by Sy Walker
After flicking her finger through several guys who seemed too sincere or too nice for what she wanted, Allie’s eyes fell on the profile of one Lance Chase. She arched an eyebrow, smirking at his pictures. He had dark hair and brown eyes. There was a sort of James Dean look to him. He wore leather jackets and rode a motorcycle. When she read his bio, she laughed to herself. He was the VP of a motorcycle club: The Tomahawks.
“I highly doubt that your real name is Lance Chase,” she said out loud, as though he could somehow hear.
She swiped right on his profile, deciding that he was the one she needed right now. He was sexy, casual and nearby.
She hoped she’d read it right and that he was in Vancouver, Washington. Allie was not driving all the way to Canada.
Lance was a tall man with a lean, muscular body. He had several tattoos including a tomahawk on his upper left bicep, a roaring panther on his right pec and a large, colorful Joker card on his right calf. Not all of his tats had a real inspiration behind them; some of them he’d just picked out because he thought they looked cool. But those three mattered to him for different reasons.
He had coffee-colored skin, brown eyes and dark, almost black hair. He looked very much like a Native American, and that was because he was the grandson of one. His grandfather was a member of the Nez Perce tribe in Washington. Lance did not know much about it, beyond the fact that it was cool to get to say he was an Indian and have it be true. He wasn’t one of those “2% Cherokee on my mother’s side” posers.
The Tomahawks were his motorcycle club. They were more like his band of brothers. Everyone in his club had some sort of problem with substance abuse. Maybe someone’s parent was a user and treated them like shit because of it. Maybe someone was a former user who had sobered up. Maybe someone was still a user and was trying to be better by allying himself with people who would understand and be able to offer them guidance and comradery.
For Lance’s part, he had been free of drugs for three years. He still drank and smoked on occasion, but he no longer touched cocaine and heroin. That was a good thing, because the drugs nearly killed him.
He and his motorcycle club rode their bikes to raise money and awareness about substance abuse and its victims. Lance was pretty damn proud of what he did. It wasn’t his job or anything but he sure wished it was. His day job was working as a pizza chef in this place called The Blind Onion. It wasn’t much, but it paid the bills and he got free pizza out of the deal.
What he still wanted out of life was a girlfriend. Sure, Lance had been in many short-lived relationships over the years, but he was hoping for something lasting. He wanted to sweep a girl off her feet, take her for a ride on his motorbike and feel real love. That was why he signed up for the ridiculous dating app. That was why, during downtime at meetups with his club, he could be found head down and eyes focused on his phone’s screen, browsing potential dates and hoping that at least some of them would be interested in him.
Once such potential date was this girl named Allie Reynolds. She looked cute in her pictures. She had short, brown hair that curled slightly outwards and bangs that sloped across her face, nearly covering her left eye. Her eyes were big and blue. She seemed to be a fun-loving person. She was smiling in nearly every picture. Lance liked that. He didn’t want to be with another depressing person. He’d spent too long in the game, trying to find someone who would make him happy. He wanted to be with someone like Allie… If she would have him.
He swiped right on her profile and then received a message from the app. She had apparently swiped right on him, too! That meant that they could message each other now. The only problem was that he didn’t know what to say.
Allie was gleeful when her phone alerted her to the fact that the biker dude had liked her back. He had been quick about it, even. She could send him a message, so she thought it out carefully. She didn’t want to come across as desperate or slutty… But she didn’t want to just say ‘Hi’ either. That was not a good conversation jumping-off point.
Suddenly, she smirked a little. Why not go ahead and say it?
“Is Lance Chase really your name?”
She hit send before she could talk herself out of it. Now, she just had to wait for him to respond. He was local, so at least they were in the same time zone.
He sent back a message almost instantly.
“Lance Chase DuBois, but don’t spread that around too much. I’ve got a reputation.”
Allie laughed. “What kind of reputation is that?” she asked in her next message. She could tell that a guy who rode motorcycles probably had a bad boy image. That was the sort of thing she was looking for at the moment. Someone who wouldn’t be looking for anything other than one fun night.
“You probably don’t want to know,” he replied.
Grinning, she messaged him back without hesitation. “Let’s see about that. Meet you in Vancouver for drinks? You name the time and place.”
It took a little longer for a response to come that time. Allie decided to use the pause to go into her closet and pick out something attractive to wear. She did not want to meet him in her little, black dress. She took that off and threw it into her hamper, still thinking that anything to do with Zach needed to be cleaned and burned.
She was standing there, naked and going through her wardrobe when her phone’s notification sound went off again.
When she picked her phone back up and read over Lance’s message, she got excited. They would be meeting at a pizza place the following evening, and from there it was “TBD”…
Allie sank back down onto her couch-bed, cradling the phone in the palm of her hand as though it was now some fancy, important piece of her new man friend. The following evening was a Saturday. That made things infinitely easier.
“As long as TBD doesn’t stand for ‘To Be Dead’, I’m in,” she joked back.
Zach had royally screwed her over, but she was going to have good, excited dreams tonight.
