as well get what I really want.”

  I don’t say anything for a moment.

  “That’s you, for the record,” he says.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I say.

  “I wanted to do it,” he says, and then he’s quiet for a minute. “Mae, I’m still ten kinds of busted, I haven’t actually showered since the morning before I rode Crash, and I’m stuck in my parents’ house in the middle of nowhere. Let me do something I want to do and don’t be stubborn about it.”

  I look out my bedroom window at the brick wall past it. I’ve been contacting photographers in other cities for a week now, networking. I asked Janice how bad it would be if I moved to Austin or Denver or somewhere out west, and she sighed, but she said that we could make it work.

  I haven’t told Jackson any of this yet, even though I tell him everything else. I don’t know why I haven’t, but every time I start to open my mouth, I change the subject.

  “Thanks,” I finally say.

  The plane from Denver to Riverton is one of those tiny planes with only two rows of seats on either side, and it’s a rough flight. Everyone but me seems totally fine, reading their books and magazines, but I’ve never been the most relaxed flier to begin with so I’ve got both armrests in my hands, knuckles white.

  My impending doom is probably the only thing that can get my mind off the fact that I’m finally on my way to see Jackson for the first time in six weeks. I’m half excited and half nervous.

  The part of my brain that loves to think about all the ways that something could go wrong, and it’s been in full force these last couple of days. He’s still in a wheelchair, and I’m afraid that I’ll get there and suddenly not want him anymore. Never mind that I’ve seen him plenty and he still makes my mouth go dry with lust.

  I’m afraid that when we’re out in the open, when we’re not sneaking around, it’ll be less thrilling. I’m afraid that when we’re not at a rodeo, and he’s not a big star, I suddenly won’t like him anymore. I’m afraid that he’s boring and I never noticed, or that he’s dumb and I never noticed, or that he has a giant collection of something weird, like mint-condition action figures, that he never told me about.

  I don’t believe any of these things, I just can’t stop my brain from thinking about them. At least, not until I’m on a tiny plane landing at the Riverton, Wyoming airport and all I can do is hope we don’t crash.

  We don’t. No one but me even seems to notice the rough flight, so I collect my wits, grab my carry-on, and walk across tarmac toward the terminal. The Riverton airport isn’t big enough for a jet bridge.

  Outside the doors, I take a deep breath, and every stupid anxiety and fear I’ve had for six weeks bubbles to the surface. I take another one and slowly, they simmer down.

  I go through the doors. I follow the other passengers through a long, windowed hallway and around a corner. Then we go through another door and we’re at the baggage exchange, a crowd of people milling around.

  My heart’s beating out of my chest as I look around for a guy in a wheelchair, but there isn’t one.

  Maybe he couldn’t come, I think.

  I skip right over the tall, dark-haired guy on crutches the first time I scan the crowd, because I’m just looking for a wheelchair.

  Then I look again, and this time I see him.

  He smiles at me, and I can’t stop myself. I run.

  I don’t leap on him, even though I want to, but I wrap my arms around him and bury my face against his chest and I think I squeal. Something clatters to the floor but I ignore it as Jackson squeezes me so hard against him I can barely breathe.

  I’m not nervous anymore.

  After a minute he loosens his grip so he can bend down and kiss me, and I have to remind myself we’re in public.

  “You didn’t tell me you were out of the wheelchair,” I say when I finally pull away. “How long has it been?”

  “Day before yesterday,” he says, grinning. “I wanted to surprise you.”

  I just laugh. I’m pretty much giddy just to be here, with him.

  Then he lets me go and turns slightly to his right.

  “Mom, you remember Mae,” he says.

  His mother is standing about two feet away, and I didn’t even notice. I feel my face flush.

  “Of course I do,” she says, and I think she’s amused.

  “Thank you so much for picking me up,” I manage to get out.

  We hug quickly and politely. The crash I heard was one of Jackson’s crutches, and I pick it up for him since bending down looks like it’s an ordeal.

