Moto

by M. Never

My filthy fantasy. One I plan to keep to myself. Buried deep in the recesses of my subconscious. Where it’s safe.

  The doorbell rings, snapping me out of my daydream. I know exactly who it is. He stops by several times a week. I open the door to a grinning Gary.

  “Morning, Kayla” The UPS man knows me by name.

  “Morning.” I pull the box into the house.

  I didn’t realize the level of celebrity Reese was until the outpouring of gifts started to arrive. Dev’s house is overflowing with food, fan mail, flowers, and . . . panties. Boxes and boxes of them from his fan club.

  One night, while I was alone, bored, and curious, I Googled him and tumbled down a Reese Dane rabbit hole. He’s beloved. Hundreds of thousands of Twitter and Instagram followers, pages and pages of articles written about him and his career. A flashy website with bells and whistles, live interviews, and even international TV commercials. Hot ones of him advertising sports drinks and motorcycles in street clothes, leathers, and even a suit.

  I’ll give it to him, Reese can clean up nicely.

  Over time, I’ve come to realize the worldwide phenomenon that motorcycle racing is.

  The culture, the fandom, the cult following.

  Every race has more spectators than the Super Bowl. That’s insane. And at the center of that universe is Reese. I sort of understand the snobbish attitude now. Not that I condone it, but when you’ve traveled the world and experienced things most people only dream about, rural Maryland doesn’t hold much of an appeal.

  “So what do you think it is?” I carry the good-sized brown box into the kitchen. Reese’s cast has been downsized to under his knee so he is moving around on crutches much more easily. So well actually, he barely ever sits down until I force him. Sometimes it feels like I’m babysitting a toddler with unlimited amounts of energy. If he’s this wired injured, I can’t even imagine what he’s like at one hundred percent. “Animal, vegetable, or mineral?” I toy with him. I love this game. Guess what the deliveryman dropped off today? Last week, a fan sent him chocolate from Belgium, and I think I ate half the box. Have you ever had chocolate from Belgium? Yeah, me neither, until that day. Reese did nothing but tease me as I moaned through the velvety goodness. I don’t know when, but one day, I’m traveling to Belgium and eating my way through every chocolatier in the country. I’ll backpack to keep the pounds off.

  “How heavy is it?” Reese asks.

  “Not very.” I shake it easily. We exchange a knowing look.

  “Dear Lord, not another one.” I rip open the box, and low and behold, it’s filled with provocative panties. “Don’t these women have anything better to do than stuff boxes upon boxes with what I hope is brand new underwear?”

  “Ah . . .” Reese picks up a purple lace pair and sling shots it at me. “There are all different ways to show love.”

  “I can tell you, it doesn’t matter how much I love someone, I don’t think I’ll ever UPS him my panties.”

  “To each their own.” He shrugs. “You have to at least let someone get at your panties before you take the overnight delivery step.”

  I pause, placing my hands on my hips. “What is that supposed to mean? I let people get at my panties.”

  “Who?” he ridicules doubtfully.

  “People,” I reply defensively, closing the box.

  “If that were true, you would have been riding me weeks ago.”

  “I’m highly selective but have occasional lapses in judgment.” I don’t want him bringing up the hand job incident.

  “Do I intimidate you?”

  “Intimidate me?” I scoff. “Intimidate me how?”

  “Think there’s too much power under this hood?” He thrusts his pelvis.

  “Spare me. More like too many miles and not enough gas.”

  “Oh, I can drive.” He hobbles over to me. “All night, baby,” he hisses in my ear.

  I hide how much the mere thought of that turns me on.

  “We’ll keep you garaged, so you’re well rested for all your adoringly slutty fans.”

  “Hey now. Daisy Mae, a sweet grandmother from Ohio, would take offense to you stereotyping my fans that way.”

  “I’ll write a personal apology,” I respond dryly.

  Reese flashes me his signature cocky smile. “God, would I love to see you on a bike.”

  “Dream about it.” I walk past him and open the fridge.

  “Baby, I do.”

