Loving Me, Trusting You

by C. M. Stunich

  “Now, tell me this,” he says, lifting his head up a bit to glance at Amy. She smiles back at him, and Mireya rolls her eyes again. “Why did it take a damn infant to bring that shit up? Don't know why I didn't think of it.” He slaps me on the back and it's my turn to roll my eyes.

  “Fucking geezer,” I mumble at him as he watches Kimmi check out our newcomer. She looks pleased with what she sees. Now, I don't know if Christy swings that way or not, but Kimmi Reynolds has been known to turn a few heads that wouldn't otherwise look her way, if you catch my drift. “Now go rob a bank or some shit. That's your specialty, ain't it?” Austin laughs, and Kimmi flicks me in the nose with her long nails.

  “Glad you guys are so chill with this,” she says, dangly earring swinging as she turns her head from me and focuses back on Christy. A double take. This doesn't bode well for Kimmi's current girlfriend, Margot. Poor thing. Looks like our female casanova is ready to move on. Wonder if she knows the girl's a virgin? I can practically smell her innocence from here. Christy is not like Amy, a facade of politeness wrapped around an animal. Nope. If their positions had been switched, Mireya might still be holding Austin in her grip.

  I shiver and try not to think about Mireya's grip. God. My cock starts to stiffen anyway, and I drop my hands to my lap to try and cover it.

  “Ain't gonna be any bank robbing going on tonight, but if we're doing Fort Walton, our plans have got to be solid. You don't mind if we step out together for awhile?” I start to shake my head, and then pause to look over at Mireya.

  “You don't want any help?” she asks, and I notice that her voice softens just a bit. God, what I would give to have her look at me like that. Austin shakes his head.

  “Much as I appreciate the offer, sugar, Kimmi and I have been a two-horse team for as long as I can remember. When Kent tried to get Melissa involved, it didn't exactly go over well. I'm going to say that we'll stick to what works.” He pauses and the two of them share a strange stare over my head, communicating without words. Old friends can do that, you know. It's pretty fucking special. “You'll stay here and watch the group for me though?” Mireya smiles, but it's tight-lipped, nodding her head reluctantly.

  “Yeah, sure, Pres. Whatever the fuck you want.”

  Austin takes a step forward like he wants to go to Amy and then pauses. Out of respect for Mireya, I watch him pull himself in, drop us a salute and leave the room with Kimmi practically drooling behind him. Thing is, I think I see Christy returning the stare. Hmm.

  “I want to take a moment to thank you both,” Amy says, turning to look at us with a gentle smile. “The way you handled yourselves in that bar was admirable.” She pauses and her blue eyes lock onto Mireya's brown ones. “Especially you. I know we haven't had the best of of beginnings, but my mother always used to say that the best things are worth working for. I think we could work at being friends, don't you?” Mireya stares at her for a moment and then lights up her cigarette, shrugging like she doesn't give a shit. But I think she does. I really, really do.

  “I'm going to take this outside,” she says, raising her smoke up with two fingers and moving past the girls and out onto the patio. I follow after, wanting to give the two friends a chance to catch up. And well, maybe because I'm still a little bit off after having Christy catch me whackin' it.

  “Go away, Gaine,” she says before I can even close the sliding glass door behind me. I watch as she leans over the railing and sticks her leather clad ass out like she has no clue how friggin' hot she is. I know she does though. I've seen Mireya Sawyer flaunt it like a fucking peacock. She knows the body she has and the power she's got over men. I stare at her ass for a moment and step up beside her.

  “Are you pissed at me?” I ask her, and she groans, dropping her head down and letting her cigarette dangle, ashes trailing off into the warm wind. The town below us stretches out, sleepy and quiet, fading into the sultry evening like a fairytale. I swear, sometimes I think these little Southern towns are in a universe of their own making, one where the hustle and bustle and bullshit doesn't reach. It feels so peaceful here.

  “What for, Gaine?” she asks, and I don't really know what to say. I guess it just feels like she's angry with me all the time. I wish she'd let go a little bit. I wonder if Amy Cross could help her out with that? I think that girl just learned how to lose herself. It's a valuable skill, one that I think Mireya would benefit from. As stupid as I feel taking Beck's advice, I keep his words in mind and try not to pester her. Whining and bitching and moping around isn't going to endear any woman to me, especially not one that's tough as nails like Mireya.