CHAPTER TWO
The Blind Leading The Blind
Allie drove for about an hour to arrive at the place Lance Chase DuBois had specified, some place called The Blind Onion. It was apparently a pizza place, and she was always willing to eat pizza. She parked her car in the lot nearby and strolled inside. There weren’t many diners in the place. In fact, aside from her, there appeared to only be one other person in the place.
Oh, please don’t be Lance, she thought as she eyed the guy subtly and sat as far away from him as possible. He was older, at least fifty, wearing a trucker hat and a wife-beater. Allie preferred to sit by the window and the front door in case she would need to quickly make an escape.
Thankfully, Lance had messaged his number to her so she could call or text him as soon as she’d arrived. She pulled her phone from her purse and chose to text him so this strange man wouldn’t hear her and get any ideas.
She didn’t know why she’d become so paranoid. She supposed it had something to do with being in a different place. Even though that was what she’d wanted out of this. A new place and a new person…
Just then, she heard the sound of a door opening up in the back. She swiveled around in her chair and craned her neck to see the tall, dark and handsome man ambling towards her. He had shaggy, black hair and brown eyes. Allie hadn’t fully realized how exotic-looking he was until this moment.
This is more like it.
Lance smirked at her. “Allie R?” he asked, even though he had a smug sort of look on his face. He knew it was her.
Allie nodded anyway. She wanted to give him the pleasure of knowing he was correct. She wanted to give him all kinds of pleasure… “Lance Chase?” she asked, grinning a dimpled grin back at him.
“Yep,” he said. He took a chair at her table, turned it around and sat in it backwards. Then he offered a hand to her and she shook it. “Thank you for driving up here. How was your ride?”
“Ah, it was no problem,” she replied, waving that away as though forty-five minutes and a tank of
gas were nothing. “It’s nice to finally be out of Portland. Do you work here?” She noticed that he came from the back, where the people making the pizza worked, so she assumed.
Lance laughed and nodded. “Very perceptive. Yes. My shift just ended. Do you wanna go somewhere else? This place is good, but I wouldn’t mind getting away now.”
“I can’t blame you for that,” Allie said. “I’m easy. What did you have in mind?”
Thinking it over, he suddenly snapped his fingers. “There’s this great bar up the street from here called The Corner Pub. It sounds all Irish and shit, but it’s not. It’s more like a sports bar. They’ve got live music sometimes, and pool tables. Does that sound fun?”
Allie certainly appreciated that he wanted to do what she thought sounded fun, instead of just dragging her along with him to places. She needed to prove that she could be adaptable, too. “Sure,” she answered. “Sounds fun. I parked my car out front.”
“Ah,” he replied. “Do you want to go for a ride on my bike?”
Sometimes, Allie’s mind could be quite innocent. She imagined him riding a bicycle for a moment before realizing that he meant his motorcycle. Of course. That was what vice presidents of motorcycle clubs rode…
“Sure,” she said, a little bit more hesitantly that time. “I’ve never been on a motorcycle before.”
“It’s like riding a bicycle,” Lance said dismissively, smiling.
Ha ha.
He assured her that her car would be safe in the parking lot and led her out back to where he’d parked his bike, in the employee lot. His motorcycle was a black Harley Davidson. She didn’t know what kind. She didn’t care what kind.
“I only have one helmet,” he told her, “but you can wear it since you’re new.”
That was both gallant and crazy of him. He handed the helmet to her and she readily put it on even though she wasn’t even on the bike yet. Lance chuckled as he looked her over. “How old are you, if I can ask that?”
Allie eyed him. “Twenty-five.”
He suddenly sighed, relieved. “I was starting to worry if you were in high school. I’m thirty.”
“It says our ages on the app,” she pointed out.
That just made him chuckle again. “Like anyone pays attention to that.”
Without really giving her any warning, he lifted her up and placed her on the motorcycle. So far, so good. It didn’t fall over and crush her or burst into flames or anything. At least not yet. Calm down, she mentally admonished herself. Remember, you’re going to fuck this bad boy later. He won’t want to bang if you keep acting so jumpy.
Lance mounted the bike in front of her and took her hands, placing them around his midsection. “You’re going to want to hold on tightly to me now,” he said. “And then, after several drinks, you’ll want to hold on even tighter.”
She was pretty sure she knew what that was supposed to mean.
They arrived a few minutes later at The Corner Pub. The ride had been extremely fast and loud, and she was pretty sure her heart was going to be hammering in her chest for hours, but she thought it was exhilarating. After he carefully lifted her up and off of the motorcycle, he took the helmet back and placed it into the storage space under the bike’s seat.
“After you,” Lance said, holding the door open for Allie.
This man was confusing. He mixed bad boy with gentleman so effortlessly. It was sort of jarring.
Allie went into the noisy bar. There were about a billion TV screens around, showing football and hockey at the same time. People were gathered around each of the screens, cheering for the various teams. Lance took her by the hand, not even trying to talk to her over the loudness, and led her over to a place at the bar.
She sat on a stool and he sat next to her, leaning close so he could hear her and she could hear him.
“What do you want to drink?” he asked her loudly.
