Biker's Virgin

by Claire Adams

  I stood from my seat in the bathroom, pushing all thoughts of Brooke out of my head. After I washed my face with a little cold water, I wandered back to join everyone laughing and drinking. I grabbed another beer from the fridge, popped the top off, and took a deep swig of the crisp liquid. The night was really getting started so I figured, screw it—might as well go along with it and enjoy the ride.

  ***

  “One more shot, E, one more! C'mon, bro, you can do it!”

  My knees started to buckle beneath me. I was wasted. My vision was definitely getting more than a little blurry around the edges, too. Still, I wasn't about to let Chris stay ahead of me in the shots race. I was three behind and I needed to catch up. Melissa was hanging all over me again, only at that point, I was too drunk to care. I picked up the shot glass filled to the brim with Jägermeister, stared at it for a while with a goofy grin pasted across my face, and then opened my mouth and chucked the shot in, sucking it down immediately.

  As soon as the booze vanished down my throat, I felt bile rising up in reaction. I gritted my teeth and forced the bitter liquid back down. I wasn't about to puke and ruin the evening.

  “Alright, bro, ladies, are y'all ready to hit the club?!” Chris shouted, his deep-toned voice drowning out the pumping tune ripping through our speakers.

  “Woo!” the girls shrilled.

  I heard the strange sound of my own voice, raspy and harsh, joining the chorus of approval coming from Melissa and her friends.

  “Yeah! Let's do it, then!” bellowed Chris. “An Uber driver is on the way; c'mon, yo, downstairs, downstairs!”

  Melissa hooked her arm through mine as we stumbled out of the apartment, but I didn't really care. As wasted as I was, I knew nothing was gonna happen between us. I was determined, even in this state, not to let anything happen. At least she was as drunk as I was, and I knew she couldn't hold her liquor too well. The way I had it figured, after another drink or two, she'd just pass out anyway, and then I wouldn't have to worry about her. I still felt kind of queasy, but I also felt amped to dance; the energy drink I'd slammed twenty minutes earlier had boosted a hefty dose of caffeine into my veins.

  As we were stumbling past Brooke's apartment, I couldn't help but pause and listen for a moment. I thought I heard something I recognized—the opening theme for Game of Thrones, my favorite TV show. I couldn't help wondering who was watching it—Leslie or Brooke?

  Did Brooke actually have more of a personality than study nerd? Was it possible that we actually had more in common than we thought we did? I didn't know anyone besides myself who was as crazy interested in Game of Thrones as I was. Hell, I'd even read the books—and I'm not really one for reading books.

  I didn't have much time to think about it because I soon felt an impatient tugging on my arm.

  “Emerson,” whined Melissa, “come on! What are you doing just standing there? You look like you’re in a different place.”

  “Um, I just, uh, I just thought I heard something I recognized.”

  She paused and listened. “Oh yeah, I've heard that song before. That's that show about demon hunters, right?”

  “What?” I shook my head.

  “It's uh, I've heard it… Wait, wait, don't tell me.”

  “You don't know this.”

  “I do! Just give me a second to try remember.”

  I waited, rolling my eyes as she wracked her brain trying to place the song.

  “What's that called again? Vampire something. No… Supernatural?”

  I shook my head and sighed. “Game of Thrones, Mel, Game of Thrones.”

  She grimaced with distaste. “Oh, my God, yeah. The one with swords and medieval shit. God, what a dorky show! Who watches that crap? Ugh, it's like so… complicated. And you've got to be some sorta uber-nerd to go for boring, lame-ass stuff like that. I mean, seriously… dragons and swords and like old-days boringness? Puh-lease. Your new neighbors must be total losers!” she laughed.

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head again. “Yeah. They’re the losers, all right. Come on. Driver is here.”

  Chapter Five

  Brooke

  Hangovers. The exact reason I rarely drink hard liquor. I woke up the next morning with a dry mouth and a bit of a headache… and that was from drinking wine. I’m such a lightweight. I really should have had a tall glass of water before hitting the sack after all the wine I drank.