  The thought of getting on a bike hits me right in the stomach for so many reasons. I hide behind the door, catching my breath, hoping Reese doesn’t notice the change in my demeanor. Unfortunately for me, he does.

  “Kayla?” He pokes his head around the stainless steel door.

  “I’m good. Just looking for the lettuce.” I grab the head out of the crisper drawer. “Here.” I slam it into his chest. “Start the salad.”

  He looks down curiously at the ball of green then back up to me. “Okay.”

  I mutely pull out a slab of steak and begin to marinate it while Reese chops the lettuce. I concentrate solely on what I’m doing, grinding down the simmering feelings and painful memories.

  “Kayla. Kayla?” Reese waves his hand in front of my face.

  “Huh?” I snap my head up.

  “Where the hell did you go? I just had a five-minute conversation with myself.”

  “Sorry.” I shake my head. “Must have been daydreaming.”

  “About what? Me? My butt? Were you mesmerized by my Adonis-like physique?”

  “Holy cow.” I gape at him. “Your ego needs its own area code. I was thinking about running.”

  “For real?” He doesn’t buy my bull for a second. “No one thinks that in-depth about running.”

  “I do. And I missed my last two workouts. You and Dev are eating up all my time.”

  “There are worse things that could eat you out.”

  “I didn’t say eat me out, Reese!”

  “I’d love to eat you out.”

  “Please stop talking.”

  “I can’t. It’s compulsive.”

  “This is why your fans send you underwear. You’re lewd.”

  “And fucking horny.” He grabs his crotch. “I think this is a record.”

  “Maybe we can submit an application to Guinness World Records.”

  “Ya think?” he asks, dead serious.

  “Get the fucking tomatoes.” I ignore him and turn on the oven.

  Fuck my life.

  By the time dinner is done, Dev is walking through the door. I don’t know how I end up cooking every time I’m here, but I’ve learned it keeps Reese busy and out of my hair.

  “Smells good in here.” Dev appears in the kitchen entryway and inhales.

  “Steak and salad,” I announce. “All-American meal.”

  “I thought that was steak and potatoes?” Reese tosses in his two cents just to be a pest.

  “Not in this house,” I set him straight.

  “Looking a little thick, bro. Been upping your weight?” Dev slaps Reese’s arm as he goes for a bottle of red wine on the counter. I’ve learned this is his unwind glass after a long day.

  Reese flexes his bicep, and I almost pass out; he’s wearing a tight, white muscle shirt that accentuates every effing bulge and ripple. I turn away and pretend to fiddle with anything within reaching distance.

  I hear chuckling and sneering behind me and can only look up at the ceiling for salvation. These two. These fucking two.

  “Okay,” I announce, flustered. “Everything is ready. All you have to do is eat.” I turn and look at them. They both pin me with the same wicked stare. Time to go. Now.

  “Aren’t you going to stay?” Dev stalks me on one side while Reese blocks me on the other.

  “I’d love to, but I really need to get a run in.”

  “After we eat,” Reese pushes. By no means does he mean eat dinner. He means eat me.

  “Not tonight.” Usually, I stay. But red flags are waving.

  �
��C’mon. Dinner is no fun without you.” Reese brushes up against me.

  Fuck.

  “It’s not supposed to be fun. It’s supposed to be sustenance. Which you clearly need.” I motion to his cast. “You’re still healing.”

  “I’m fine. We go back to the doctor next week for the aircast. I’m practically healed.”

  “You’re not practically healed,” I argue. “You have another four weeks in the aircast. Then you will be healed.”

  “Go inside and sit down,” Reese orders. “I say when I’m healed.”

  Dev laughs.

  “Do you think Mr. Bossy is being funny?” I ask, cross.

  “I do. Because you always seem to listen to him. Makes me wonder about you.”

  “Makes you wonder what?” I question.

  “If you like to be dominated in bed,” Reese answers bluntly for Dev.

  My jaw drops slightly. “Do you like to dominate?” I fire back inquisitively at Dev.

  “Sometimes,” he answers candidly.

  “Nice to know.” I push past them. “That is about all the information I need tonight. See you tomorrow.” I hightail it outta there, my hormones running on high octane. I swear my pussy aches more and more every time I leave that house. I know what’s in store for me when I go to bed tonight. A vision of Dev in leather pants wielding a whip, commanding me to come.

