Confessions of a Reformed Tom Cat

by Daisy Prescott

  After breakfast, I tugged on my leather jacket over a thermal and flannel. The cold air required extra layers, and I sported long johns under my jeans. I tucked a thermos of coffee in the saddlebag. Gloves on, visor down, I revved the engine and plotted my route north.

  I took the left after Freeland and drove up past the State Park. At Greenbank, I stopped at the store and grabbed a sandwich. I sped along Ebey’s Spit before Fort Casey. Nowhere to be, I meandered to Route 20, and headed north. On the open road, I let the bike go, leaning down and into the curves. Out of nowhere another motorcycle passed me on the left, leaving me in their exhaust as they took the curve around Penn Cove fast. The bike appeared to be an orange painted vintage BMW. I accelerated, hoping to catch up with them.

  The driver turned his head and gave me a wave with a gloved hand as we passed the old drive-in. Wearing an insulated suit and black helmet with the visor down, they could be anyone, but seemed to know me. I lost them in Oak Harbor, but guessed they’d gone north.

  Near Deception Pass, I finally caught up to the bike. Finding out who was riding had become more than curiosity. This game of cat and mouse both intrigued and annoyed me.

  Right before the bridge, the BMW pulled off the road and stopped fast, creating a small spray of gravel on the shoulder. I slowed to a stop about five yards away and waited with my engine purring.

  If the mystery rider were a woman, all sorts of dirty thoughts floated through my mind. I bet we could find a secluded spot in the park, maybe over a picnic table. If the mystery rider were a man, who the hell was he and why the random chase?

  I didn’t have to wait long. With a kick to the stand, she stood up. Right, she. Even with the nondescript, ill-fitting cold suit, I could tell she was a woman. Long legs and a nice ass.

  We might need that picnic table after all.

  Gloves off, she reached for her helmet as she walked toward me. I kept mine on, liking this game we were playing. She flicked the chin strap and tugged off the helmet, revealing familiar brown hair.

  “Hey, Tom.” She greeted me with a smile.

  I removed my helmet. My own, slow, sly smile returned hers. “Hey, Idaho. Didn’t know you rode.”

  “No? Funny the things you don’t know.” She continued her slow walk to my bike.

  I cut the engine. “You drive a R90s?”

  She grinned. “I do.”

  “You paint it that hideous orange color?”

  Her smile faltered and her eyes narrowed. Her bottom lip pursed in a sexy pout. “You disappoint me, Tom. You should know Daytona Orange is factory.”

  “Where’d you get a vintage BMW bike?” I studied the swoop of the polished chrome twin exhaust pipes.

  “It was a gift. Pretty sweet ride you have there, too.”

  Did the ex buy her a motorcycle? Kurt didn’t seem the kind of guy to approve of them unless it was a new Harley to impress his friends. Maybe a previous ex?

  “Thanks, it was my dad’s,” I answered.

  “Mine too.”

  “Your dad gave you a motorcycle?” I imagined my sisters’ faces if Dad gave them such a gift. Delight would not be top of their reactions.

  “I asked for it when I went to college. Didn’t want or need a car in Seattle, but a motorcycle? That—”

  I cut her off. “Made you the coolest girl on campus.”

  She laughed and swung her helmet by its strap. “Something like that.”

  “Why the long chase to here?”

  “I recognized your bike when you pulled on to 20, so I passed you to make sure it was you. I didn’t think you’d follow me. Or is that something you do? Chase random women on motorcycles?”

  “I couldn’t tell if you were a girl or a guy,” I said in defense.

  She raised an eyebrow and licked the corner of her mouth.

  “Wait, that didn’t come out right. I meant, I was more curious about the passing and waving. You seemed to know me.”

  “You were curious.”

  “Always.”

  “What if I had been another woman?” She stalked closer.

  I waited like a lion watching a gazelle cross my line of sight. I shrugged. “Hard to say, but I’m more than happy you’re here.”

  “Why do you always expect me to make the first move?” she whispered a few inches away. Her warm breath brushed my cheek.