  The sun was already peeking through the cracks between my curtains. Based on the angle of the shadows, it was already getting fairly high in the sky. That meant it was way past my usual wake up time.

  “Ugh, wine… I love you, so why do you do this to me?” I muttered as I pulled a pillow over my face. “Can't live with you, can't live without you. Sheesh, it's almost like we're married.” I tossed the pillow aside and pushed myself up to sit on the edge of my bed. It took me a moment to get motivated. I stood and stretched my arms and legs, glancing around my new bedroom. There were still a few things I wanted to do, like hang pictures and paint one wall to give the room a splash of color, but all in all, it felt as much like home as any place could after one night.

  I picked up the empty wine glass from next to my bed and was ready to head to the kitchen to whip up a hearty breakfast. Food always seemed to help when I had a mild hangover and I was in dire need of some energy to get me through everything I needed to accomplish before classes began Monday morning.

  First, I ambled over to the curtains and threw them open, basking for a few moments in the warm sunshine that flooded through the window. I even slid a window open and listened to the sounds of the birds. It was a lovely morning and the view from the window was nicer than I had expected considering we were in an apartment complex. Thankfully, we had an end unit that faced a park. Right outside my window grew a tall, sprawling oak tree that seemed to be full of birds, judging from all singing and tittering of their morning song. It was a beautiful moment until…

  I heard it. Again.

  The heavily-muffled, but nonetheless audible, sound of voices—a guy’s and a girl's—grunting, groaning, gasping, and moaning while what I assumed was the bed frame thumped against the wall between our rooms at an accelerating, intensifying pace.

  “Oh. My. God. Seriously?!”

  I hurried out of my room, dropped the wine glass off at the kitchen sink, and then rushed over to Leslie's room where I knocked on the door. “Hey, Les, you up?”

  “Yeah, girl, gimme a sec, I'm just getting changed.”

  Leslie opened the door a few minutes later, looking refreshed and sprightly. “Morning, Brooke!” she said with an ear-to-ear grin. “I slept so well last night! I feel like a million bucks! How about you, did you get a good night's sleep?”

  “I did, kinda. Although I think I had a bit too much wine last night after you went to sleep.”

  “Oh yeah? How much more did you have?”

  “Umm. I finished a bottle.”

  Leslie threw her head back and laughed. “Wait. Are you serious? Wow, you might need to tone it down a bit, you little alcoholic, you!”

  I blushed. “Alright, Mom,” I said. “I'll try to be a good girl from now on, okay?”

  We both chuckled, but then I got back to my original reason for knocking on her door.

  “Okay, enough about my wine addiction. There's a little bit of a problem. It's my room.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “For real? What's wrong?”

  “Come on, I'll show you.”

  We walked over to my room and stepped inside. Leslie started looking around with a slightly confused look on her face. “What's wrong, Brooke? Everything looks fine to me. Please, please don't say that this place is haunted or something...”

  “No. Well, depends on how you look at it,” I said. “Just keep quiet for a minute and listen.”

  We both stood in silence and I hoped I hadn’t waited too long. Sure enough, the sounds of what was happening on the other side of the wall started to echo through. They weren’t as loud and c
lear as before, but they were audible enough to be easily recognized.

  Leslie's eyes widened as she covered her suddenly-gaping mouth with one hand. “Oh, my God, Brooke! Are they… Surely they aren’t… You know!”

  I folded my arms across my chest and nodded. “Oh yeah. They are.”

  “Oh, my God, it sounds like a porno.”

  “Yep. Right next to my bed. Literally a foot or two away. Nothing but this feeble excuse for a wall separating what's going on in that room from us.”

  She scrunched her face in disgust. “Eww! I mean… just… ewwww!”

  Then we both paused, kept silent, and listened again. It seemed like it wasn't going to end any time soon. We shot each other an uncomfortable glance and then both burst out laughing. It was the only way we really knew how to deal with the weird, awkward ridiculousness of the moment.

  “Good Lord, Brooke, did you hear this last night, too?”

  “Yep. I had to use my earphones just to be able to fall asleep.”

