5 Bikers for Valentines

by Rye Hart

  I thought about the loft above the store and how I would outfit it. The deep-set couches I could buy and the television I would mount. The sprawling bed I would purchase to fuel my habit of spreading my limbs out, and all the kitchenware I’d buy to make lots of tasty fucking foods. I could see it when I closed my eyes. I could smell the freedom and taste the independence. The smile that crossed my face burned my cheeks, and soon my worry about the brothers faded into the background.

  But a knock on my door pulled me from my trance.

  “Emma? You awake?”

  I groaned as I rolled out of bed.

  “I’m coming in,” my mother said.

  “Shocker.”

  The door flew open as my eyes tried to adjust. She flipped on my light, blinding me for a second before she strode in. I placed the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to will her presence away as her Very Berry body spray filled my nostrils and made me sick.

  “Got enough shit on?” I asked.

  “Open your eyes and see,” my mother said.

  I heard a bunch of plastic bags crumple to the floor and I sighed as I opened my eyes. I studied my mother’s outfit. A cut-off leather jacket, some tight-ass skinny jeans, and a fucking crop top that said, “I’m Your Bitch.” She was wearing raven black heels that showed off her gem-encrusted pedicure, and the makeup she was wearing was enough to shame even the sluttiest of prostitutes off the street.

  “What the hell are you wearing?” I asked.

  “It’s new. You like it?” she asked.

  She gave me a twirl as I rolled my eyes.

  “How much did you spend this time?” I asked.

  “None of your damn business. Now, close your eyes. I’m gonna go put on another one.”

  “Another one?” I asked.

  “Yes. I’ve got four new outfits. And you’re gonna tell me how all of them look.”

  “Can I just say ‘wonderful,’ and we can skip this process?”

  “So funny. You get your sense of humor from me,” she said.

  “Too bad you don’t get your decorum from me,” I said, murmuring.

  I watched as my mother began to take off her clothes. I yelped, then threw my arm over my face. What the hell was she doing? Just stripping in my fucking room? I had just woken up. I didn’t have near enough coffee in my system for her bullshit today.

  “I told you to close your eyes,” she said. “I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

  “Great. You’re stripping in my room after coming in without my permission.”

  “I own this house and I’ll do whatever I want in any room I wish,” she said.

  “Holy hell, I hope that doesn’t mean you’ve had sex in here.”

  I didn’t get a response, and it made me feel disgusting.

  “You’ve had sex in here, haven’t you?” I asked.

  “Okay. Open your eyes,” my mother said.

  “Answer my question.”

  “Open your eyes and I will.” I took my arm off my eyes and sighed. It was another sleazy outfit for her to pick up her trashy men with. This time, she was in daisy duke shorts with some laced up bike boots and a leather halter top that left nothing to the damn imagination. She pulled out a white jean coat and threw it over her shoulder, then gave me a turn that made me want to vomit.

  “You got a bra for that thing?” I asked.

  “Nope. It looks hot, right?” she asked.

  “Not even sort of,” I said.

  “Then yes, I’ve had sex in your room.”

  “What the fuck?” I asked.

  “You don’t like the outfit. So, I’ll make you believe I’ve had sex in here.”

  “Seriously, Mom. I’m not kidding. Have you had sex on my fucking bed?” I asked.

  “Do you like the outfit?”

  “I hate it. I can’t stand it.”

  “Then I’ve had sex on your bed and on your dresser,” she said.

  My mother was an insolent child. But I knew if I didn’t start playing nice she would be in here longer. I was irritated as hell that this was what I was waking up to, but I had no choice. I was under my mother’s roof until Lindy and I heard back from the damn realtor on that building.

  “Ready for the next one?” my mother asked with a grin.

  I played nice and let her circulate through her outfits. Four turned into seven, and I was ready to throw in the towel after my mother had been modeling for an hour. I was hungry, I was still exhausted from the night before, and I needed coffee.

  Bad.