  On the ride back to their house, Jackson sits in the back seat, his right leg stretched out next to him, and I ride shotgun. His mom interrogates me very politely, with Jackson interjecting from the back seat.

  I do my best to make myself sound like a polite, high-achieving, Good Texas Girl, because I want to impress Jackson’s parents, and the fact that he told me about his dick in front of them almost the minute we met is always somewhere in the back of my mind.

  I also want to distract her from the fact that I’m going to fuck his brains out the second I get a chance.

  When we get to the ranch in Sawtooth, there’s snow on the ground, though it’s just a couple of inches. Jackson valiantly tries to balance his crutches and get my suitcase out of the trunk until I stop him. His mom walks toward the house, out of earshot for a second.

  “If you break yourself again before I get some I will not forgive you,” I hiss.

  “I’m just trying to be a gentleman,” he says, grinning.

  “Gentlemen don’t leave their girlfriends frustrated after not seeing them for six weeks,” I whisper.

  From the front door, his mom looks back. I shut the trunk of the car and follow her inside.

  The ranch house is surprisingly cozy and warm, even though it’s pretty big. His dad made chili and cornbread, and it smells wonderful. I take off my snowy shoes and shake out my coat, scarf, and hat.

  “Here, I’ll show you to your room,” his mom says.

  I glance at Jackson, then follow his mom up the stairs. Jackson trails us. Stairs are kind of a challenge on crutches.

  “It faces west, in case you like to sleep in,” she says. “There are extra blankets in the closet, and some extra pillows, too. Feel free to use the alarm clock.”

  I put my stuff down and nod at everything she says, but I’m really wondering what exactly her expectations are. Is this just a polite fiction, or am I really expected to sleep here and not in Jackson’s room?

  If she catches me in Jackson’s room, is she gonna be mad?

  Jackson gets upstairs as she’s showing me the bathroom, the linen closet, where the towels are, and how to keep the window in the bathroom open just enough that the steam escapes.

  “Okay,” she finally says. “I’m going to go see how Hollis is doing in the kitchen.”

  She goes downstairs, and leaves Jackson and me alone in the hallway.

  “What does it mean that I have my own room?” I whisper.

  He glances down the stairs.

  “They’re kind of old-fashioned,” he says.

  “Do they think we’re not gonna have sex?” I whisper.

  “I think they kinda want to think that,” he whispers back.

  I narrow my eyes.

  “It means I sneak up to your room and if I get caught, I say I was getting another towel,” he says, grinning.

  “I don’t want them to hate me,” I say.

  He blinks at me, genuinely surprised.

  “My mom’s told everyone about how when she met you, it was eight in the morning and you were arguing with the nurse at the desk, trying to tell her you were my sister,” he says. “She’s given everyone in town a copy of the magazine, and the first thing out of her mouth isn’t that’s Jackson, it’s Jackson’s girlfriend took that picture.”

  “Then I don’t want them to change the
ir minds!” I say.

  Jackson leans one crutch against the wall. Then he grabs me by the hand, pulls me closer, and puts my hand right on his cock.

  He’s half-hard, but in seconds he’s at full-mast, and heat floods my entire body. I squeeze, and he growls quietly in my ear.

  “If you think I’m gonna behave myself while you’re here you’ve lost your goddamn mind,” he whispers, his lips against my ear.

  I curl my other hand around the back of his neck. Oh, my god, I missed this.

  “And if you think I’m not sleeping in your bed, you’re crazy,” he says, and nips at my earlobe.

  I kiss him, hard, my hand still on his cock, and he presses me against him. I open my mouth against his and he pushes his tongue against mine.

  “Dinner!” calls his mom.

  I pull my hand off him like it’s a hot stove, and a millisecond later her face appears at the bottom of the stairs. We were obviously making out, but at least I’m not practically giving him a hand job any more.

  “Sorry,” she says. “Dinner’s ready.”