  “I dunno. Just thought that bike trick of yours was a little cruel. Sweet Jesus. And you wonder why I was jacking off in the bathroom?” She laughs this time, just a cruel, little chuckle, but at least it's something.

  “I didn't wonder why, Gaine. I knew.” She takes a drag and passes her cig to me. I look at it for a minute and accept it, sliding the stick between my lips with a smile. “But I had to teach you a lesson. And thank you. It was complicated.” She sighs and spins around, leaning back over the railing so that her hair catches in the breeze and sways, a silken cloud of darkness that makes me wet my lips and shift uncomfortably. Mireya lets her eyes close and takes in a deep breath.

  My gaze falls to her chest, to the rise and fall of her breasts, the line of dark cleavage. I shiver and feel myself responding to the sight. Christ, Gaine, you shootin' for a marathon run today? I keep myself angled forward, so Mireya can't see. I don't want her to think that all I'm thinking about is fucking. Far from it. If anything, I'd like to be the one to help redeem Mireya's soul. I hold my hand out and focus on my fingers, curling them in towards my palm. If I get the chance, I'm going to spare her anymore blood on her hands, even if she hates me for it.

  I lick my dry lips and lean my elbows on the railing, letting the cigarette dangle from my mouth. Now that I've banned myself from bitching and nagging Mireya, I don't exactly know what to say.

  “You got any ideas on how to deal with these girls for the evening?” I ask, trying to smile. The smoke falls from my mouth and tumbles end over end to the sizzling pavement below. I watch it go with a sigh. “I mean, Amy's had it pretty easy since she got here. Maybe a little hazing would be in order?” I look over at Mireya who's cracked an eye to look at me. Even half-lidded, her gaze is powerful, cutting through my chest and stabbing me straight into the heart.

  “Can I break Amy's face in half?” she asks, but then she smiles and my heart flip-flops. I feel like a fucking tool when I'm around her, getting all these lame ass fluttery feelings and shit. I'm into the fairytale crap, but I'd rather not be the princess. Still, for Mireya, I might be able to make an exception. My smile turns into a grin.

  “I think you already tried that, babe, and it didn't exactly go over all that well.” For a second, Mireya's still and silent, and I'm pretty damn sure I've fucked up this quiet moment of in-between, but then she grins and stretches with a groan.

  “Fucking bitch fights hard.” She stands up and slips her leather jacket off her shoulders, revealing the sleeveless whatever-it-is that she's got on underneath. Looks like lingerie, but that's alright with me. I don't mind a good look-see. “For a little pussy cat that is.” She puckers her red lips at me and tosses a wink, sliding open the door and then using her hip to push it the rest of the way. I don't miss the way her leather pants hug her curves and kiss her ass, rolling my eyes to the sky and praying for somebody or something to help my dick out a little. Poor fucker's had enough trauma today.

  “Get your bitch asses dressed,” she barks at them, sizing up the two skinny pale girls. Christy jumps, but Amy doesn't flinch. Actually, she smiles. “We're going out to buy a bike.”

  Evening is peeking its sultry head out of the sky and getting ready to swallow the day. There's less than an hour before the dealership closes, but I say fuck it. If you give off the right attitude, people will bend over backwards for you.

  When we walk int
o the glass doors and move across the linoleum floor, we get some looks. This isn't exactly our sort of place. I doubt any of these fuckin' people have actually ever seen a real biker before. This fine establishment is probably here to service the local balding male population, middle aged men looking for a way out of their midlife crisis without buying a convertible.

  My nose wrinkles right away. This isn't exactly my scene. These are pre-built bikes from the manufacturer, name brands that'll never live up to the road the way I want them to. I already miss my Bonneville.

  Gaine walks beside me, watching my face, smirking just a bit. He knows how this outing is going to go.

  “Don't say a word,” I growl at him, thinking about riding on the back of his bike, knowing that I will do anything to get off of it. And it's not because of Gaine, it's out of principle. Being up against men who think women shouldn't ride makes me want to ride that much more. I want to grind that pavement and destroy the road. I want them to see me coming from across the state, gunning for it. I want to destroy perceptions and prejudices and grind them into dust. I'm going to have a hard time doing it with a make-a-million Tinkertoy, but there it is. I'm going to have to let my riding speak for itself.

  “You gonna be alright with a piece of plastic there, honey pie?”