  “I think you like it.” I turned my head and trailed my nose against her jaw, but when I got to the tender flesh under her ear, her head jerked away.

  “I think you’re used to women throwing themselves at you and you’ve never had to work for it before.”

  She had a point.

  I tipped my head and gave her my slow, easy grin, guaranteed to incinerate underwear. Steel ran through her veins. No smile, no frown, not even an eye-twitch. I released the second dimple and ducked my head.

  The last thing I expected from her was laughter. With her head thrown back, she laughed so hard she snorted.

  “What?” I asked.

  She’d lost her mind.

  “You’re ridiculous.” She swallowed the last of her laughter and attempted a serious face.

  Not a word any man wanted to hear when he worked his tricks. “Ridiculous?”

  “Does that look really work?”

  I frowned.

  “It does!”

  “You’re great on a man’s ego.” I scowled. “Didn’t hear you complaining before.”

  “Your ego will be fine. I’ll tell you a secret.” She stepped close again and I could smell a warm, floral scent. “I did have a crush on you when we were younger. You were a junior and I was in middle school. You didn’t know I existed.”

  Suspicion confirmed, I smirked.

  “Cocky suits you,” she said.

  I reached up and grasped her neck. No escaping me now. Her helmet clattered on the ground at our feet. I had her attention. No more laughter. Her eyes focused on mine and then closed. My lips found hers, rough, determined and completely in control. She softened against my leg and I shifted to face her, wrapping my other arm around her waist.

  I pulled away. My lips barely brushed against hers. “Speaking of cock, ever since you got off your bike, I’ve been thinking about your mouth on mine.”

  Her gasp sucked the air from my mouth.

  “Let’s find someplace more private.” I dropped my arms and started the bike.

  She stood there, arms at her sides, lips swollen from my mouth, windswept, beautiful, and stunned.

  “If the dimples don’t get them, the dirty talk always does.”

  I could hear her bike behind me as I slowly wove my way through the campground. A few RVs were parked in the larger sites, but most were empty and exposed. Deep in the woods, a lone picnic table sat in a small clearing. Perfect.

  I flipped down the stand and swung my leg off the bike, but leaned up against it while Hailey parked hers. Muffled sounds of waves against the shore below and the scent of pine greeted me when I removed my helmet again. I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with the clean, fresh air.

  This time I stalked over to her. If she wanted me to take control, I would. The expression on her face when I told her what had been on my mind confirmed she may have liked taking the initiative, but like many women, she wanted to give up control, stop thinking, and be told what to do once in a while. I had no problem with that.

  She glanced around and cocked her head to listen to an eagle in the distance. “You sure this is private?”

  I shrugged. “It’s private enough.” After setting her helmet on her bike, I tugged her forward to the picnic table.

  “What did you have in mind?” Her voice hesitated and paused.

  “I think I made myself pretty clear up on the road.” I leaned against the table and waited to see what she’d do.

  “Give me your jacket,” she demanded.

  I unzipped and shrugged off the leather, arching my eyebrow when she wadded it up and dropped it on the cement platform at my feet. I loved that jacket.<
br />
  She smiled and knelt.

  Oh.

  She looked amazing from this angle. Any man who said he didn’t love this view lied.

  I braced my arms behind me on the table as she unbuckled my belt and slowly unzipped my jeans. Closing my eyes, I waited for the warmth of her mouth to engulf me.

  Her laughter greeted me instead.

  I opened one eye and then the other. No man ever wanted to hear giggling near his stuff.

  Her hands rested on my hips and her eyes focused on my red long johns. Right. Forgot about those.

  “Yes?” I asked.

  “I thought men only wore these in the movies.”

  “Apparently not. It’s cold on the bike.” I shrugged. “Things need to be kept warm.”

  Her hand reached into the fabric and brushed against my skin. I jumped from the contact of the cool air and her fingers gripping me. Her other hand shoved the fabric down and out of the way.