  “Thank you!” I say. Her face disappears.

  Jackson kisses me again, laughing.

  “You’re still terrible at breaking the rules,” he teases.

  “Shut up,” I whisper, and hand him his other crutch.

  Dinner is delicious, even if I’m still nervous around his parents, and it’s made worse because Jackson keeps looking at me. With that look. The sex look.

  Afterwards I try to help his parents clean up, but his mom shoos me out of the kitchen despite my protestations. Jackson’s just standing there, laughing at me, and I make another face at him.

  He kisses the top of my head.

  “I think we’re gonna take a walk,” he calls to his parents.

  I raise my eyebrows.

  “It’s cold out,” his mom calls back.

  “It’s a good night for stars,” he says.

  Then he grins and winks down at me. We both bundle up, because it’s about twenty degrees outside.

  “I can’t wait to hear about all the constellations you know,” I tease him. “I think you should tell me about every single one.”

  “You can stay here if you’re gonna make fun of me,” he says, but he’s smiling.

  It’s freezing, but he was right. It is a good night for stars, and they’re stretched across the sky like they’re painted on the inside of a dome. Once we’re away from the house, we stand close together for a moment and look up at them.

  “More than New York?” he asks.

  “It reminds me of West Texas,” I say. “This is one thing I miss.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Tacos,” I say.

  We walk for another minute, and his trailer suddenly appears from nowhere. The dark out here is deep enough to lose yourself in.

  “I was hoping I’d get to see the jizz trailer,” I say.

  “You won’t if you keep calling it that,” he says.

  When we reach it, I open the door and hold it for him as he maneuvers up the steps and inside. He flips on the lights and then cranks the thermostat.

  “Here we are,” he says, looking around, his breath still frosting in the air. “Home sweet home.”

  I look around. I’ve seen it in pictures and on video, so it looks familiar, but it’s strange to be here. Jackson leans against the kitchen counter, takes off his crutches and his gloves, and then pulls me against him and kisses me hard.

  I get my own gloves off, slide my fingers through his hair and kiss him back. His face is a little cold but his mouth is warm and needy, and I press myself against him, that ever-present hunger yawning inside me.

  After a long time he pulls back, then reaches for his crutches and I take a step back.

  “Stay there for a minute,” he says, and goes down a short hallway and through a door that he shuts behind himself.

  I swallow. My entire insides have already turned into one warm, hollow ache, and I don’t even know what he’s got in the bedroom back there.

  I walk to the kitchen table and look at it for a moment, then sit down. I’m pretty sure this is the view I get when we video chat, because it suddenly looks very familiar.

  Even though I know I shouldn’t, I glance up at the ceiling. There’s a small, off-white spot right above the table.

  Gross, I think, but I’m also laughing to myself.

  Then the door to the bedroom opens, and Jackson leans against the doorframe.

  “C’mere,” he says.

  I recognize his bedroom, too, because I’ve spent a lot of hours talking to Jackson while we’re both curled on our sides in our beds, him in front of a window and ugly wood paneling.

  Except now, both the window sills and the dresser are covered with thick white candles and the room is flickering with their glow. The blinds are open to the dark outside. There are two space heaters going full blast on the floor, and it looks like the bed has about twenty blankets on it. Somewhere, there’s speakers quietly playing a song I don’t recognize.

  He shuts the door.

  “Keeps the heat in,” he says.

  He touches my face with one hand and just looks at me for a long moment. It feels good just to be here where no one else is listening in or in the next room or doing dishes in my apartment. It’s nearly quiet and nearly dark and we are finally, finally alone together.

  “I missed you,” he murmurs.

  “I missed you too,” I whisper.

  Jackson kisses me again. It’s soft at first, gentle and romantic, but I can’t help myself. Not now. I wind my fingers through his hair and pull his mouth against mine. He swipes his tongue against my lips and curls his tongue into my mouth, against mine. I feel like my body is melting from the inside out, like I’m a nuclear reactor that’s overheated.

