Biker Chicks: An Anthology of Hot MC Romance (28 page)

“I’m not much of a cook,” I said.

“Neither am I,” he said.

I popped a bite of toast into my mouth. “I beg to differ.”

He grinned. “Again, glad you like.”

There was a long moment of silence made awkward by the reality of my situation; I’d gone to bed with a man I’d just met, and now I was having breakfast with him. Breakfast he’d cooked for me. None of my prior experiences in the dating game prepared me for what to say next.
Here be dragons.

“So about last night,” I said.

“Yeah, about that.”

“I’m not looking for anything serious.”
I’m lonely and I’m awkward and I like you.
“I was just...well, I – “

“Want to take up with me?”

“Are you asking me out?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I am.”

Another long silence, one driven by my anxieties.

“So what’s your answer?”

My heart did a backflip before I put a word to what was in it.

“Yes,” I said.

He slid his hand across the table and laced his fingers through mine. “Glad to hear it.”

I smiled at him, and the storm in my head and heart calmed. But only for a moment; I glanced at the clock and real life checked back in.

“Crap, I need to get to class,” I said.
I want to go back to bed with you.

“Want a lift?”

I squeezed his hand. “I’d love one.”

Twenty minutes later I was on the back of his bike, the wind roaring in my ears. I’d dressed more appropriately for the ride; without the cold air sneaking into my clothes it was even more fun. The throb of the engine made me wonder what it would be like to be the one with the bars in my hands, to be the one in control. I glanced to my left and saw two children in the back of a minivan, noses pressed against the glass, staring at us with wide eyes. About the way I had looked back at sixteen when the bus had taken me past the Longstriders’ clubhouse. It was strange beyond words to be on the other side of the pane.

All too quickly we pulled into the U of W parking lot. Gabriel killed the engine and eased the kickstand down. “Close as I can get you,” he said.

“Why is that?”

“Any closer and campus security will hassle me.” He patted the knife on his belt. “School’s got a no-weapons policy.”

I dismounted and handed him back his spare helmet. “Look, I...um...”

“Got something to tell you,” he said.

“What?”

He leaned over, caught my chin in his fingers and kissed me with as much passion as he had in my bedroom the previous night. I moaned as his hand slid into my hair, lips working against mine. In that moment I wanted to be anywhere but out in public. I pushed the kiss deeper, fingers twined in his hair just as he did to me.

“That’s what,” he said when we broke apart.

I giggled. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Believe it, honey.” He fired up his bike.

“Call me?”

“You got my number,” he said over the noise of the engine. “You’re the one with the busy schedule. Call me when you’re free.”

“Okay,” I said.

He nodded, twisted the throttle and off he went. I watched him go, the tingles from his kiss running up and down my spine.

“Who was
that?
”

I turned. It was Richard, a boy from my Psych class who had asked me out a few weeks ago. Still stinging from Ryan’s betrayal, I’d turned him down.

“My boyfriend,” I said.

“You told me you’d sworn off dating.” His voice had a sulky edge to it. Previously such a display would have made me feel guilty, but instead of placating his ego I spoke my mind.

“No,” I said. “I told you I was done with boys.”

His reply was a churlish frown. It proved my point better than anything I could’ve come up with. I walked away without another word. It felt good.

Three days passed without me calling Gabriel, three days of me staring at my phone a lot and not pushing any buttons. Three days of my issues gnawing at my heart, each day worse than the last. For once it was my job to do the calling, and I sucked at it. I knew it was stupid, but I couldn’t help the worry that I wouldn’t get an answer, and each passing day meant that was more likely, which made me more afraid to call and find out.

In the end I looked up Honey’s in Sea-Tac, and found myself bussing down to it. According to the logic of my feelings, going to where Gabriel worked was less scary than calling him. I sighed as I stepped off the bus. Some days my issues didn’t make sense even to me.

