by DD Prince
Deke’s Roadhouse used to be a country bar, and before that I think it was a titty bar. It had been closed down for months, maybe even a year or longer. The new owners hadn’t renovated. They may not have even swept the floor before reopening. There were cobwebs all over the place. But, the drinks were good, and they weren’t stupid-expensive, and the music was good--- classic rock. And me, Pippa, and Andie? We were well on our way toward smashed and thinkin’ it would be our new hangout.
But, back to the object of my lust…
The object of my lust was leaning against a wall, wearing fawn- colored cowboy boots, one leg cocked and the sole of a boot against the wall behind him. And his eyes were still on me.
I sipped my vodka and cranberry through a straw, catching the tip of my straw with my tongue and then duck-lipping a wee bit to illustrate the fullness of my lips, not that they needed it. I was wearing this lip gloss that was designed to give you fuller lips and it stung like a bitch when you first put it on. The results were slut-tacular. And I made eye contact with him when I did. His gaze darkened in a way that made me quiver in a very personal place.
He was standing beside a tall and wide redheaded biker and a younger, blond, dirty-pretty, scruffy biker. All three of them were probably in their 20s. I’d put him at around 25, 27 max.
A tall, svelte redhead walked by and gave him the side eye. The scruffy blond guy leaned in and elbowed my biker and muttered something and then they laughed.
The blond scruffy guy then approached the redhead. She turned to face him and looked like she was immediately giving him the brush-off, while eyeing my biker. I recognized her. She went to our high school, a few years ahead of me and Ella. Paige Simpson.
She was skanktacularly dressed. She batted her eyelashes at the object of my lust. He jerked his chin at her in greeting and then his eyes traveled the length of her body, stopping on her boobs.
Great. NOT.
I turned my back to him and scanned the bar, thinking I needed a new fixation. I didn’t find one as good as that one.
I spent the next few hours regretting playing it cool with that guy. He hadn’t looked my way again. If I’d cranked the charm up one more degree, he wouldn’t have even noticed Paige.
I’d clocked him a few times, once at a pool table, then he’d been at a dart board, and he’d disappeared for a while. In fact, it was a long while, leaving me to think that maybe he’d left.
But then, a few drinks later, I was coming out of the bathroom, and I walked right into him. Full body. And phew. He caught me.
By my ass. Both hands on my ass.
“Whoa, run me over, why don’t you?” he teased, looking down at me with a sleepy-sexy expression that turned my stomach to jelly and made my toes tingle.
I went to step back but his grip tightened.
“Uh, sorry,” I said, a little thrown.
“I’m not,” he said and winked.
I swallowed hard.
He squeezed and then let go of my butt.
I didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered. I was beyond tipsy and up close I saw his eyes were a color smack dab between blue and green and it was so unique, so vivid, that I’d felt like a bumbling idiot.
He squeezed by me with sexy smirk on his face and disappeared into the men’s room.
I stood, deer-in-the-headlights a moment, and then moved back to my gang. And I was a little bit disgruntled, because I’d been off my game. And I didn’t like it.
Several songs and more vodka and cranberries later, Pippa and I were dancing with a couple of other girls. Andie was getting propositioned by a tall, bearded, 50-odd-year-old biker and she was super-cute, but super-introverted and wasn’t having much luck fending him off.
“Just dance with me, little lady. It’s all I want!” he bellowed at her.
Finally, me, Pip, and a couple of other women all moved in.
I’d said, “Let’s all dance!” and the older biker let out a “Yee hah!” and then nearly all the women in the bar all danced in a circle together with him. And that older biker guy could bust some moves!
I saw the hot biker again, watching me, standing off to the side with a couple of other bikers who all had their eyes on the dancing group.
His eyes were on me. And I felt them on me as if there was touching involved.
I swayed a little more, flipped my hair a little more provocatively. I was feeling absolutely no pain at this point, having drunk enough to declare to myself the sexy dancing queen. I knew I was working it. He was staring at me with unconcealed lust.
The song ended, and he moved, as if floating, toward me. Yep, I was back on my game.
He dipped me, Hollywood-style, and held me, down, near the floor.
“You a dancer?” he asked, bringing me back up vertically.
I shook my head. And that necessitated me then pulling a lock of my hair out of my mouth. I smiled at him afterwards, as he seemed to be watching me extract that hair from my mouth with avid fascination.
“Hair stylist.”
“Gonna need your number,” he said.
Mission accomplished. Those stripper exercise classes? They had just paid for themselves.
I smirked. I gave it to him. And I gave him my real number, which was something that only happened occasionally. I was picky. I watched him put it into his phone and then we stared at one another, googly-eyed for the last call round, where he bought me a double, not that I needed it. I was sloshed.
“So, what name am I tattooing on my body after you make me fall madly in love with you?” he asked.
Smooth.
“Jenna. Jenna Murdoch.”
“Jenna. Nice. Wanna know what name you’ll be screamin’ later?”
“Oh, that’s easy. Papa John’s.”
He shook his head, looking highly amused.
I shrugged. “All right. Go for it.”
“Rider Valentine.”