  I know I should just quit. Rid myself of the lecherous Dane brothers and never look back. But if I’m honest, I’m a glutton for punishment. I’m both a sadist who denies herself of her desires and a masochist who revels in the depriving pain.

  And those two are my biggest sexual temptation to date.

  Reese nearly clicked his heels together in the air when the short plaster cast was removed. He was all but running when it was replaced with the aircast.

  He’s been going hardcore in hydrotherapy ever since. I’m finally seeing the athlete emerge. The drive, the dedication, the obsession. I’m usually the one pulling him out of the water, stressing he’s had enough. Which is ironic, considering I’m the exact same way when it comes to running. I love to push my body, and clearly, so does Reese.

  It’s a strange little dynamic Reese, Dev, and I have. Besides the two of them constantly trying to get in my pants, we have become a peculiar three’s company. I find myself spending more time at Dev’s house than I do my own. I still refuse to give in to either one of them, so it’s an odd dependency that’s formed. At the end of the day, I just can’t bring myself to choose one or the other. Almost as if it wouldn’t be fair. So I keep a safe distance from both, only indulging in them in my dreams.

  It’s nearly seven by the time Reese and I get back to Dev’s. He’s picked up an overnight shift in the ER, so he won’t be back until early in the morning, which leaves Reese and me to our own devices. We decided on leftover pizza, beer, and a movie. Don’t get the wrong idea—this isn’t a Netflix and chill kind of situation. It’s two friends hanging out on opposite sides of the couch. I heat up the pizza while Reese cleans up. He’s fully functional now, which means no more oddly taken baths or legs wrapped in plastic bags to shower.

  I pushed off bathing duty on Dev since we all know what happened the last time I took a sponge to Reese’s body. Speaking of. My breath catches as he walks into the kitchen freshly showered, with damp hair and no shirt. My eyes immediately dart to his chest and the detailed mechanical tattoo that stretches over his right arm, pec, and all of his side.

  He’s too damn hot for his own fucking good and, what makes matters worse, he knows it. He also knows I’m watching. Following him with my eyes as he opens the refrigerator and pulls out a beer.

  “You want?” he asks holding up a dark green bottle.

  “Yeah.” But I don’t think I’m going to drink it; I think I’m just going to pour it over my head, hoping it’ll extinguish the incessant lust.

  Reese grabs an extra bottle and walks directly toward me. I stand there glued in place as he approaches. He’s not wearing his cast, so his stride is fluid, nearly normal, all the cuts in his abs and peaks on his chest rippling enticingly. I swallow hard, really needing that fucking beer.

  He stops a breath away from me, the smell of soap lingering between us. His eyes are wide, alight, and bright, bright blue, like a sparkling ocean. He holds up the bottle, pulling it away when I try to grab it. He smirks fiendishly. But I don’t give in. I just stand there patiently, ready and waiting for whatever he’s got. He’s the jester. He likes to play. And he does it well. Too well. But two can play at that game.

  “What movie do you want to watch?” I lean up against him.

  Reese breathes heavily in my ear, an erection growing instantly underneath his gym shorts.

  “If you’re this close to me all night, it doesn’t fucking matter.”

  I smile to myself. Men are just too easy.

  “I can’t make any promises on proximity.” I continue to rub up against him, teasing the shit out of him long enough to distract him and grab the beer.

  “Hey,” he protests once I back away. “Dirty tease.”

  “And you love it.” I crack open the top and take a sip.

  “I would love it more if you were standing there naked drinking that beer.”

  “Dream about it.” I throw back my usual reply.

  “Oh, I do.” He looks like he’s about to devour me as he walks by and into the living room.

  I hold my breath the whole time. I wonder how transparent I really am. Can he see through my guise? Does he know how much I really want him underneath it all? How much restraint it takes to deny us both?

  “What movie?” He plops down onto the black leather couch and picks up the remote.

  “A romantic comedy,” I request as I sit on the arm.