Looking up at the menu on the wall, she thought it over. “A strawberry daiquiri,” she yelled back.
Lance smirked at her and ordered the drink Allie requested as well as a beer for himself. They drank together for a while, watching the games on TV as well as the people who actually cared about the games. It was a little awkward to be in a raucous sports bar like this with someone she didn’t know, but there was something thrilling about it, too. She’d wanted a stranger, after all.
“Do you mind if I smoke?” he asked her.
Allie shrugged. “Not really. Everyone else around me is doing it.” She stuck her tongue out at him.
Grinning, Lance pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket and took one out, placing it between his lips. He put the pack back before retrieving a lighter from one of his front pockets. He lit his cigarette and Allie watched as it briefly illuminated his face. There was a slight, green ring around his pupils. His eyes technically weren’t brown at all. They were hazel.
After several drinks and several cigarettes, Lance turned to her. His breath smelled like Marlboros and Budweiser – a smoky, reedy smell.
“Do you want to play pool?” he asked her.
“What?” she asked back.
“Do you want to play pool?!” he asked, louder and with more urgency.
She licked her strawberry lips. “Sure!” she yelled back.
Carrying their half-full glasses of alcohol, they wove in and out of the people and tables until they found the segment of the bar that was devoted predominately to billiards. Allie wasn’t very good at pool, but neither was Lance, she soon found out, so it was okay. They were both so drunk and silly-feeling that it didn’t much matter whose ball was whose or what the rules were.
After about an hour of pool, he turned to her. “Do you want to go back to my place?” he asked her.
“What?” she asked back, downing the last of her daiquiri.
Lance drained his beer glass and set it on the pool table as though it was just a coffee table or something. “Do you want to go back to my place?” he repeated, louder.
“Oh,” she said back, louder as well. “Sure!”
Allie felt as though her head was filled with air and her neck was a string. A balloon. She felt like a balloon. She kept forgetting what was going on, and then remembering, and then forgetting again as Lance took her outside and somehow managed to get her situated on his motorcycle.
Everything started off surprisingly okay, she thought. Lance revved up the engine and they took off down the street. They passed The Blind Onion. They passed a lot of buildings. They were going very fast. She didn’t know where she was going because she was drunk and not from there, but it all must have been okay because Lance was a motorcycle rider in a motorcycle club. He had to know what he was doing.
About three streets away from The Blind Onion, Lance drove his motorcycle into a telephone pole.
That wasn’t how this was supposed to work, Allie thought as she fell off the motorcycle and landed on the cold, hard concrete.
The good thing was that she was wearing his helmet. The bad thing was that that meant he wasn’t wearing his helmet. But Lance was soon standing and rushing to her, so that was a good sign that he was okay.
She was lying in the deserted street in her little pink skirt. Her black tights had a hole in them now. Her knee was skinned and bleeding. But she was okay.
“Oh my god, Allie, I’m so sorry!” Lance kept saying. He was clearly panicking.
Allie slowly got back to her feet. Bloody knee aside, she felt fine. Dizzy and shocked back into sobriety, but otherwise fine.
“What the fuck, Lance?!” she said in lieu of letting him know she was fine.
He continued to look her over, fretting over whether or not she was hurt. She finally had to laugh a little. “I’m okay, Lance. Just… What happened? How did that happen?”
Lance appeared defeated. He looked down at the concrete, embarrassed. “I got distracted by something for a second, I guess… The next thing I knew, we were on the ground. I’m so glad you’re okay. I promise you, All
ie, this never happens.”
She smiled at him and put her hand on his shoulder. “Well, you can’t say that anymore, because it clearly does happen… Is your bike okay enough to get us home?”
He nodded and helped her back onto it. The motorcycle was hefty and made of sturdy metal. If it had any damage to it, she couldn’t see it right now, though it was dark outside.
As he drove her along the rest of the way to his apartment, she wondered if what Lance had said about her car being safe was true, or if that was something she should be dubious about as well…
“Here we are,” he said, parking his motorcycle at the end of a long driveway. He lived in a fairly squat apartment building. Allie couldn’t help wondering how much the apartments cost, considering there were only five in each building that made up the complex.
She took a deep breath. Stop judging your one-night-stand, she told herself. After tonight, none of this is going to matter.
CHAPTER THREE
Your Psycho, Vertigo Shtick
Lance held the door open for Allie and she went inside, telling herself to be cautious but not too cautious. After all, she had wanted this. She had asked for a night like this, so why was she feeling so nervous now?
“So how did you get into the whole motorcycle club business?” she asked him as he led her into the kitchen and sat her down at his table.
He opened the freezer and got out the ice tray. Wrapping three cubes into a paper towel, he placed it onto Allie’s knee. He did so without even asking if she needed it.
She hissed a little, but it felt good to have the pain numbed off of her. Her hands still shook a bit from the adrenaline rush and the shock from the fall. “Thanks,” she said.”
“It’s not exactly a business,” he said with a smirk. “But I joined because my friends were there. I guess it was a bizarre kind of peer pressure.”
“Mm,” she said. “But do you regret it?”