Honey’s was a gray concrete box with a golden neon sign over the awning, overlooking a parking lot half-full of cars, a line of three bikes parked close to the door. The bikes gleamed like they’d just come off the showroom floor, flames and skulls painted on the gas tanks. A guy about my age and height in faded denim paced next to them, his arms folded over a black leather vest with “PROSPECT” on its back. I gave him and the bikes a wide berth as I walked to the door, my ever-present stomach butterflies in full swing.

The doorman wasn’t Gabriel; I showed him my ID and handed him the cover charge. He nodded and went back to ignoring me.

Loud rock music and hot air slapped me in the face when I opened the door, along with the smell of sweat and Lysol. The lighting was too dim to make out much beyond the vague shapes of men sitting at tables and half-clad women circling between them; the only well-lit person was the busty redheaded girl on stage clad in nothing but high heels, making a slow turn on a brass pole. I stood near the entryway, unsure of what to do next. I’d never been in a strip club.

“You look lost,” someone said. I turned.

The speaker was a dark-haired woman in her late twenties, tall and willowy, wearing nothing but a scanty black bikini held together by bows at her hips and shoulders.

“I am,” I said over the music, trying not to stare; from the tops of her shoes to the backs of her hands to the point of her chin she was more ink than skin, whorls of Celtic knots and rose-studded vines competing with skulls and blue flames.

“I’m guessing you aren’t here to look at tits,” she said.

I blushed. “I’m looking for Gabriel. He works here.”

She cocked her head. “And you are...?”

“I’m his girlfriend.”
I think. I hope.

Her black eyes widened. “No shit?” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It was done up in an elaborate half-braid I never could have managed, the rest spilling loose down her back.

“Yeah.”

Without asking she grabbed my hand. “In that case, come with me. I
have
to introduce you.”

“Um,” was all I had time to say before I was pulled me along behind her. When she turned I caught a tattoo on her neck; a sunburst with the words PROPERTY OF ROACH inside it.

She paused after a few steps and turned back around. “Oh yeah...I’m Savannah.”

“Alyssa,” I said.

“Now that we got that sorted out, come on.” She winked at me before continuing to pull me deeper into the club, hips swaying in a way that drew my eyes. My cheeks warmed; I’d always been bi-curious and her strut brought those curiosities closer to the surface.

Our path brought us to a table with two men sitting at it, both wearing biker gear. One had his back to me; his vest had a grinning skull in a jester’s cap above crossed hatchets and a fan of cards stitched into it between curved panels reading FREAK PATROL MC TACOMA. The other man looked up as we approached, teeth flashing in a smile.

“What’s up, ‘Vanna?” He was clean-shaven, handsome Latin features marred by a scar across his cheek.

“Got somebody for you to meet,” she said. She held up my hand. “This,” she said, “is Hannibal’s squeeze.”

His eyebrows jumped. “Holy shit, you’re kidding.”

The other man turned to look; he had a face like a bulldog, head shaved except for two huge sideburns. “Huh,” he said in a rough voice.

My stomach churned; I had no idea what this was about and that scared me. My palms were sweaty, feet itching with the urge to bolt. “Um, hi,” I said. “I’m Alyssa.”

“Roach,” said the handsome one.

“Boz,” said the other.

Savannah pulled out a chair. “Come on, sit down,” she said.

“Okay,” I slid into the seat, gripping the edge to avoid fidgeting. “You guys know Gabriel?”

“Sure do,” said Roach. “He’s...kinda with us.”

“Roach,” said Boz, warning in his tone.

“Relax, brother,” said Roach. He turned back to me. “Anyhow, Hannibal’s off tonight.”

“Oh,” I said, disappointment stabbing me in the gut.

“No worries,” said Savannah. “I’ll text him.” She had her phone out and was punching keys before I could say anything.

“Meantime,” said Roach, “you can wait with us.”

“I...wouldn’t want to impose,” I said as the urge to run away got stronger.

“It’s no trouble,” said Roach. “Besides, you’re better off sitting here. This place can get a little rowdy.”

