Maelstrőm

by Michelle Love

  Do some stormy nights have me wishing for more than my puppy as a companion?

  Sure.

  Does watching a love story on television have me searching for someone to love and love me?

  Sure. That’s why I don’t watch that shit anymore.

  Does the sight of a well-tattooed, bearded man with mountains of muscles get me hot?

  Of course, I am only human!

  But will I give a man a chance to fill those voids?

  Hell no!

  That leads to the heartbreak again, and that’s a place I’m never revisiting.

  But as I watch the pack of bikers ride past the garage, I see chicks riding bitch behind their boyfriends or husbands or whatever. And I secretly wish I could do that.

  Maybe just one time. Maybe I wouldn’t fall in love with the douche bag. Maybe I could keep things light and easy.

  Then the phone rings and it comes through on my headphones since I have them plugged in and it scares the shit out of me. “Shit!” I scream out loud as I pull the cord out of the phone.

  It’s a damn eight hundred number so I’m not even going to answer it, anyway. Man, what a way to ruin a little daydream!

  “Hey, a little help here, I ain’t got all day!” some man shouts from the bay.

  His voice is all gruff, and he sounds like an East coast, ass-wipe.

  I want to yell back that I ain’t got all day either but Uncle Phil talked to me just this morning about not being rude to the customers. So I don’t yell anything and get up off the tall stool and go see what the prick wants.

  Just as I get to the stairs that lead down into the bay I see a tall figure standing in the shadows as the mechanics turned the overhead lights off when they left for lunch.

  His broad shoulders stand out against the dim backlighting. As I look past him, I see a bad to the bone Harley just inside the bay and it looks brand new.

  A rich prick, I bet.

  As he turns to look back at his bike and hitches his thumb, gesturing to it, I can see his long beard. “Got some bike troubles. I need to see a mechanic,” he says with a gravelly, deep, sexy voice.

  But I’m sure he’s a cock-sucker like all men are!

  He steps forward and I step back. He keeps walking forward and I keep stepping backward. All the way until we’re inside the lighted waiting area and then I see him.

  His hair is dirty blonde and cut so close to his head on both sides it looks almost like it’s shaved. The top is a long flop of waves. His aviator sunglasses are so dark I can’t see the color of his eyes.

  He pulls them off and some piercing blue eyes look at me. Running over me as he looks me up and down and it sends chills through me quickly followed by heat.

  Fuck me, he’s hot!

  His black leather jacket has red letters stitched into it. Seems he’s a member of a gang called The Brothers of the Scarlet Dragon. And there’s a name stitched in red just over his left very nicely defined pec.

  Blaze.

  Hmm, bet it’s because he’s like a flash of fire. Hot and then gone…

  Tight, black, leather pants hug some massive legs. The defined muscles make the leather bend to conform to them.

  They must be hard, like steel.

  His motorcycle boots are dusty from the road. He must’ve ridden quite some ways to get here. Him and his gang of motorcycle riding hellions.

  I’m sure he’s looking for some hot action while he’s in town. A wealthy banker on a little retreat from a wife and kids.

  Cheater!

  The form-fitting white T is sheer enough to see his six pack of abs and the lines are all so defined it almost seems unnatural.

  Most likely all steroid muscles. No real work.

  I’m sure he’s a bunch of lies all wrapped into a nice looking package.

  I see no visible tats to gauge his realness from. I’m an avid tattoo adviser and very critical of ones that don’t mean anything or lend a beauty to the owner.

  His caramel lips part and I can see a nice set of white teeth behind them. Then I realize I’ve pulled my lower lip between my teeth and hurry to let it go.

  Damn girl!

  For reasons I can’t figure out except it’s kind of hot in here and now that he’s walked in it seems a lot hotter, he’s taking off his leather jacket.

  Fuck! His biceps are enormous and his arms are covered in art. I mean real artwork. Not just dumb tats that make no sense. He’s a canvas for some very skilled artist.

  I’m ashamed to admit that my body is quivering, and I just got really wet.