  “Call me honey pie again and I'll cut your nuts off while you're sleeping.” I pause next to the counter and watch as one of the salesmen walks quickly towards our little group. Amy is looking around with a glint in her eye that tells me she's not going to be gracing the back of Austin's bike forever. I guess I have to cut the kid some slack. I might hate her guts, but at least she has some to spare. Christy looks like a damn deer in the headlights. She's taking in the motorcycles like they're monsters, ready to spring out and assault her at any moment. I haven't asked yet, but I hope nothing happened with Bested by Crows and her in that back room. I suppose at some point I'll find out, but I can't deal with that at the moment. Right now, this is all about seeing the best this shit hole has to offer.

  “Don't try to sell me something,” I tell the man in the suit, the one that doesn't even look like he's ever climbed onto a damn bike. Madre mia, this is not going to be easy. “I'm walking out of here with something that's ready to ride. I want the keys, today, right now.” The man opens his mouth to speak and I cut him off with a raised hand, rings glittering in the late afternoon light. He pauses and nods his head, ever the salesman, trying his best to smile at me.

  “Certainly. Just let me know if you'd like to take something for a test drive.” He backs away slowly, like we might be dangerous, might be there just to whoop his ass and carve our names into his backside, and turns away to busy himself at the counter, eyes flicking up every now and then to take us in.

  “Back country piece of shit,” Gaine mumbles, tucking his hands into his front pockets and glancing around with a slight quirk of disdain playing about his lips. “Bet he doesn't know a Kawasaki from a Harley.” I try not to smile, but I do anyway and spin on my heel, so Gaine can't see. No point in getting his hopes up. He's fun to be around, sure, but that's because he's young and stupid, and there are no strings attached. I imagine that if I fell onto his lure, I'd drown in that love. A pretty death, sure, but a death nonetheless, a sacrifice of the self for the us. I'm not ready for that yet. Maybe not ever. Yeah, probably not fucking ever.

  “Jesus friggin' Christ,” I murmur as I wind through the gleaming rows of metal and paint, the decorative toys to be parked in garages and cooed over, the ones people like to drive to the supermarket and then right back home for a bubble bath. These babies never get to stretch their wings, never get to wear a badge of pride, covered in slight scratches and dings, gifts from the open road. It's a damn shame. “This isn't going to be easy.”

  “Can't imagine that it will be,” Gaine says, glancing over his shoulder and pulling my gaze along with him. Amy's straddling a Suzuki Inazuma and feelin' it up like they're an item. Her blue eyes glitter with the thrill of freedom, sparkling with the knowledge that she is her own boss out here, that the rules of the road are guidelines and that she's welcome to leave whenever she pleases. I stare at her for a moment, take her in, and wrap my hatred around me. She stole Austin away. I scowl and turn away, letting myself revel in an emotion that's become much more comfortable to me than simple amusement. I'm not saying that's a good thing; that's just the way it is.

  “She's going to fit in a lot better than even I thought,” Gaine says, and I wonder if sometimes he thinks about what's coming out of his damn mouth. I flick hair over my shoulder and stomp down the aisles, the heels of my boots clicking across the over waxed linoleum floor. The thing sparkles so damn much, my eyes are starting to flicker with sun spots. And don't get me wrong, I'm a fan of air conditioning but Lord in Heaven, it must be sixty fucking degrees in here.

  I ignore my friend, the one who's desperate to be so much more and keep moving, fingers sliding across gleaming chrome and unblemished leather, wondering if I'm going to be able to find anything here that'll let me salvage some of my dignity.

  Gaine follows close behind me, a heated presence in all of this sterile frigidity. It's like a freaking museum in here. I just want to buy a damn bike, not come in my panties at the looks of some pretty statues. I want something that's functional. Is that too much to ask? I keep moving and Gaine stays on my heels. I swear, I can feel the heat of his breath on my neck, his fingers hovering over my hips. When I pause to glare back at him, he's not quite as close as I think. My imagination then. I haven't been getting laid enough lately. I turn back around and keep walking, through another doorway and into the next room. I can't see Amy and her friend anymore, but I can hear their soft voices drifting through the quiet building, bouncing off the glass and teasing my ears with girlish whispers. So naïve. So fucking naïve. I almost envy them. Almost. Naivety is great and all, a soft place to lie your head, but that's not the issue. The issue is when reality comes crashing down, tearing you apart and ripping your innocence away, leaving you with nothing but violently shattered pieces. I pause next to a Kawasaki and rest my hand on the seat.