  “Well, that’s all the outfits. If you want to come downstairs, I’ve got coffee made,” my mother said.

  “You’ve had coffee made for an hour, and you didn’t bring any with you?” I asked.

  “If I brought it to you, then you’d stay in your room. Come get it. I want to talk to my daughter.”

  Oh, fuck. She was in one of those moods.

  “Give me ten minutes,” I said.

  “You’ve got seven!”

  My mother slammed the door behind her, and I fell back onto my bed. I had just seen every inch of my mother’s body first thing that morning, and now she wanted to do some kind of fucking mother-daughter bonding bullshit. The last time she was in one of these moods, she ended up wanting me to set her up with a guy at the bar. A guy that had been talking me up and had asked me for my number.

  I wondered what the fuck she was going to pull as I rolled off the bed and grabbed my robe.

  Traipsing down the stairs, I could smell the coffee. My nose led me right to it; right to the oversized mugs and the flavored creamers and the hefty canister of sugar. I made myself a massive cup and sat down at the kitchen table, waiting for my mother to appear so the bonding could commence.

  “Wow. You actually came down,” my mother said.

  “That’s what happens when you make me coffee, Gracie.”

  “Do you really have to call me by my first name? I am your mother, you know.”

  “Then start acting like it,” I said.

  “Fine. I will. Mothers ask their daughters about their love lives, right? They get curious about their daughter’s lives, right?”

  “Just get to the point, Mom.”

  “I just want to know how my daughter is. What’s wrong with that?” she asked.

  I sighed and brought my coffee to my lips as she sat down across from me.

  “You want to know how my love life is?” I asked.

  “Of course. Fill me in. We’ve hardly talked in weeks.”

  “Months,” I said.

  “Tomato, toh-mah-to,” she said. “So. Who’s got you all twisted up in knots? Been on any dates? Brought any men home?”

  “Not much going on,” I said with a sigh.

  “Not even a little bit?” she asked.

  I was getting worried as to where this conversation was going.

  “Nothing to write home about,” I lied.

  “Oh, come on. You’re my daughter. You’re beautiful. You mean to tell me no man at that bar has treated you right yet?”

  “They can hardly make it to the bar when you’re there,” I said.

  “How about those Grove Brothers?” she asked.

  “How the hell is that even remotely relevant?” I asked.

  “Oh, come on. Everyone’s noticed them. The five men with the jet-black hair and the piercing blue eyes? You know two of them are twins? I wonder if their cocks look the same.”

  “I’m not doing this. Nope,” I said.

  “Oh, come on. Entertain your mother for a little while. I don’t have anyone to talk to today,” she whined.

  “That’s because you don’t have friends. Just fuck buddies.”

  “Oh, I’d take any of those brothers as one,” she said. “Especially the one with the gray at the temples.”

  “Jacob?” I asked.

  I cringed even as his name flew from my lips. My mother slowly panned her gaze over toward me, her jaw opening in shock. I’d really stepped in it this time. Now, there
was no way I was getting out of this house without her hounding me half to fucking death.

  “So, you do know who I’m talking about!” my mother said. “Holy fuck, you’ve been holding out on me.”

  “You know I know them,” I said. “You met the fucking twins while they were talking with me a couple of nights ago.”

  “I did?” she asked.

  “Were you that drunk already?” I asked.

  “Must’ve been. Trust me. I would’ve remembered meeting those two. Shit. I bet their bodies are chiseled pieces of marble underneath their clothes. What I wouldn’t give to run my tongue along them.”

  “I’m not having this conversation with my mother,” I said.

  “Yes, you are. Especially now that I know you know them. Well enough to know their names, in fact. Got any numbers for me?”

  “No, and even if I did, I wouldn’t give them to you,” I said.

  “Why not? You wouldn’t help your mother out?”

  “You get free drinks at the bar because you pitch drunken fits. You don’t get men’s numbers just because I’m your daughter,” I said.

  “And I thought I raised you to share,” she said, grinning.