“Ryder like a truck?”
“Rider like a motorcycle rider.”
“Ah.”
“Good to know you’ll never write my name wrong. Most chicks assume it’s R-Y-D-E-R.”
“You know what they say about people who a-s-s-u-m-e…”
He smiled.
Good name. I didn’t know if it was his real name or a biker name, but Rider and I flirted hard the rest of the evening. And the power exchange was definitely not what I was accustomed to. He had swagger. He was definitely interested, but he also knew I was. The dynamic between us was not my norm and I wasn’t sure I liked how it was going. Because, it was going so good, I didn’t want the night to end.
I don’t even know what we talked about; I was so mesmerized by him, I think we mostly talked about me while he took every opportunity to touch me. My hand. My knee. My hair.
I chatted about my salon. I got a little bit out of him; he said his MC was throughout North and South Dakota but with just a few chapters and they were here now because they were growing and had just opened a new chapter, their clubhouse temporarily above the bar.
He said he’d just moved here from Sioux Falls a few weeks back. That’s about as far as we’d gotten about him when I think I kind of just launched myself at him in the middle of him talking about his life and mouth-fucked him with my tongue. It was as if I’d been possessed by some lustful beast. And I was. It was the infamous drunk Jenna beast. He caught me, again with his hands on my ass.
I managed to stop myself from taking him home with me. But, I did not refrain from putting my tongue in his mouth repeatedly. And touching his hair. And smelling it. It was as soft as it looked, and it smelled great. And there was not even one split end.
***
“You don’t wanna take me home with you, I know a nearby place we can go…” he whispered in my ear outside the bar.
I laughed. This wasn’t “Can I come home with you?” This was where the convo started, so he was giving me two choices, both of which would end with him having sex with me.
Smooth.
“And I am worth working for it,” I advised.
“Hm. Good play,” he winked. “Make me want you.”
“Do you?” I asked.
His eyes caressed me as they swept from head to toe to head again. “Oh yeah.” His voice was husky.
I pulled a pink lollipop out of my bag and popped the plastic wrapper off with my teeth, then grabbed it and tucked it in my pocket, eyes on him, his eyes on my mouth. I twirled the tip of my tongue around the pink globe and then sucked on it, hollowing my cheeks out.
“Good. Maybe I’ll see ya around,” I said.
With perfect timing, a taxi pulled up.
I leaned forward, licking the slit on his bottom lip and leaving him with the taste of bubblegum as I passed him the lollipop and hopped in with the girls. He licked his lips and then popped the sucker into his mouth and watched me go, a huge smile on his beautiful face. I headed home, thinking that maybe I was into bikers after all.
His eyes? They were gorgeous, like a tropical ocean in paradise. And when my tongue touched the slit on his bottom lip, it felt really effing fantastic. He was the perfect height for me. I’d have to roll up on my toes to kiss him when I wasn’t wearing heels and I liked that idea. In heels, bodies pressed together full frontal, I got to look up at him. I fell asleep that night, still drunk, but smiling at the memory of those lips, those eyes, that hair, and his hands on my ass.
***
This was Thursday. Friday, he didn’t call. It was a busy day at the shop, as Fridays always were, and I went to bed a little bit early, having nursed a hangover most of the day, but despite that, I kept checking my phone. And I brought it to bed with me in case he called or texted. He didn’t do either.
***
Saturday, my bestie, Ella, came into my salon.
I’d already decided I was seeking him out and she needed to come with me. Since she was here in person, I could and would charm her into it.
“So, get this!” I pounced on her when she got in.
“Thursday night, I met this guy. Fuck, Elle, he was gorgeous. A biker. Hot biker. Hottest biker I’ve ever, ever seen! You have got to see him. He’s new in town and I made out with him at that roadhouse biker bar. Gave him my number. Cannot wait to see him again. Think I’m goin’ back to the bar tonight to see if I can catch his eye. I’m a little bit in love, I think.” I smiled big. Okay, love was a little bit of a strong word. “Maybe in lust, but love is a definite possibility.”
She followed me to one of my salon chairs looking pale, for some reason. “What was his name?”
“Rider. But, maybe that’s a biker nickname. I dunno. Met him right at last call. Wish I’d had more time. If I’d met him at the start of the night, I bet I would’ve brought him home. Fuck, Ella, best kiss I ever had.”
If I’d spent the evening talking to him, he’d have gotten into my pants. I knew it. I wasn’t a slut, by no means, but it took every ounce of self-control to not go home with him that night. The chemistry I’d felt had been off the charts. I don’t think I’d ever felt that much chemistry. Ever.
She asked me what he looked like, so I described him and said he was totally my type.
“Since when is that your type?” Pippa had called me out, coming into the conversation. She was with a client.
“Since I laid eyes on Rider.”
I then proceeded to talk Ella into coming out that night. She wasn’t easy to convince that day. She was sitting there looking a little bit green around the gills. But, I didn’t give up easily.
After some coaxing, I got her talking and she shared a crazy story. She’d been held at knife-point the night before. She’d let me ramble about the hot guy I’d made out with without interrupting me to tell me that she’d been held at knife point during an attempted armed robbery. I was astonished she’d let me blather on before finally spilling about what must have been an absolutely terrifying experience. I would still be hiding under the covers, trembling.
