by Dez Burke
Too bad he’s not my type.
It’s not fair.
How come preppy guys in business suits never have voices like his? Or call me ‘darling’ and make my insides melt when they look at me?
“Sorry,” I say, relaxing my hold a little.
“It’s show time,” he says. “Now or never.”
Rocco is watching us silently from the gate. When Toby throws up a hand to signal him, he steps up quickly and swings the gate wide open. Toby starts the bike and revs the engine. Though I was expecting it, the force of the bike underneath me catches me by surprise as we lunge forward.
“Whoa!” I say.
“Hang on,” he warns again sternly.
This is going to be scarier than I thought. My grip tightens on Toby’s waist. I’m sure he can breathe just fine. And if not, he’ll let me know.
We roar through the gate and head for an opening between the vehicles. When the reporters spot us, they begin yelling out questions while scrambling to shoot video. Bright lights click on from every direction and shine our way. They’re blinding me.
I don’t know how Toby can see where he’s going. Maybe he can’t and is driving blind too. He doesn’t slow down or look their way. Keeping his eyes straight ahead, he maneuvers through the parked vehicles and finally clears the last one.
“Dammit!” I hear one of the reporters yell when we zip past him.
Before the media has time to realize what is happening, we’re free of them and on the gravel road leading out to the main highway. A quarter of a mile down the road, Toby slows down and glances over his shoulder.
“Ready to do some real riding?” he yells. “If you’re scared, just close your eyes and trust me. That might be the best thing to do because I’m in a hurry to get home.”
“Trust you to do what?” I say into his ear.
He doesn’t answer. I wonder why. It wasn’t a deep, thought-provoking question.
“Keep you safe,” he finally mutters.
“I trust you,” I answer automatically.
Because I do…
16
Toby
When we hit the highway, I roll back the throttle and drive the same speed I usually do on my bike which is flat-out, wide-ass open.
Mostly to gauge Maggie’s reaction.
It’s a test for all my lady friends. If they try to slow me down, I know they’re not the right gal for me.
I’m not all about living slow.
Not anymore.
Live life to the fullest is my motto.
As far as I know, this is the only one we’re guaranteed, so we’d better make the most of it.
Every fucking day.
I live my life to honor those who aren’t here to enjoy theirs any longer. It was a promise I made to my buddies in the Marines.
To her credit, Maggie doesn’t squeal or carry on for me to slow down like most women do. Maybe she’s too terrified to open her eyes. In the darkness, I can’t tell if they’re squeezed shut. The only thing I know for sure is that her body feels good tucked up close behind me.
Almost as if she belongs there.
When we turn off the main highway and start up the dirt road to my house, I feel her tense up. The only thing illuminating our way is the bike’s shaky headlights, and that’s not saying much. For a city girl, I guess the country could be a little scary. Except for the headlights and a few stars peeking out from behind the clouds, we’re in complete darkness.
She doesn’t say a word until I pull up in front of the house and cut the engine. “Home sweet home,” I say. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“I survived,” she says wryly. She slides off the bike before I have a chance to offer her a hand. “All I can say is that I’m glad it was a short trip.”
“You did good for your first time. The Steel Infidels are going for a ride to Las Vegas this summer. Want to ride with us?” I ask jokingly. “You might enjoy it. We’re taking the whole month of August off to ride.”
“No thank you,” she says emphatically. “I can’t imagine anything worse.”
I wonder how it would be to take her with me. In my imagination, the trip would be several days of long, hot bike rides and nights filled with long, hot fucking.
If I was a lucky man.
I rub my eyes to clear my mind of the image of her naked and warm underneath me with her long hair splayed out on the bed.
Damn!
This green-eyed beauty is going to be trouble for me. I knew it from the start. And now I’m stuck with her for two days. I’m hoping that’s all.
“Come on inside and meet Sadie,” I say.
Sadie heard us pull up in the driveway and is barking non-stop in the backyard. Maggie hesitates beside the bike.