  I swallow and do my best to regain my inner bitch then say, “What can I do for you, Blaze?”

  BLAZE

  I seem to be looking at my first conquest and man is she smoking hot!

  So hot in fact, I’m having a hard time forming words. “How do you know my name?”

  With a nod, she gestures to the jacket I’ve taken off and tossed on the little beat up sofa in the waiting room. “Oh, yeah. My jacket. Um, so my bike is, um…”

  Her dark brows arch up as she asks, “Making a strange noise?”

  She runs the tip of her tongue out just a hair to move over her plump bottom lip. A plum colored lip gloss covers them and makes them look delicious.

  I shake my head as that’s not the problem with the bike but damn it, I can’t recall what the problem is as she’s so completely distracting. Her hand moves to her hip and she shifts her weight to her other leg.

  Her long, black leather covered leg that looks so long, lean and fuckable. A pink sheer top she has on and a dark pink silk bra she’s wearing peeks out underneath it.

  She turns around and goes back behind the tall counter and sits back on the tall stool there and looks back at the old computer on the top it if. She has a pair of angel wings on her back I can see underneath the sheer shirt.

  Her deep, gorgeous blue eyes peer at me over the top of the old grease stained monitor as she asks, “Is it vibrating too much?”

  “Huh?” I ask as I was looking at how pretty she has her black hair braided. The long braid lays over her right shoulder and the end of it rests on her boob. Her really perfect, pert and voluptuous boob.

  “Is it vibrating more than usual?” she asks then looks back at the screen. “It’s a new Street Glide, isn’t it?”

  I know the answer to that one!

  “Yes, yes it is. But it’s not vibrating any more than usual. I just got it a few days ago in a Harley shop in New York. Have you ever ridden one before? I could take you on a ride.” I stop myself because I’m coming off way uncool. “If you want, I mean. I don’t need you to go on a ride with me. But if you were wondering what a beast like my bike rides like, I could take you. On a ride that is. I could take you on a ride. Not take you. You know what I mean…”

  I shut up as she looks at me with her mouth slightly open then she says, “I know what you mean. No, I don’t want to ride it. I mean, it’s a badass machine and I’m sure I’d enjoy the ride but not with you.”

  “Why not with me?” I ask as I lean on the counter and try to catch another glimpse of that sweet tattoo on her back. “Those wings on your back, any significant reason for them?”

  Without looking at me she answers, “My name is Angel, hence the wings. And it’s nothing personal. I just kind of hate men. That’s why not you.”

  Of course! She’s a lesbian!

  “So, into women then. What a loss for men everywhere.” I stand back up and turn away.

  No reason to make myself sick over a girl who likes girls.

  “No, not into women,” she says with a huff. “Why is it when a woman says she hates men they always assume she’s a lesbian? Can’t a woman simply hate men without wanting to lick another chick into ecstasy?”

  I turn back to look at her and stifle a laugh. “Crap! You are one verbal gal.”

  She looks back at the ancient monitor. “Not making a strange noise, not vibrating too much. Is it getting lower?”

  Shock runs through m
e. “Yeah! That’s it! How…”

  “It’s a common problem with the air ride suspension system when you’re traveling over rough surfaces. It’s most likely a small prick that punctured the line. I’m sure our mechanic can get it going for you fairly quickly. If you have a credit card on you, I can go ahead and write up a ticket so he can get busy on it as soon as he gets back from lunch.” She holds out her hand and on the inside of her wrist there’s a little angel, complete with a halo.

  I take her hand and look at the tat as I take my wallet out with my other hand. “Nice.”

  She allows me to hold her hand and I find sparks shooting all through me as I touch her.

  That’s never happened before!

  I let it go to retrieve my credit card and find the sparks starting to dissipate. That had to mean something.

  Placing the card in her hand, I purposely graze her palm with my fingertips and the sparks come back. I notice her eyes are narrowed at me. Then she looks away quickly.

  I bet she felt that too!