  I thought I was going to vomit all my coffee back up.

  “I bet their cocks taste similar. I know, being brothers and all. But I bet they’re all different in bed. The salt and peppered one? I bet he likes being on the bottom. Watching a woman bounce on him? But that one with the stare, and those deep blue eyes. I think he likes control. Maybe tying a woman down. I’d let him tie me to any surface as long as I could—”

  “Enough!” I said.

  I stood up from the table as my coffee sloshed out of my cup.

  “I don’t want to hear any more of your disgusting sexual fantasies with guys who are far too young for you,” I said. “Grow up. I’m sorry you got pregnant and I’m sorry you feel your life was wasted raising me, but you don’t get to punish me now by being disgusting. You’re a mother, and how you act affects me, my place of work, and my reputation. People see the way you act and think I automatically do the same thing. They judge me because of you, and I’m not gonna sit here and entertain your ridiculous bullshit just because you want to be the center of attention all the damn time.”

  I could feel my nostrils flaring. Coffee stained my robe as I clutched my mug. My mother’s eyes were wide with shock as she slowly stood, raking her eyes over me. I knew I should’ve felt bad. I knew I should’ve apologized. But holy fuck, I’d had enough of her. I’d had enough of her hookups and her jokes and her blatant disregard for how her actions reflected on me. I was tired of her downing my dreams because they changed the way she ran her life, and I was tired of being nothing more than a glorified bill-payer in her own fucking house.

  I was done with all her bullshit, no matter how much it hurt her.

  “You’re just jealous,” she said as she stood.

  “Of what?” I asked.

  “Men fawn over me, and they pass over you. Their hands are all over me, and you’re just the drink-handler. It’s not my fault you don’t have a love life. It’s not my fault you won’t branch out and find yourself. You think you’re stuck here, but I don’t see you willingly trying to leave. I know your paycheck. I know the type of money you rake in. You think I make you stay here, but really you stay here willingly because you’re scared. And that’s not my problem. I tried to raise you to be strong, and you couldn’t handle it.”

  “Do you even hear yourself?” I asked.

  “Loud and clear. Now that your jealousy has ruined our time together this morning, I’ll be going. I’ve got a few more stores to hit up.”

  “It’s three in the afternoon,” I said. “It’s hardly morning.”

  My mother walked past me, and I could feel her eyes on my body. She grabbed her purse and walked out the door, slamming it behind her. I groaned and closed my eyes as I pinched the bridge of my nose, then took my coffee upstairs.

  I needed to call Lindy and see if she’d heard from the realtor.

  “Please tell me you’ve got something,” I said.

  “Nope. Nothing,” Lindy said. “I’m calling her tomorrow.”

  “Good. Because we need an answer soon so we can either adjust our offer or put in another one somewhere else,” I said.

  “Okay. What’d your mom do now?” she asked, instinctively knowing what had brought on my clipped tone.

  “She came barging into my room at two this afternoon with bullshit outfits to try on, skirted the question of whether she has had sex in my room, tried to bond with me over coffee, then divulged some of the gloriously gross things she’d like to do to the Grove Brothers.”

  “Who?” Lindy asked.

  “The Grove Brothers. The five guys that ride with the Road Warriors? Black hair? Blue eyes?”

  “Couple of them twins?” she asked.

  “Yep. Those guys.”

  “I don’t know them, but I know their president, Crow Marx. They’re right up her alley, aren’t they?” she asked.

  “Not helping. Though, the oldest Grove brother is the vice president of that club. I didn’t know you knew their president.”

  “Yep. Crow’s his name. Comes and talks to me whenever I’m bartending and he’s there. He doesn’t frequent as much as his club is starting to. But the shit with your mom is gross. Where’s she now?”

  “Out shopping. Again. I told her I didn’t want to hear any more of her disgusting fantasies. She called me jealous, and then she stormed out like I was the one who was being an idiot,” I said.