“Are you sure this is okay? I feel uncomfortable barging in someplace where I’m not wanted. This doesn’t feel right. Now that I’ve had time to think about it, I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
I reach up and untuck the strands of her long dark hair that was caught in the neck of the jacket. “Who said you weren’t wanted? It will be fine, I promise.”
She throws off my hand without responding and sets off ahead of me toward the house. I know it’s evil for me to enjoy aggravating her. For some reason, I can’t seem to stop. Though I’m a little surprised that she hasn’t caught on yet about Sadie.
I unlock the front door and flick on the lights. Maggie steps inside and glances around my place. It’s small and sparsely furnished. Plenty comfortable enough for me and Sadie. We don’t need much to make us happy.
A brown recliner sofa takes up most of the living room along with a big-screen television against the wall. A small oak dining table sits in the corner of the kitchen. My one splurge was the king-size bed for the bedroom, because I’m a big guy and need room to stretch out.
In the military, I spent too many nights hanging off the side of tiny cots. A bed was the first thing I bought when I returned home. It was my way of saying to myself that I was finally back.
From the guarded expression on Maggie’s face, she isn’t overly impressed with my humble abode. Not that I expected her to be. I’m guessing her place is a high-rise apartment with modern furniture and fresh flower arrangements on every table. On the weekends, her apartment is probably filled with well-dressed friends who come over for cocktails where they stand around a big glass window that overlooks the Atlanta skyline. Everything would be perfectly designed and proper. The kind of place I couldn’t spend five minutes in before I would be itching to leave.
“Everything to your liking?” I ask. “We weren’t expecting company.”
Not that I care one way or the other.
She doesn’t have to like my house as long as she doesn’t bitch about it. I’m not in the mood to be dealing with a prissy-ass woman tonight. I’m tired, hungry, and need a beer. In fact, I’m bordering on hangry.
“Your place is great,” she says, waving a hand at the room. “I like your big television. Do you ever watch our news station?”
“No,” I lie.
She’s trying to be nice and humor me. That’ll work because it sure beats trying to piss me off.
I hurry into the kitchen and unlock the back door where Sadie is waiting impatiently. She jumps up on me in excitement, getting red clay mud all over my jeans, then runs into the living room to check out who I brought home.
“Hey there,” Maggie says with a big smile. She immediately squats down to scratch Sadie’s head behind her ears. Sadie sniffs her hand then leans against her legs, closing her eyes in contentment.
“You like dogs?” I ask. I’m not sure why I’m surprised.
Maggie gives me a genuine smile. It’s the first I’ve seen from her. “I’ve never met a dog I didn’t like,” she says. “I wish I didn’t work crazy hours so I could have one of my own. Maybe someday. Who is this pretty girl?”
“That’s Sadie,” I say with a straight face. I wait for the inevitable hammer to fall. She’s going to be pis
sed. Now I’m feeling a tiny bit bad about deceiving her, since she’s a dog lover and all.
Maggie’s green eyes shoot to my face.
“Sadie is your dog?” she asks. “You intentionally let me believe Sadie was a girlfriend.”
Yeah, she’s mad at me and I deserve it. I shake my head and study an imaginary spot on the ceiling. “No, I didn’t. You must have jumped to conclusions. I don’t know how you got that idea. All I said was that Sadie has big, brown eyes and that she loves me. Don’t you, girl?”
Sadie leaves Maggie’s side and runs back over to me with her big, fluffy tail wagging. After licking my hand to tell me she’s glad I’m home, she turns right around and goes back to Maggie for more ear scratches.
“Sadie likes you,” I say. “She usually takes a little more time to warm up to strangers.”
“Dogs know when people like them,” Maggie says. “What does Sadie do all day when you’re gone?”