  “So how do you know so much about bikes, Angel?” I ask as I lean back on the counter since she isn’t a lesbian, and she is into men and she has such an amazing effect on me.

  “I’m nine months away from getting my Master’s in Engineering. I want to build bikes. Preferably ones with women in mind.” She looks at me with a smile after she sees my card. “Worthington? And you are Benjamin of the famous Worthington Law Firm in New York. I had pegged you as a banker, not a billionaire lawyer. A married banker with kids. Not an extremely eligible bachelor.”

  And now this hard demeanor she’s had will fade away like cotton candy in a rainstorm.

  “You found out.” I lean in a bit closer. “So how about that ride, now?”

  “Ha!”

  Not the sound I thought I was about to hear.

  She goes to typing and not looking at me. So I ask, although hesitantly, “Why the loud, ha?”

  “I see men with money around this town all the damn time.” Her eyes level on me. “I can become some billionaire’s bimbo anytime I want to. Thing is, I don’t want to. But you should watch out for the other ladies in this town. And when I say ladies, believe me, I am using that term very loosely.”

  I put the card back in my wallet as she has taken off all the information she needed and placed it on the counter rather than placing it back in my hand. “You are one of the three people in this town who know my real name, Angel. No one else will know me by anything other than, Blaze. I trust you can keep my little secret.”

  Her deep blue, sexy as hell eyes which are framed by the darkest and thickest of lashes flutter at me as she moves her hand to her chest and says, “Me? You can completely trust me to keep your name to myself. I wouldn’t want to be the one responsible for getting you mauled by the pack of hungry females which are running amuck through my hometown.”

  “If this is your hometown then why haven’t I seen you around before? I’ve been here for the last two rallies. I’d remember you if I ever saw you around before.” I take the opportunity to pick her braid up and finger it a bit as she’s close enough to do that.

  She yanks it out of my hand. “Look, Benny. No fucking around with my personal shit. Not my braid, not my mind, not my body!”

  I stand up and feel kind of sheepish as she’s a bit intimidating, and it’s not very easy for a woman to intimidate me. But her use of a nickname for me has me wanting to laugh. And I know she’d get even more pissed if I laughed right now

  “I shouldn’t have touched your hair. You’re completely right. It won’t happen again. Unless you ask me to, of course. Then I’ll run my fingers all through that silky heaven on top of your pretty little head.” Her glare tells me that I have spoken the wrong words.

  Those porcelain cheeks fill with red and that can only mean one thing.

  Anger!

  “Pretty little head?” she says with a very even and low tone. It’s a scary tone as I can see fire in her gorgeous eyes. “Look, I had me a biker once, and he made me believe he loved me. He made me think we had a future, and he took off and went on a world tour, alone. He broke me, Benny. I’m not a repairable person from how he left me. So I stay to myself. I don’t want a man. Especially a fucking biker with a love for the road, fast women, and booze. No offense.”

  “Yeah, of course. I mean what’s offensive about any of that you just said? Not a thing, right? Not one thing.” I tap my fingers on the top of the counter and wonder how I can repair this damage.

  She pounds at the poor keyboard in front of her as she finishes writing up the ticket. Muttering indiscernible things as she does and I decide to take a walk around and look out the glass door as a group of bikers rides along the roadway in front of the garage.

  “Hey,” I hear her say so I turn back around and see a little smile on her face. “I’m sorry. I know you aren’t just a biker in some gang. I know you’re this high-powered lawyer who likes to ride once a year. I shouldn’t have said all that to you. I’m a little high-strung at times.”

  With slow steps, I walk back toward her. “I have a feeling you don’t apologize often.”

  She nods. “Try never.” She smiles again. It’s a wide and genuine smile. “Please don’t tell my uncle I was so harsh to you. He just gave me a lecture this morning about not being rude to his customers.”

  I give her a wink. “So the owner is your uncle then?”

  “He is,” she says and stands up and comes around the counter to fix some brochures about oil and things for motorcycles. “I’m working here part-time until I finish college and hopefully move on to working for some motorcycle manufacturer. Uncle Phil was nice enough to keep me employed these last few years.”