  Reese curls his lip. “Again? C’mon, Kayla, I need some action.”

  “Clearly.” I giggle, eyeing the bulge in his pants.

  “Okay, that’s not what I meant. But I need that kind of action, too.” He grins, adjusting himself. I giggle harder.

  “You think this is funny? You caused it, you little cock tease.”

  “You shouldn’t have held the beer hostage. This all could have been avoided.”

  “Doubtful.” He takes a long swig from his bottle.

  “Choose whatever you want. I’ll watch anything. I’m easy.” I slide down onto the cushion.

  “God, how I wish that were true.” He shifts, wincing uncomfortably.

  I almost feel bad. Almost.

  As Reese clicks through the new releases on demand, we hear Riley and Knight bustle through the front door, making a ruckus as they normally do. Their visits are nothing unusual; they’re here almost as much as I am.

  “Quick, turn on the local news.” Riley sits down on the couch between Reese and me, tapping his hand excitedly against Reese’s thigh.

  “What for?” Reese obliges, changing the channel, disinterested.

  “Hold on, just watch.” Riley laughs manically, bouncing on the cushion. For a hard-ass adult, he acts like a buoyant five-year-old sometimes. Boundless energy and way too much enthusiasm.

  We watch several news clips, Riley becoming more excited with each one.

  I glance over at Knight, who is sitting quietly next to me on the arm of the couch. He isn’t much of a talker, but his presence always seems to be abundant.

  A few more newscasts air as we look on bemused.

  “Dude—”

  “Here! Here! Watch!” Riley interrupts Reese as a field reporter stands in front of one of the local trailer park communities broadcasting about another reported overdose.

  “The eighth overdose in three months has been reported . . .”

  Oh no.

  “ . . . It is rumored tainted heroin is circumventing the area, claiming numerous lives. Police have yet to identify the source of the drugs or any possible distributors.” I immediately think of Sam and how tirelessly she’s been working to find the source of the bad drugs. As I listen intently to t
he young woman speak, there’s a loud rev of dual exhausts. I watch bewildered as two men on motorcycles begin pulling tricks behind her while she reports. Popping wheelies and burning out during the majority of her newscast.

  Riley busts up laughing, as does Knight.

  “We’re famous like you, yo!” Riley excitedly pushes Reese’s leg, clearly proud of his showy display.

  Reese rolls his eyes and chuckles.

  “Those are some mad skills, Hatter.” He doesn’t give him much props.

  “I know.” Riley goes on anyway. “Did you see that stoppie at the end?”

  “It was badass. Now, the whole world knows how cool you are.”

  Why does he have to be such a jackass?

  “I think it was awesome, Riley,” I chime in. The poor guy just wants some recognition.

  “Thanks. See, Nursie knows what’s up.”

  “Sure, she does,” Reese replies condescendingly. “She probably doesn’t even know what a stoppie is.”

  “He’s right, Riley,” I sigh, aloofly, hiding the fact I know more than I let on. “But whichever trick is was, it was cool as hell.” I glare at Reese. He’s such an idiot.

  “Well.” Riley suddenly bounds to his feet. He’s dressed in baggy gray sweatpants, a large white t-shirt, and a flat-brimmed baseball cap. “That’s all folks.”

  “What do you mean? Where are you off to?” Reese asks, overly interested.

  “Rally out by Miller’s farm. We’re debuting the new performance kit on Knight’s bike.” Riley’s light-green eyes flash with something vitalizing.

  A rally is a gathering of bikers. It’s extremely common around here. Dozens and dozens of riders meeting in the middle of nowhere to race, drink, and party. They can get pretty intense. With money, drugs, and pink slips on the line, they can even end up deadly. Riders will bet almost anything for bragging rights. The hotter the commodity, the hotter the race.

  How do I know? Because I’ve seen it. I lived it. When I was a different me, a lifetime ago.

  “Damn. When are you going to bring my bike over already?” Reese demands.

  “When you’re ready to ride it,” Riley informs him haughtily, holding it hostage. A minuscule amount of leverage over the great Reese Dane’s head. We know he’s fixed it. Even told Reese he added some new mods.