by Carolina Mac
“Fuckin’ born this way,” he laughed till he coughed. “Might as well pick out a helmet and some gloves, girlie. You’ll need ‘em to take your test.”
“Right, so much shopping to do.” Portia was in heaven trying on helmets and black leather gloves with George supervising.
“Make sure the gloves are snug,” he said, and winked. God, she had a perfect body. He hadn’t wanted anyone for a lot of years, and he had tried to put his unfamiliar feelings for Portia out of his head, but it wasn’t working.
She made her choices and took the merchandise up to the counter.
Kenny wrote up an invoice. “How much do you want to put down on the bike, today?”
Portia stared into his eyes and hesitated. “I’ll put five down and pay the balance when I pick it up.” She said handing Kenny her debit card. She picked up her receipt off the counter, “Thanks for all your help, Kenny. As you can see, I’m starting from scratch. If I didn’t have George, I wouldn’t even have the courage to be here.”
“Fuck that sappy stuff,” George said, “Let’s go celebrate. Always do that when somebody buys a new bike.” He put a smoke in his mouth but didn’t light it.
“I’m off in five. I’ll meet you there,” said Kenny.
Fuck, the last thing I need is that little prick near her.
George lit up as soon as he cleared the door. “Follow me. It’s not far,” he shouted over his shoulder as he headed for his bike. Portia jumped in her Jeep and tried to follow George. His bike darted in and out of traffic like he was threading a needle. Trying not to lose him was a full time job for her. He pulled into the parking lot of a run-down building with one lonely neon sign in the front window. The outside wall facing the parking spaces was covered in graffiti—the kind kids do with spray cans. Two long angled rows of bikes and choppers filled most of the spaces. Portia parked beside one of the two other cars in the lot and got out.
George lit up a fresh smoke and waited until she caught up and fell into step beside him. He held the door open for her and paused behind her as she looked around. The bar was poorly lit, the dim light made dimmer by the thick layer of blue-gray smoke. Toronto’s no smoking by-law had yet to kick in at Buck’s.
“Over there.” George pointed to an empty booth at the back by the pool tables. Nobody paid any attention as he made his way through the crowd and found them a seat. Portia blended in with her Harley T-shirt and her black boots.
“Buck, three glasses and a pitcher,” George hollered to the bartender on the other side of the room.
Never brought a woman here before. Fuck, the boys are gonna get mileage outta this one.
Buck’s was a normal looking bar, filled with not so normal looking clientele. The place was aged and worn, but homey in a rough-and-tumble way. The floor was wooden, like an old roadhouse—wide planks with pegging. Lighting was poor, but bikers didn’t care. They were shooting pool, listening to country music, downing a few cold ones and hanging with friends.
The bartender, Buck, was an older fellow, heavy-set, maybe in his sixties, and knew everyone by their first name. Good for business. He chatted, laughed, poured drinks and ran tabs for dozens of guys at the same time without hesitation. A veteran pub keeper.
George filled their glasses from the pitcher Buck sent over and held his glass up to clink with Portia’s. “To the world’s newest fuckin’ biker,” he said, “Drink up, little girl.”
She laughed and raised her glass. “Thanks, George. I wouldn’t be a biker at all if it wasn’t for you. Now I’m making a toast . . . To my best friend.”
George raised his glass to touch hers with a wistful look on his face. “If I’m your best friend, baby girl, you haven’t got much in your fuckin’ life.”
“Bingo,” she said with a big smile. “Absolutely nothing before you, George. You and Angel.”
“Hey, at least I rank up there with the dog.” He laughed until his belly shook. “Over here, Kenny.” He hollered when he saw Kenny through the smoke cloud. “Another pitcher, Buck.” George filled up Kenny’s glass and drained the last of the pitcher into Portia’s glass.
George’s bulk took up the other side of the booth, so Kenny had to sit next to Portia. She scooted over and he sat down reaching for his glass.