  I lean on the counter and watch her as she leans over to straighten up some magazines on the old as shit coffee table with all kinds of stains on it. Her ass is plump and so damn round and I can hardly stand straight up as I’m getting a huge boner.

  So I lean a little lower to help that not be so obvious. She seems to be calming down nicely, and I’d hate her to turn back around and see me all huge for her and get mad again.

  “So you stay home and never go out? Is that why I haven’t seen you around before?” I ask as I look away and try to think of things to make the boner go away.

  Kids playing baseball. Eating ice cream cones. Riding on a merry-go-round.

  Fuck! None of those worked!

  She turns back around and says, “That’s why. I’m a homebody. Work and school take up my time. The crazy bar scene is not for me.”

  “So, how about dinner then?” I ask as she goes back to sit on the stool behind the counter again.

  A thing I’m thankful for as the hard-on is staying, it seems.

  She shakes her head and laughs. “No. No dinner. No date. Nothing. Look, Benny, I don’t want you to take this personal. It’s not. It’s just that I’m done with love.”

  A loud laugh comes out of me. “Damn! Who said anything about love? I was talking about getting some food and eating it. Not running away to Vegas with me to get hitched!”

  Her cheeks go pink and now I’ve embarrassed her.

  Shit!

  She won’t look at me as she shakes her head and looks down. “No. I know that. I didn’t mean for you to take it that way. Sorry. Just no thank you to dinner. I think I hear them all coming back from lunch. Your bike will be looked at soon if you’d care to take a seat.”

  “How old are you, Angel?” I ask as I find her way too young to be so cynical and set on a life of being alone.

  Her blue eyes shine as she looks back at me. “Twenty-four. And you’re around thirty, right?”

  I nod. “I am thirty. And I’m in no rush to settle down. I’m here to sow some wild oats. So I get it why you don’t want to date anyone who comes in with this crazy rally.”

  “Good,” she says with a smile.

  A burly man comes in from the back with a stained up blue uniform on. “What ya got, Angel?” His voice is all me
ssed up from years of smoking and being around harsh fumes.

  She gestures toward me with an open hand. “This gentleman has an issue with his bike. It’s the red one in the bay.”

  He looks me up and down. “In town for the rally?”

  I nod. He looks back at Angel. “He hit on you?”

  She shakes her head. “No, Uncle Phil. He was a complete gentleman.”

  “Good!” he says then turns his large body around and walks out of the room toward the bay.

  Once he’s out of earshot, I give her a wink as she looks at me. “Thanks for that. He looks like he packs a wallop.”

  With a laugh which sounds like Heaven to me, she says, “He does. And I’ve seen the mess it leaves. I didn’t want your first night in town to be with a shiner and a busted lip. The tramps would just hate it if your pretty face got all messed up.”

  I lean over the counter again and smile at her. “So I have a pretty face, do I?”

  She blushes and shakes her head. “You are incorrigible.”

  I’m smitten is what I am. I’ve never been smitten before, but this has to be it. “Come on, Angel. Just dinner. Just one dinner and if you hate me, then I’ll never bother you again.”

  “Nope.” She gets up and walks out of the waiting room, leaving me there alone and wondering how the hell this chick has gotten under my skin so damn quick.

  I drum my fingers on the counter until she comes back. She’s beaming as she goes back to her chair.

  “Well, what has you all smiles?” I ask.

  “Oh, just the fact I was right about your bike. Just a little pinhole. It’ll be ready in about an hour.”

  “Cool, I get to hang out with you for another hour.” I go take a seat on the very uncomfortable old sofa and grab a magazine and sit back.

  “Seems so. Or if you want, I can give you ride to where ever your gang is and drop you off with them. Someone can give you a call when your bike’s ready,” she says.

  “Nah, I’m going to hang out here with you and hopefully talk you into dinner tonight.” I give her my million-dollar smile.

  “That won’t happen, Benny.”

  “We’ll see about that.”