“I have a lady who comes by every afternoon to check on her. To make sure she hasn’t turned over her water bowl or dug under the fence again. One time she got out and didn’t come home for two weeks. I almost went out of my mind looking for her. Called every place I knew and put up posters. It turns out a nice couple miles away from here found her and took her home with them. She had lost her collar with the tags, so they thought she had been abandoned. I never want that to happen again.”
“Is she a good guard dog?” she asks. “Because I have a feeling I might need one. Against you.” She stands up and pats Sadie’s side. “I’m going to ask you again because I need to get this straight and I’m still confused. There isn’t a girlfriend that lives here with you?”
“That’s right. As I told you yesterday at the mall, there’s no girl.”
“We’re alone here in your house? Just the two of us.”
“Except for Sadie,” I say, nodding.
Is Maggie scared of me? I hadn’t considered it until now. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
“Are you afraid of me?” I ask. “If you remember, this wasn’t my idea. You could have backed out at any time. Stop looking at me like you think I’m the Big Bad Wolf about to eat you alive.”
“I’m not worried,” she says unconvincingly. “However, I would like my phone back. For safety reasons. Can I have it?” She holds out her hand. “I wouldn’t have agreed to stay here alone with you without access to my phone. A woman can’t be too careful these days. Anything could happen.”
She’s playing me.
Trying to make me feel guilty about bringing her here to be all alone with me. Except it wasn’t my idea and I was very clear about that. I don’t feel one bit guilty.
“No, sorry. You can’t have it.”
I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone instead and hand it to her.
“Here’s mine. Call anyone you want. I don’t care. As long as I’m sitting here with you.”
“Any nude photos on here?” she asks with a smirk, mimicking the questions I asked about her phone.
“Maybe,” I reply. “Go ahead and check.” I know there’s not because it’s a clean burner phone with nothing on it. No call records, no texts, and definitely no nude photos. “I’m more than happy to take a personal one just for you,” I offer.
She hesitates then hands it back to me with a tired sigh.
“I’m too exhausted to talk to anyone, and I’m starving. Do you have anything to eat here? I apologize for even asking. If I wasn’t desperate, I wouldn’t.”
“When was the last time you ate?” I ask. “You’re not going to pass out on me, are you? You’re a little pale.”
Now that I’m paying attention, I can see that she truly is bone-tired. I wonder if she got any sleep last night. It couldn’t have been much considering she was researching the Steel Infidels all night and then driving to see me early this morning. Not to mention she must have gone to the hospital with her cameraman after the shooting. I’ve been afraid to ask her how he’s doing.
“I had a yogurt on the drive up here from Atlanta this morning,” she says.
“Yogurt? That’s not real food. Anything that comes in seventy-five artificial flavors can’t be good. Let’s go into the kitchen and see if we can scrounge up something. I don’t do much fancy cooking, so our choices are limited.” I take her into the kitchen and open the refrigerator. “I know there is a couple of steaks in here that I bought this weekend.” I pull the two rib eyes out of the meat bin and stack them on the counter. “We can grill those. And there may be enough fixings for a tossed salad.”
I dig around in the refrigerator until I find a head of lettuce along with a red bell pepper and a bag of baby carrots. After piling them all on the counter, I turn around and keep rummaging through the fridge in hopes of finding something better.
She’s standing there watching me, clearly uncomfortable in my kitchen. I’m wondering how long it will take Miss Prissy to offer to help. As if she’s reading my mind, she walks over to the kitchen sink and washes her hands.
“Tell me what to do and I’ll help,” she says.
“Can you make a salad? We’ll have to make do with what I have.”
“I believe I can manage,” she says with an amused smile. “I have a feeling you don’t think I’m capable of much.”
I stop prowling through the crisper and glance at her over the refrigerator door. The way she said it makes me think I’ve hurt her feelings. Why would anyone think she isn’t capable of doing anything she set out to do?
“No, you’re tougher than you appear,” I say grudgingly. “It’s just that if I’d known you were coming, I would have bought groceries. And cleaned up the place a little too.”
“Do you cook for yourself?” she asks.