  “Your mom is certifiably batshit crazy,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “You know she only gets away with this behavior because you let her.”

  “I didn’t let her this morning,” I said.

  “You allowed it to get so far as to the fantasies before you stopped her.”

  “I know. I know. But she wanted to bond, and I just, well, I guess I just thought that—”

  “She woke up this morning and thought about being a decent mom?” she asked.

  “That’s not going to happen, is it?” I asked.

  There was silence on the phone as I closed my eyes. I wasn’t going to shed tears over the bitch, but it did still hurt. I accused my mother of wasting her prime years raising me, and she didn’t deny it. Did she think I was some sort of mistake? Some cramp in her lifestyle she had to get out of the way before she could get back to living?

  “Have you thought about asking her about your father again?” Lindy asked.

  “Nope. Last time was rough enough. I’m not willing to go through that again.”

  “You know you could try to track him down,” she said.

  “And find what? Some sell-out roadie riding around the country with some club? He probably didn’t even know my mother was pregnant.”

  “Did she tell you anything the first time? You know, before she had her meltdown?”

  “Just that he was some macho guy she met at some rally. Screwed around all weekend, came home, saw him a few weeks later, and he didn’t even recognize her.”

  “That’s rough on any woman,” she said.

  “It’s what it is. The last thing I need is another parent in my life who can’t, you know, parent.”

  “It’s like you’re raising a toddler,” she said. “Which brings me to my point. We can’t give her drinks anymore at the bar.”

  “I know,” I said, sighing. “We really need to stop.”

  “No, I don’t mean this as a fun little ‘think about it’. I mean it has to stop.”

  “Why, Lindy? What’s happened?”

  “I was tallying up the register the night before. You know, laying out the week’s profit and adding all that shit up for Booker. This month alone, she’s consumed over seven hundred dollars’ worth of free fucking drinks.”

  “Are you serious?” I asked.

  “Yep. Over two hundred every damn week. We’re going to get fired for it. You know Booker
would fire us before he kicks her dumb ass out.”

  “Which is bullshit, anyway. We’ve been loyal to that place for years.”

  “Don’t deflect. This is serious. I know you think moving out’s going to solve your problems, but your mother can always come knocking on your door.”

  “Or fucking barge in,” I said.

  “Teach her now that she can’t railroad you, and when you move out, she’ll actually understand the lesson. Plus, her fucking antics when she gets drunk are enough. The bouncers have been complaining to Booker. They’ve been asking him for more money on the nights she comes in.”

  “What the fuck,” I said, groaning.

  “We have to stop it. Otherwise, we’re going to lose our jobs.”

  “I hear you, Lindy. Okay? I’m just trying to fucking wake up. I’m still on my first cup of damn coffee.”

  “Oh, shit. Why the hell didn’t you tell me? I figured you’d had a pot by now,” she said.

  “I wish. At this point, I’d have to bathe in it to get over my traumatic morning.”

  “Want to get together today?” she asked.

  “I’m thinking about it. Honestly, part of me wants to roll back into bed and sleep this shit off already.”

  “Well, if you want to come over, then come. It’s gonna be a movie day for me,” she said.

  “I’ll think about it. Oh. Question. Since the president of the Road Warriors wants to bang you—”

  “He doesn’t want to bang me,” Lindy said.

  “He talks to you every time you’re there and he’s there, right?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Then he wants to bang you. Have you talked to him lately?”

  “A couple of days ago. I caught him going into the bar as I was leaving. Why?” she asked.

  “How did he seem?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like did he seem upset? Worried? Tense?”

  “Uh, I mean, it was pitch black, and I was tired as fuck, but now that you mention it, he was a bit distracted. I talked with him for a bit, but his eyes were darting around a lot. That’s not really like him. He’s an eye contact kind of guy.”

  “On your tits?” I asked, grinning.

  “I hate you. Anyway, yes. Now that you mention it, he did seem off. Why?”

  “Just wondering. I think some shit’s going down with their club.”