“Super colors on your tattoo,” she said for openers. The dragon on the guy’s arm looked fierce in shades of blue, green and magenta. Portia looked like she might want to touch the tat, but had reined herself in.
“Thanks. Just got it finished a week ago. A lot of hours on this one.”
“Did you get it done around here?” she asked.
“Yeah. Ivan’s Ink, down on Danforth. He’s the best, but wait time is long. I don’t know if he’s takin’ any new people.”
George was casting her a sideways glance over his refilled glass. “What the fuck? Now a tattoo?” he asked, and then added with a smirk. “Go wild, girl.”
After his fourth beer, George whispered to Kenny. “Watch yourself, stud. She shoots men that get in her way.”
When Kenny smiled and gave her a questioning look, he busted up laughing. Portia just shrugged and raised her glass to her mouth.
Crash. As beer spewed everywhere, a biker sprawled across the table, blood gushing from his nose and mouth. His assailant was holding a pool cue to his throat and yelling obscenities that made Portia raise her eyebrows.
In a flash, Buck was on the scene. “Out the back, boys,” he grabbed one. George grabbed the other and out the back door they tossed them like two sacks of trash.
“Thanks, man,” Buck said to George, giving him a fist bump. “They know there’s no fighting in here. I’ll ship you over a new pitcher.”
The front of Portia’s jeans was soaked through and she wasn’t feeling any too comfortable. She took it as her cue to leave. “Thanks for your help, George, but I’ll call it a night. Night, Kenny.” She stood up holding her purse in front of her jeans fiasco.
“Good night,” said Kenny. “I didn’t catch your first name.”
“It’s Portia. Nice meeting you.”
George shook his head and watched her walk to her Jeep from the back door of the bar. Once she was in the driver’s seat of her Jeep with the door closed, he gave her a wave.
She’s no match for Kenny.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
RING. RING.
I was having such a good dream starring Kenny; I didn’t want to wake up. I groped for the phone on the night table. “Hello.” My voice sounded hoarse like I’d been out drinking in a smoky bar the night before. Oh, wait.
“Hi Portia. It’s Kenny. Hope I didn’t wake you up.”
Oh shit. What does he want?
“No. I’m up.”
I am now.
His voice was husky and kind of gravelly over the phone. Just hearing him breathe made my heart pound.
“Takin’ my ride out for a spin this morning. Want to come along?”
Is he asking me out?
“Sounds like fun. What time?”
“How about fifteen minutes?”
“Not possible. Give me half an hour?”
“I’ll pick you up in half.”
“Do you know where I live?”
“I got it from the store.”
“Great.” What the hell. I thought maybe George was giving out my address to his friends since my little confession. I bolted into the bathroom, took a quick shower and threw on jeans, a tank top and cut the tags off my new leather jacket. I put Angel out in the yard while I made coffee and popped down a piece of toast.
Ding. Dong.
Shit. Not already. Angel ran past me at top speed, setting a new world record. From the back yard to the front door in five seconds flat. Barking at strangers and protecting me was her life’s passion. I couldn’t fault her on that one. I turned off the alarm and opened the door.
There he stood in all his glory, dressed from head to toe in black leather—a biker god. I was speechless. I choked out a squeaky, “Hi”.
“You look fantastic,” he said flashing sparkling white teeth.
“You too,” I stammered and stepped aside to let him in. The scent of him clad in leather took my breath away. His tight pants outlined personal assets that I tried to fight against thinking about. It was a losing battle. He bent down on one knee and ruffed up Angel’s fur while I gathered myself. Angel growled soft and low.
“Nice dog. I love Rotties.” His brown eyes looked up at me wistfully and I melted.
“I love her too.” Kenny waited on the porch while I locked up.
I threw my leg over the bike and cozied in behind him, wrapping my good arm around him. He was so lean and muscular and musky smelling it was unnerving.
“I know you can only hold on with one arm, so I’ll take it easy. No crazy stuff.” He laughed and revved up the engine. We rode east out of town along the lakeshore for about an hour, the scenery flying by in double time. The noise of the engine prevented any communication, but physically I felt connected to Kenny and the bike. Riding into the wind at top speed—what a stress reliever.