  My mind is spinning away, dragging me back to my memories, blinding me with pain and humiliation, tainting me with betrayal. I shut it down before it even gets a chance to start and jump when Gaine lays his fingers on my upper arm, brushing the whorls of his fingertips across my skin.

  “You alright?” he whispers, voice soft, understanding. I've told him my story before, my whole story. Don't know why I did it. I must've been muy loca, but I spilled my shit, just drenched him with it, and now I'm paying for it with gentle looks and tender caresses. Might seem like a good thing to some people, but to me, it's dangerous as hell. I pull away and roll my shoulders into a shrug.

  “Just help me find a Goddamn motorcycle,” I snap at him, taking out my frustration on the one person who really doesn't deserve any of my shit, but who takes it anyway. Willingly even. He follows close behind me and doesn't let up as I push past a curtain and into the smallest of all three showrooms. The floor in here isn't linoleum, just cement, and it's splattered with oil and droplets of discarded paint. In here rests the skeletons of the unfortunate, bikes that didn't make the cut. Most are just here for parts, sitting around in neat rows, missing vital organs and grinning in grimy darkness. I stare them all down, letting my gaze scan along the waste until I come across another row in the back, against the wall. Maybe I'm not supposed to be in here, but I'll be damned if I leave this place without seeing everything there is to see. Besides, if they didn't want customers wandering into the service area, they should've locked the damn door.

  “You can talk about whatever with me, Mireya. You know that, right?” I roll my eyes and keep moving until I'm stopped in front of … something. I don't know what make or model it used to be. It's just a big jumble of parts now, but the engine looks good and it certainly doesn't look like anything you'd wipe your damn ass with. This isn't a Barbie bike, built for show, and made of plastic. This is sol
id, metal, old, probably American, definitely custom. I smile. I wonder if it rides?

  “Stop being a damn pussy, Gaine. I don't want to have any fucking heart to hearts with you, alright? Go be a fucking faggot somewhere else.” His fingers grasp my bicep firmly, but gently. He's holding tight, but he isn't being rough. He knows better. I can handle men that are rough, but I don't like it. It doesn't feel right. I mean, holding your own is one thing, but you don't have to like it. Gaine knows that.

  “If lovin' so hard I can't breathe, can't think straight, can't even fuck another woman, makes me a damn pussy then so be it. Mireya, you're hurting. Old memories are getting stirred up. I can tell. It isn't hard to see that. Don't hold it all back. That's what you've been doing for years, and it isn't helping. You have to talk about it, babe.” I turn to look at him, the smile melting off my mouth and pooling on the dirty floor under my leather boots like oil.

  “You don't know shit about shit, Gaine Kelley. Fuck off and leave me alone. I don't want to gossip about past fuck-ups. And I definitely don't want to ride in reverse. I'm going to move forward and railroad Bested by Crows. That'll be my vengeance; that'll be my finality. Words are just words, and I have no use for them.” I jerk my arm back, but Gaine doesn't let go. Instead, he follows, moving against me, pressing me back into the row of metal, so that my jeans brush against tailpipes and tires. The heat of his body overwhelms me, crashing down around my skin like fire, burning away the icy brush of the air conditioning.

  “I know you don't like to hear it, and I know you're tough as nails, and I know beyond any shadow of a doubt that you can take care of yourself, but Goddamn it, Sawyer, if you're not stubborn as all get out. Sometimes, you have to talk about something to get it off your chest. I can see it sitting there, the biggest damn elephant in the room. You're hurt, lover. I can see it plain as day.” He slides his hand up my arm and touches his fingers to the base of my neck, sending thrills of pleasure down my spine. Velvety heat envelops me again, whispers false promises in my ear. Never before have I wanted to throw myself into somebody's arms. And I don't like it. My mouth twists into a scowl, but before I can get any words out, Gaine's kissing me like he's afraid he's going to lose me. I don't know how that's possible since the fucker doesn't even have me yet, but he does it, somehow, someway … I reach out and grab his leather jacket by the lapels, yanking him against me. I mean to push him back and then sock him in the face, but I don't quite get there. Instead, that heat and desire and desperation to be wanted as much as I want, fills me, consumes me and then spits me back out into the world, cold and wanting. I let go of his jacket and slide my arms beneath the leather, holding Gaine tight while he teases me with his lips, pressing barely there kisses against my mouth, avoiding the tangle of my tongue with his. He keeps it strictly mouth to mouth, less vulgar, more intimate somehow. I don't quite know what to think.