  She shook her head, her mouth still hung half-open with an expression of disbelief and more than a little amusement.

  “Do you think it's Emerson?” she asked.

  A rush of something flashed through me again. I didn’t want it to. There was no reason for it, but the thought of him tangled with that awful bimbo doing ungodly things, his gorgeous eyes focused on her, on her of all people made me want to punch something.

  “I don't know,” I sputtered a little too quickly and harshly.

  I blushed as Leslie shot me a knowing gaze, smiling subtly at my reaction. “Or… maybe it's Chris,” she said slowly, still staring at me to gauge my response. She knew me too well for my own good sometimes.

  “Um, yeah,” I replied, blushing furiously. “Yeah, ho-, who knows, maybe it's Chris.”

  Jeez, I couldn’t believe I almost said, “Hopefully it's Chris.” Hopefully? Seriously? Why should I even care if that self-absorbed idiot jock, Emerson, was getting down and dirty with his skanky, plastic girlfriend? It wasn't any of my business.

  Although, the sound of it coming through the walls into my place did kind of make it my business.

  Leslie stared at the wall with her hands on her hips, listening to the still-intensifying sound. “We brought that softball bat from your parent’s place, right?” she asked.

  “Um, yeah, but-”

  “I'm gonna beat on the damn wall with it, let those two fools on the other side know we don't appreciate being the audience for their little porno flick.”

  “No, no, come on, Les, you can't do that! That'll make it… Jeez, I dunno. It'll just make the whole thing even weirder and more awkward than it already is! We have to pass these people in the hall, ya know.”

  “Well, they shouldn’t have the right to just… do that and make us feel uncomfortable in our own house!”

  “I know, I know, but just… I dunno, just don't do that.”

  “Well, what are we gonna do about it?”

  I stood for a while, contemplating the issue. “Let's just go fix breakfast and forget about it,” I suggested.

  “No way! Come on, Bee! That's such a defeatist attitude. We can't just let them get away with this.”

  “Maybe it's a one-off thing. I mean, we heard how trashed they all got last night at their party. Maybe this is just something that happens once in a while, you know?”

  The determination in her eyes to grab the bat resting in the corner behind my door and smack the wall a few times with it faded a little. I could see that she was weighing the pros and cons of what I'd said, so I added a little more insight to help calm her down.

  “It's not a great idea to start off on the wrong foot with new neighbors when you've just moved into a new place,” I expressed, hoping my words would help sway her opinion and defuse the situation. “Seriously, we wanna have a good relationship with everyone else in the building. You don't wanna be known as 'that mean-tempered bitch from 13A' now, do you?”

  The frown on her face morphed into a smile. “I’ve been called worse.”

  I cocked my head to one side and glared at her with a motherly expression.

  “Alright, alright,” she said. “We can let it slide this time. I guess.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “But!” she added, holding up a stern finger of warning, “if I hear that crap again, I am gonna reach for the softball bat and give that wall a big ol' bitch slap or two! I don't want those two meatheads next door thinking they can make forcing their… their… porn noises into our home a regularly scheduled event.”

  We both chuckled as we turned around and walked out of my room. I closed the door behind me as we left in an effort to prevent the muffled sounds from following us into the living room.

  “So, what do you think about Chris now?” I said, jabbing her playfully in the ribs.

  She shot me a shit-eating grin. “Probably something similar to what you think about Emerson. After all, we don't know which one of the two is the stud behind that wall, now, do we?”

  I felt another wave of heat rippling along the surface of my skin. “True, we don't know,” I replied somewhat coolly. “And, it’s probably best that we don’t know; let's just forget about it, alright?”

  “Alright. Come on, there’s bacon and eggs in the fridge with our names all over them. And I picked up some frozen blueberries yesterday, too. A nice blueberry smoothie is just the right way to start off a Saturday while we cook breakfast. What do ya think?”

  I smiled, still trying to force the unwanted thoughts of Emerson and his bimbo girlfriend out of my mind. “Sounds like a plan.”