Kenny slowed down and pulled into a little white clapboard diner that boasted all day breakfast on the sign out front.
“I’m starving,” he said helping me off the bike. “How about you?”
“The fresh air made me hungry.” I laughed. Before I knew what was happening he pulled me close to him and kissed me on the mouth.
“I wanted to do that the first day I saw you in the store.” He grinned.
“Yeah, that was yesterday.” I laughed.
“Actually, I saw you a week ago buying out the store.”
“Uh huh.”
I think I would’ve remembered seeing you.
We sat in a booth by the window in the diner and I was pleased with myself for knowing why. Bikers like to keep an eye on their babies. Kenny ordered the lumberjack breakfast and I ordered scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and coffee.
When the waitress brought our orders, I took one look at the mountain of food in front of Kenny and was betting he could never finish it. Wrong. I cleaned up my plate and ordered more coffee while Kenny kept on shoveling food into his mouth. As I watched him eat I wondered if all his appetites were that hard to satisfy.
“Boy, you were hungry.”
“Fuck, yeah.” He wiped his face with his napkin and sipped his coffee. “That hit the spot.”
“I’m going to use the facilities. Be right back.”
“Good plan. Long way back.”
After I washed my hands, I dug two pain killers out of my purse and downed them with a sip of water. A broken arm was not going to screw this up for me. By the time I came out of the ladies room, Kenny had paid our bill and was ready to leave. He handed me my helmet and we were off.
WHEN he pulled the bike into my driveway he shut the engine off.
Okay, he’s coming in.
He followed me onto the porch. “Want a beer?” I asked.
“Fuck, yeah. I could use one.” He smiled that drop dead gorgeous smile and my pulse rate picked up. Zero to sixty in the space of one smile.
Angel was bouncing, butt wagging at the sight of me. Kenny reached out a hand to pat her head and then jerked back when she curled her lip and bared her teeth.
“Angel, that’s not nice,” I said as I slid the patio door open and she raced into the yard. I pointed to the table outside and said, “I’ll get the drinks.”
Kenny sat on one chair, cocked one leg up on another and lit up a smoke. I couldn’t stop myself from staring at him through the glass door. Watching him light up a cigarette and put it between his lips made my underwear damp. I needed to get a grip.
This is not the time to get involved with anybody. Forget it.
I dumped potato chips into a bowl, took bottles from the fridge, grabbed a couple of glasses and set the works down on the patio table. Kenny pulled on my good arm and I tumbled, laughing, into his lap. He was kissing me before I could protest, and I kissed him back against my better judgement. He gave me his tongue and I moaned.
Ring. Ring.
Saved by the bell.
“I’d better get that,” I said.
“Leave it. We’re busy,” he said, pulling me back. “They’ll leave a message.”
I regained my balance and shook my head. “It might be important. I’ll be right back.”
He tightened his grip and shoved his hand under my top.
Warning bells rang in my head and I got to my feet. “I think I better get the phone.”
“Mrs. Talbot. This is Steve Underwood here at Mercedes Benz. I have an evaluation done for you based on the year and the condition of your car. We’re prepared to offer you sixty thousand. Does that sound reasonable?”
“No. It doesn’t. I found the original bill of sale, and eighty-five would be more in line with the black book value.”
“The highest I’m prepared to offer is seventy.”
“I’m sorry. Anything less than seventy-five and I’ll sell it privately.”
Steve sighed, “All right then, we have a deal at seventy-five.”
Ha! That’s what I wanted to hear.
“When can I pick up the check?”
“Should be ready by Monday afternoon.”
“I’ll drop by Monday and sign the papers.” I hung up and went back outside. Kenny had finished his beer and was throwing a ball to Angel near the back fence. “Do you want another?”
“One more, then I should go. I have stuff to do.”
I got two more cold ones from the kitchen and took them outside. By the time I had filled my glass, Kenny had chugged his down and was standing up, giving me a look I couldn’t read.