“No, my personal chef comes in three nights a week,” I joke. “I cook if I want to eat something besides takeout. Most nights it’s just me and Sadie here by ourselves. I usually hang out at the clubhouse for a couple of hours after work and then come home to watch a game. The life of a biker isn’t always as exciting as it may seem.”
She raises her eyebrows at me. “Is that so? What about the Sweet Butts?” she asks. “I thought bikers were supposed to have a limitless supply of women. Surely there’s no shortage of girls willing to keep you company at night? Or at least to cook you a meal occasionally.”
I don’t want Maggie knowing too much about the Sweet Butts. She might turn on us later and use it against the Steel Infidels.
At least that’s what I tell myself.
Truth is, I don’t want Maggie discovering the truth about the Sweet Butts for my own personal reasons. She wouldn’t understand how they’re part of the biker culture. Not many women would.
If I want to fuck her, and I’ve decided that I most certainly do, then the less she knows about my personal life, the better. She’ll be in and out of my life in no time. The same as all the other women in my life.
“That’s pretty much an old myth about the Sweet Butts,” I say, counting on the fact that she won’t be around long enough to find out I’m lying. “They hang out around the clubhouse until they get tired of the biker life. Then they’re on to something else. You know how women are. Occasionally the girls will date one of the crew. It usually doesn’t last long.”
Like one night. Or five minutes.
All according to what they’re offering to do at the time.
“You don’t date any of the girls?” she asks with a knowing smile on her face.
“Not usually, they’re not my type.”
“And what would that be?”
17
Maggie
Toby leans on the refrigerator door and stares at me with those mesmerizing blue eyes that I find so fascinating. Who knew the color of blue could have so many distinct hues? I wonder how they look first thing in the morning when he’s still groggy from sleep. Or late at night in the heat of passion. I imagine they go dark blue, almost black.
“You really want to know my type?” he says. “
Okay, I’ll tell you. Long, dark hair, green eyes, and lush lips.” His eyes drop to my chest and I cross my arms protectively. “Large breasts,” he continues, “At least a C-cup. All those guys who say more than a mouthful is a waste are lying through their teeth when it comes to boobs.” He holds up his big hands and pretends to squeeze. “And a big ass. The bigger the better. None of those skinny ass girls for this country boy.”
He’s describing me.
“Is that descriptive enough for you? Or do you need more?”
I want more, and he knows it.
“Oh, do go on,” I say, waving my hand. “I want to hear this.”
“Why?” he asks. “For your interview? I don’t see how my preference for women with a big old booty would be relevant to your viewers.”
“You might be surprised,” I say. “I’m all ears.”
“You’re a lot more than ears, sweetheart,” he says.
I roll my eyes. He never stops with the sexual innuendos. Usually this is a sign the man isn’t going to perform up to expectations. In Toby’s case, I doubt I would be disappointed. The sizzling heat coming off him is impossible to ignore.
“I meant keep going with your ideal girl story.”
“Sweet and sassy,” he says, getting wound up now. “I like a girl with spunk. One that’s not afraid to put me in my place when I need it. To speak their mind if I’m getting out of line.” He rubs the stubble on his jaw thoughtfully. “Not a bitch though. I don’t have much patience for that. And not a fancy girl either. I need a woman that’s comfortable getting down and dirty. Who is willing to crawl up in the back of my pickup truck to help me bale hay in the summer. Or go fishing with me.”
He holds up both hands.
“Only occasionally though. Not always. A man needs some alone time by the river. To think.”
I wish I was writing all this down. For research purposes. So I can remember every detail later.
Not that I’m likely to forget.
“You like to fish?” I ask.
“I don’t just like to fish,” he says. “I need to fish. Like a man needs air to breathe. Sometimes it’s the only thing that calms me down. Those are the most peaceful times I have these days…me, Sadie, and a fishing pole alone on a river bank. No cell phones, ear buds, or other people around to bother me.”