  She teased and poked out her tongue to touch the tip, then licked down to the base. The warmth from her tongue faded as the air chilled my skin. I rested one of my hands on her shoulder. Understanding my silent plea, she stopped her teasing and encircled the head with her mouth, her hand moving to cover what she couldn’t accommodate.

  My fingers wove through the strands of her hair. I needed the extra contact to ground myself from the incredible sensations she was creating with her mouth and tongue. Being outside with the possibility of being caught amplified everything. Each lick from her tongue, drag of her teeth, and squeeze of her hand brought me closer to coming. Her moans vibrated around me and her eyes met mine.

  Game over.

  Like the gentleman I was, I gave her a warning. “I’m close.”

  She responded by sucking in her cheeks and pulling me further into her mouth by my hips.

  Answer received.

  I let my hips gently thrust forward, needing more. Finding it, I closed my eyes and moaned, deep in my throat, completely lost in the sensation coursing through my body.

  When I slowly blinked them open, she released me with a soft kiss and leaned on her heels, a satisfied grin on her face. With a light touch, she tucked me inside of my long johns and patted the cotton covering my waning erection.

  “Did you pat me?” I asked, zipping up and adjusting myself.

  “Maybe. I’m sure he’s very cozy in there.”

  “It’s my dick, not a person, you know.” I offered her my hand to stand and watched her stretch.

  “You didn’t name it?” She handed me my jacket, then brushed her mouth against my shoulder.

  “If I did, I’m not telling.” I grabbed her face and kissed her . . . hard. My tongue met hers and I silently said my thank you. “That was amazing. We should definitely do that more often.”

  Excitement lit up her eyes. “What are you doing later?”

  WE RODE TOGETHER down the island. Clouds had rolled in and the temperature dropped on the ride. I let her lead the way around Holmes Harbor to her house. I wanted to get another chance to inspect the sculpture in her yard before it got dark. Hailey pushed her bike into the garage and I stepped through the ferns toward the giant pinecone.

  “Tom?” her voice called out through the trees.

  “Over here.”

  Her footsteps stomped over pine needles and leaves. “What are you doing over here? You better not be peeing in my woods.”

  “I wasn’t, but that’s a great idea. I really need to take a piss.” I turned and faced a tall cedar.

  “Donnely!”

  I hadn’t unzipped my jeans, so I turned around to show her. “Trust me, I don’t announce it when I piss in the woods.”

  “But you do?”

  “What man doesn’t pee outdoors? Why wouldn’t you?”

  “It’s different for women.”

  “Sucks to be you. Peeing outdoors is one of life’s great pleasures.”

  She grimaced. “I’d like to think there are much better things to do outdoors than relieve your bladder.”

  I stepped closer and gave her a peck on her check. “I can think of at least three things, and one we did earlier today.”

  Her eyes softened and she gave me a shy smile. “So what are you doing wandering around my yard?”

  “This.” I gestured behind myself at the giant pine cone. “Where’d it come from?’

  “A really big tree.” She joked.

  “It’s amazing.” I touched one of the spiked scales.

  “I made it.”

  “What’s it doing hidden here in the woods?” I smiled, feeling pride and awe at her talent.

  She stood on the other side and ran her hand along the cupped surface of another scale. With a shrug, she met my eyes. “It was a college project. Senior year.”

  “Wow. Seriously?” I paced around the metal until I reached her side. “Why is someone with your talent working at the boatyard as a project manager?”

  “I applied to be a trainee welder and didn’t get the job.”

  “You wanted to weld boats all day?”

  Another shrug. “Sure.”

  “That’s a waste.”

  “You don’t sculpt for a living either.” She tried to stuff her hands in her pockets. Talking about her art seemed to make her insecure and this was a new side to the woman who’d always hit like a boy, didn’t take my shit, and had enough nerve to walk into the Dog House to proposition me.

  “I fool around with a chainsaw. My signature piece is the spread eagle, for Pete’s sake!”

  “Who’s Pete?” Her eyes crinkled up in amusement.

  Holding her hands in mine, I stretched her arms above her head, and leaned into her so she bowed over the sculpture’s curve.