“Wow. That was fast,” I said, a little puzzled by his change in attitude.
“I've got some deliveries to make,” he said, heading for the door.
“Thanks for the ride and the breakfast,” I said. “I had a great time.”
“Me too.” He kissed me on the cheek and was gone.
What the hell was that all about?
I thought things were going well, but what did I know? I hadn’t dated for a long time, and never a guy like Kenny. Maybe he expected sex right after hello.
“ANGEL, want to go for a walk?” A blur of black-and-tan bolted for the door and I grabbed her leash. The answer was always yes from Angel. She never let me down. We walked for an hour down by the river, where she growled at other dogs and intimidated a few ducks. Coming up our street on the way home, I could see the outline of a large figure sitting on the porch steps. My stomach flipped before I recognized an unsmiling George, smoking a butt. I unclipped Angel’s leash and she dashed ahead of me and licked George’s face.
“Hi George. What’s up?” I gave him a one-arm hug and sat down beside him. My leg grazed the side of his boot and he shifted his leg over at little.
“Careful. Don’t want you gettin’cut.” He pulled up his tattered jeans far enough to expose the knife clipped to the side of his boot.
“Good to be prepared,” I said, waiting for him to tell me why he had come to the house.
He took out his cigarette pack, fiddled with the foil, and finally lit one up. “Just checkin’ up on you, little girl. See how you made out with Kenny.” His voice had an edge to it that I hadn’t heard before.
“He took me for a ride for a couple of hours, bought me breakfast, then we had a drink when we got back here. That was it. How did you know I went for a ride with Kenny?”
He shrugged. “Don’t want you gettin’ all crazy over him and then he busts your heart wide open. He done that to a lot of girls already. Got quite a rep. The boys call him, ‘Lady Killer Kenny.’” He took a big drag on his cigarette. “That boy needs a steel-toe to the nut sack.”
“Huh, I had no idea. I assumed you liked him when he joined us for drinks.”
George sighed, “Wasn’t gonna’ mess in your business, but then I got to thinkin’ and said fuck it. Would weigh heavy on me if I didn’t give you a heads-up.”
I should have known better.
George shifted to face me and flicked his butt into the flowerbed. “I’m shootin’ tomorrow. Want to practice?”
“For sure. What time.”
“Pick you up at ten.” He winked, stood up and headed for his bike.
Back in the house, I sucked in a deep breath and resolved not to dwell on Kenny, or the lack of him. After half an hour on Matthew’s treadmill, some of my anger was spent and I headed for the shower. I dried my hair and dressed in white pants and a flowered blouse, checked my makeup and drove to the hospital to check on Marcy.
The nurse on duty told me there had been no change in her condition. I sat by her bed, holding her hand for an hour hoping she would wake up and hoping she knew I was there for her. Before I left, I made sure that the nurses’ station had my number on file, just in case.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE ride north to the range on the back of George's Eagle cleared my head, and I directed all of my focus into an extended shooting practice. I picked up my ammo box to refill the mag on the Beretta and George gave me a look.
“What?”
“You mixed up the ammo again, girl.” He frowned. “Costing you money.”
“Must have grabbed it in a hurry,” I said.
My broken arm was stronger and my aim with my left hand was improving. As we plodded back to the picnic tables for a drink, George said, “You’re coming along damn fine, young lady. Soon be good as old George.” He laughed heartily.
“That’s a compliment coming from the master.”
George pointed to an empty table and trudged to the cooler to get beer. I sat down, took my ball cap off and shook out my hair. Just as George returned to the table, a bike roared up the hill and parked. A pretty blonde girl dismounted from the bitch seat, then the driver got off, removed his helmet, grabbed her around the waist and kissed her. It was Kenny. I felt the blood rising in my face and the heat of anger spreading through my body like a virus.
“Want to split?” George said, eyeing the newcomers.
“Nope. I’m good.” I grabbed my bottle and chugged, sputtering and choking.