  We’re both still wearing winter coats, but I can feel his erection against my stomach. I bite his bottom lip as he pulls back, and he groans, then grabs the front of my thick black pea coat, pulling at the buttons. He gets most of them undone, but there’s more buttons on the inside and also a zipper, and he looks at it and frowns.

  I laugh and take a step back as I get it off and toss it on the floor, then unwind my scarf and let that fall. I find the zipper on Jackson’s heavy rancher’s coat and pull it down. He’s wearing a sweater beneath it but I just slide my hands under it and run my hands up his torso. The muscles aren’t as thick as they were, but he’s been in a wheelchair for six weeks, and I can still feel them flexing under the skin.

  Jackson laughs.

  “What?” I murmur.

  “Your hands are cold,” he says.

  “So warm them up,” I say, and push his shirt and sweater off over his head, and then Jackson grabs me by the hips and pushes me against the wall, the bare muscles in his arms flexing hard. I half raise my eyebrows as my back hits the wood paneling.

  “What?” he growls. He leans on the dresser to step forward and then his body’s against mine, his skin hot under my hands.

  “I thought I might have to be gentle with you,” I murmur.

  He grins and puts one forearm on the wall over my head, leaning down.

  “Not that gentle, Lula-Mae,” he says, and kisses me hard again. I’m pinned against the wall and I grab his pants by the waistband and pull him harder against me, and he groans into my mouth. I think I can feel his erection throbbing through two layers of clothing.

  Jackson pulls back just enough to get my sweater off of me, then kisses me again, his lips moving to my neck. He takes off my long-sleeved shirt and reveals a tank top, and then laughs, bending down just enough to nip at my collarbone.

  “This is like a morphine dream I had,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my skin, his voice sending shivers through my body.

  “Was it twenty degrees outside in your dream, too?” I ask. My eyes are closed and my head’s turned to one side, my arm slung around his shoulders.

  “I don’t know, but I dreamed that you kept taking your clothes off,
only there were always more clothes underneath,” he says.

  I pull my tank top off over my head and unhook my bra and before I even get it off his rough fingers are on my breasts, the pads of his thumb circling my nipples.

  “Not a dream,” I say, and move my hips against him. I desperately want to wrap my legs around him, for him to push me against the wall and hold me there, but I’m pretty sure the cast on his leg is gonna keep that from happening.

  I settle for sliding my palm down the length of his erection, outside his jeans, and watching the hungry light in his eyes.

  “For the record, I really want to pick you up and throw you on the bed,” he says. His face is against mine and his voice is low and rough, enough to send tingles through my whole body. “But I’ve gotta settle for hobbling over.”

  I laugh and undo his belt and unbutton his jeans. Then I kiss him as I unzip them down the whole length of his erection until he’s growling again, and he undoes my jeans and slides a hand inside, his fingers circling my clit.

  I gasp and arch my back, fighting the urge to jump onto him. He kisses me harder and moves his fingers along my slit, teasing me. I moan into his mouth and he pushes one finger just barely between my lips.

  “I’m never gonna get tired of how wet you are for me,” he says. “Even the very first time we did this.”

  “That was alcohol and enthusiasm,” I say. I move my hips against his hand, trying to get him to go deeper, but it’s not working. “Now I’m wet because I know what comes next.”

  He pulls his hand out and puts his fingers in his mouth, licking them off.

  “I fucking missed the way you taste,” he murmurs.

  “Jackson,” I say, swallowing hard, “If you don’t hobble to the bed right now, I can’t be held accountable for what happens next.”

  “What’s that, Lula-Mae?” he says.

  “That’s I wrap my legs around you right now and we both go over, because you’ve still got one leg in a cast,” I say. “I’ve only got so much self-control, Jackson, especially with you.”

  He kisses me, then grabs a crutch from where it’s leaning against the wall and hobbles to the bed and sits. He holds his right leg awkwardly straight as he pushes his jeans down.