  “I’m trying to be serious here.”

  “And I’m deflecting. Obviously.”

  “Stop doing that.”

  “Can we talk about it another time? I’m cold and hungry.”

  I stared into her eyes, trying to figure out the whys and hows she wasn’t sharing with me. A pale brown rimmed her irises and tiny flecks of gold floated above the green.

  “Give me the short version and I’ll get you tell me the rest another time.”

  She eyed me warily. “Okay. Short version is an art major pretty much equals poverty, so I took what I learned managing a sculptor’s studio, and translated it to project management. Turned out, I’m really good at organization and bossing people around. I know, shocking. Work and making money took precedence over playing with metal. But I still have studio space over in Seattle.”

  I smirked at her bossy comment. “One more thing.”

  Her long lashes blocked the clear green when she narrowed her eyes. “One.”

  “If you had the rich boyfriend and then fiancé, why was money an issue?”

  She scoffed. “Right.” Her exhaled breath lifted a strand of her hair. “I never wanted his money. After we got married, it would have been ours, but it felt weird to have him support me. Not that he would. He didn’t really get my sculptures. Sure, he thought it was cool to be with a woman who was air-quotes artistic. I guess it gave him some sort of rich guy cred to be with a wild metal sculptor he could show off at parties” She rolled her eyes.

  “What a fuckwad. Oops, I said that out loud.”

  “You’re not sorry.”

  “No, I’m not.” I moved closer. “One more question?”

  “Is that your question?”

  “No.” I let my lips skim her forehead. “Why did you move back? Other than wanting to live out your lifelong dream of being a welder at Donnely Boats.”

  She tried to kiss me, but I dodged out of the way. “Fine. I’d always wanted to move back here. Start a family. Have a pretty house. Be close to the water. All the super sentimental girly stuff. That’s why he bought the land for the house. For me.”

  “At least he did that.”

  “Why?”

  “We wouldn’t be here now, would we?”

  I leaned in to tug her bottom lip w
ith my teeth. She answered by looping one of her legs around my thigh and tilting her hips into mine. We kissed against the unforgiving metal, losing ourselves in the moment. I forgot what we were talking about. Breathing heavily, I pulled away and shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts.

  “Let’s eat,” I said.

  “You do owe me from the park earlier.” A wicked grin crossed her face.

  I pecked her cheek. “Later. I was thinking more about ordering pizza.”

  We flipped a coin for who would go out in the cold to pick up the pizza in Freeland. She won and offered me her car, but knowing my luck I’d run into someone who knew one, or both of us, at Sal’s. Too complicated. Speaking of complicated, we’d ordered a half pineapple and jalapeño, and half meat lovers. Pineapple on a pizza was weird.

  Dan behind the counter cocked an eyebrow at my order and gave me a knowing smile. “Sounds like you’ve got a date with sweet and spicy tonight.”

  I chuckled at his bad joke. “Nah, hanging out with a friend.”

  “The only other person I know who eats pineapples and jalapeños on a pizza is your buddy John.”

  On the island, the pizza guys knew how everyone took their pie. If they teamed up with Sally, Connie, and Sandy—aka the gossips—they’d have a flow chart of who was dating and hooking up with whom all over the south island. They could probably rattle off who was off gluten or vegetarian along with impending separations and possible affairs.

  Speaking of the devil, a bluster of cold from the opened door blew in ahead of Connie.

  “Well, if it isn’t Tom Donnely!” She greeted me with an air kiss from about two feet away. “Hi, Dan. Hope Tom isn’t giving you too much trouble here.”

  Dan and I had a silent conversation men tended to have around women like Connie. We both shook our heads and looked up at the ceiling.

  “Hi, Connie,” I said to be polite.

  “How’s your sister? Sandy says she’s the size of a trailer and about to pop.”

  “Lori’s good. The whole family’s good.”

  “That’s wonderful. After all of the scandal with your cousin last year, I’m glad you had a quiet Thanksgiving.”