That was Ella, though. She often got stuck in her head. I was regularly pulling her out of it.
She was my bestie, but she had a tendency to over-think things. She was like an old woman trapped in a 23-year old’s body. She needed a night out after the night she’d had. And I could use some extra girlie support in my efforts to catch Rider’s eye again.
Ella was a real beauty, inside and out. Me and Pip gave her a bit of a makeover, which cheered her up. I used a flat iron to tame her crazy-wild, beautiful blonde curls and she looked movie-star gorgeous instead of her usual movie star girl-next-door cute. The makeover and a money bribe to make sure she had cash for drinks and… mission accomplished. I was seeking out the beautiful biker, Rider Valentine.
***
My phone was ringing, interrupting my Spotify app, which was playing Uptown Funk, song three on my current ‘getting ready’ play list, as I was sweeping the blush brush across my cheekbone.
My mother.
Blah.
I hit the button for the speaker.
“Hey Mom,” I greeted, feeling that little knot of dread furling in my belly. I always felt that when she called me. She didn’t call me up to just say Hello. Ever. Her calls had purpose --- usually to express disapproval, or to recommend I do something I wouldn’t want to do … that would result in her temporary approval.
“Jenna? Are you there?”
“I’m here.”
“You sound funny.”
“You’re on speaker. I’m multi-tasking.”
“Take me off speaker, please. You know I don’t like it.”
I put my blush brush down and picked up the phone, hit the speaker button, and put it to my ear. “There. Done.”
“I’m off speaker?”
“You are.”
“You know I don’t like that.”
“Sorry, I was busy.”
“Doing?”
“Getting ready to go out with the girls.”
“Oh. To?”
“Dancing. Cocktails. Just a girls’ night out.”
“Roy Sotheby’s nephew Daniel said you didn’t return his call.”
I rolled my eyes. “Haven’t had a chance, Mom.”
“Oh.” That ‘oh’ was so very loaded. And laced with disappointment. In me. I heard that ‘Oh’ often. Too often.
“But, you have time to go out for another girls’ night?”
I rolled my eyes again.
“He’s new in town and…”
She droned on about him. Blah blah, good job. Blah blah, good family. Blah blah, something, something.
She was always trying to set me up with the sons, nephews, or godsons of people in her social circle. They were sometimes nice guys that weren’t really my type, but more often than not, they were far too straight-edged, too serious, too … chosen by my mother.
The few times they had even a glimmer of promise, they were in the same position as I was --- not looking to be set up by a parent or other relative, so it usually put a cloud over things from the start.
My mother’s interference always made it start off with me feeling like I was being dragged along. Daniel Sotheby didn’t stand a chance. No matter how great-looking, successful, and charismatic he might be.
She rambled on, laying the guilt on thick, but doing it interspersed with his good points to try to simultaneously guilt me and sell me on marrying the guy immediately.
“Ella got held at knifepoint last night,” I cut in. “Ella needs a night out more than Roy WhatsHisFace’s son needs to take me out, Mom.”
“Oh.”
She didn’t ask about Ella. Not surprising. Ella’s Mom, Bertie, would’ve dropped everything in life if it had been me that was put in mortal danger like that.
“She’s okay,” I added.
“Good. Good, good. Nephew. Not
son.”
“Huh?”
“Daniel is Roy’s nephew, not son. Really, Jenna. Are you even paying attention?”
Wow. I was speechless.
“When will you call him back?” she pushed.
Seriously?
“This week. I guess.”
“Tomorrow, Jenna. It’s rude to not return a phone call.”
“I’ll try to send him a text.”
“Texting is rude. If he called you, call him back.”
I rolled my eyes again. There was a beat of silence, then she said, “Your father and I would like to meet with you to go over the books. In detail.”
I rolled my eyes.
She did this in punishment whenever I did something to displease her (or wouldn’t do something that would please her). Then, she could express her displeasure in a way that I couldn’t blow off, because she held the strings on my business, my apartment, my lifestyle.
It’d been given, but I’d worked hard for the success I had thus far, and she never allowed me to forget that she had the ability to move the goalposts and that all they’d done could be un-done.
Dad had said I had five years, then they would transfer it all to my name and wait until my thirtieth birthday for the money, but Mom had added, “Unless there’s an unforeseen circumstance.”
A very, very generalized loophole.
Typical Mom.
2
Rider was dipping me, old Hollywood style again, and he called me Gorgeous when he saw me. Seeing him again after thinking about him non-stop for a couple days, he didn’t look so bad in these biker clothes after all. He looked damn good, actually.
I’d been in the bar not too long when he’d swooped in and dipped me again.
His jeans tonight were darker. A little frayed in places, but they fit him well. Too well. He had on a motorcycle club vest over a grey Henley. His biceps and shoulders looked particularly defined. He wasn’t wearing his fawn-colored cowboy boots. Instead, he had on black motorcycle boots with gunmetal hooks for his laces and buckles at the ankles.