  ***

  The sun was starting to hang low in the sky when I noticed my head was beginning to hurt a little. I'd been reading through the first few chapters of my physics textbook for a while. A glance at the clock made me realize I’d been at it for nearly two hours. I took my reading glasses off, applied pressure to my temples for a few moments, and then stood up from the desk and stretched. My lower back was stiff from sitting in the desk chair too long. What I needed was a little exercise, but I hadn’t had the time to unpack my running shoes. I did feel like getting some fresh air and sunshine while the daylight lasted, though.

  I walked through to the living room where Leslie was curled up on the sofa with a steaming hot mug of coffee, watching a documentary on The History Channel about ancient Egypt.

  “Brushing up for the new semester, too?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I thought seeing as I've got a minor in world history, getting in some History Channel might not be a bad thing.”

  I nodded. “I'm heading out for a walk. I might stop by the supermarket down the block while I'm out; you need anything?”

  “Umm, I guess we just need some milk. Though, chocolate chip cookies would be nice, too. And, what are we gonna have for dinner?”

  I laughed at her ongoing list. “I was thinking pasta with some veggies; something nice and healthy. Especially if you’re going to force me to eat cookies.”

  “Yeah, I like the sound of that. Let's do it.”

  “The cookies or the dinner?” I joked.

  “Both!”

  “Okay, I'll pick up some veggies, too, then.”

  “Enjoy the walk. Looks like it's a beautiful afternoon to be out.”

  “Yeah, if I get back early enough maybe we should take the bikes out for a ride? Head to the park or something?”

  “Sure thing. Be careful.”

  “Will do. See ya in a bit.”

  I walked out of the apartment, closing the door behind me and humming an Adele tune. Just as I reached the front walkway of the apartment block, I heard the sound of a motorcycle engine revving.

  As much as I would have liked to say otherwise, my heart started beating a little faster knowing that Emerson was just a matter of feet away on his bike. I hesitated at the edge of the breezeway that ran along the front of the apartments, peering at the street through the shrubs. I felt a little nervous and awkward about se
eing him, especially after yesterday with that bimbo, and of course, after the sounds I'd heard coming through the walls.

  I saw him straddling his bike which he had just started up. And there, climbing onto the back, dressed in a skin-tight, massively-revealing outfit, was that Melissa girl. I immediately stepped back behind the door, feeling my heart thumping in my chest.

  “Come on,” I whispered to myself. “You're being totally irrational! You don't even like the guy! Why are you getting all jealous about him and his skanky girlfriend? Just walk out, say a polite hello, and keep on walking. Seriously! Why are you hiding like a confused adolescent?!”

  I was being ridiculous. There was no logical reason for me to be feeling like I was, especially for some douchebag, hot-shot jock who was the polar opposite of my type. I drew in a deep breath, composed myself, and made sure I had an expression of calm neutrality on my face, and then I walked out, looking as nonchalant and carefree as possible.

  “Hi, Emerson. Hi… um… what was your name again?” is what I was going to say. But I didn’t get the chance. Granted, it was petty, but I sure as hell wasn't going to give that poor excuse for a woman the satisfaction of knowing that she'd made enough of an impression on me for me to remember her name. Even if the reason I did remember, it was because she’d made a terrible impression.

  I strutted down the walkway, running a hand through my hair which was, I had to admit, looking especially sexy and luscious for a bummed-out Saturday. I fully prepared myself to dish out my cool disdain to jock-boy and bimbo, but I was quickly stopped in my tracks.

  He was already on the bike, his helmet on, glancing up and down the street to make sure it was clear. She was hanging on his back, her arms wrapped tight around his torso like those ugly little primates with the big bulging eyes I’d seen at a zoo once.

  He clicked the rumbling machine into gear and with a fistful of loud, roaring throttle, he took off at a blistering pace and quickly disappeared around a bend at the end of the road as smoothly as any racer I’d ever seen handle a bike on TV. There was something sexy and alluring about it.

  But more than the unwanted impulse of attraction, which I quickly suppressed, I felt disappointment. After gearing myself up for a performance—I'd wanted to show him and Melissa just how little I cared about them—I'd been denied an audience.