Savannah set her phone on the table. “Before we go any further,” she said, “there’s the matter of our wager.”

Roach winced. “Aw c’mon, I was just kidding around.”

“A bet’s a bet,” she said. “You lose, fucker...pay up.”

Roach looked at me. “You’re rolling with him for-real? Like, you ain’t his beard or nothing?”

I blinked. “No, we’re going out.”

“Told you,” said Savannah.

“Shit,” said Roach. While I stewed in complete confusion, he pulled out his wallet and handed Savannah two twenties and a ten. She grinned and stuck the money in a black leather purse that sat on the table. “Baby gets a new pair of shoes,” she said. She patted my hand. “And I owe you a drink.”

“Um...okay,” I said. Before I could work up the nerve to ask any questions one of the other girls came to the table.

“You’re up,” she said.

Savannah nodded. “Enjoy the show,” she said.

“I know
I
will,” Boz called after her, grinning.

I sat twining my hands in my lap. Savannah’s phone buzzed. Roach picked it up and flicked it open. “Hannibal’s on his way,” he said. “Shouldn’t be long.”

“Thanks,” I said. After an awkward pause I kept talking. “What was the bet about?”

Roach grinned. “Hannibal, he ain’t exactly a ladies’ man. Savannah said he was picky. I said he was gay.” A shrug. “Looks like she was right.”

“You bet against your old lady?” Boz chuckled. “Dumbass.”

“Aw, shut it,” said Roach, but he didn’t stop smiling.

We all turned to the stage when the music started. It was a song I knew; Jimi Hendrix, “If 6 was 9”. Savannah strutted across the stage in time with the drums, her smoldering gaze raking the crowd. Then she took to the pole, writhing against it with the deftness that came from long practice. I found myself wrestling with a different brand of nerves.

The men whistled and pounded their palms on the table when her top came off; she winked at them, running her hands over her breasts, throwing her head this way and that in time to the music, hair swirling around her like an inferno. The crowd shouted and threw bills onto the stage when she peeled off her panties; I sat still, eyes wide and round while she twisted her naked body around the pole and across the stage, her every move lacking a trace of shame. The song ended, and she bowed to thunderous applause.

“I wanna fuck
you!” shouted a customer.
Me too.

Savannah threw back her head and laughed, chest glistening with sweat. “Get in line!”

I would if I knew how,
whispered a dark corner of my mind.

Roach nudged me. “Want a drink?” He had a flask in his hand.

Most days I would have said no. “Sure.” I grabbed the flask and took a deep sip without bothering to ask what was in it; the briny taste of tequila hit my tongue like a firebomb. I took another gulp anyway.

Savannah walked back toward our table. She hadn’t put her bikini back on, and I was glad for the dim lighting; my face was so hot I was worried it might burst into flames. “Ooh,” she said, plucking the flask out of my hand and taking a bigger gulp than I had.

“Vitamin T,” she said as she handed the flask to Roach. “I approve.”

My head spun, and not from the liquor; sitting at a table with two outlaw bikers and a stripper was
not
where I’d pictured my day ending when I woke up.

Savannah tied her panties back together and stepped into them. Nipple piercings winked at me as she pulled the G-string over her hips. “I need to get back on the floor,” she said. She threw an arm around my shoulders and hugged me. “Nice meeting you.” Thanks to the angles involved, her chest got pressed against my face.

“Um, yeah...you too,” I said. She smiled and walked away.

I looked at Roach. “Can I have another drink?”

He passed the flask over and I sipped at it, less than the first time because I didn’t want it coming back out. As I drank I watched Savannah circulating between tables, a weird mix of attraction and envy swirling in my heart. I wasn’t jealous of her figure; I envied how she could strut around while all but naked in a roomful of strange men without a care in the world. I wished I could be that comfortable in my own skin.

Gabriel’s words came back to me;
I like what I see,
he’d whispered as he’d peeled the clothes from my body. Had he meant it? Would other guys think the same if it was me up on the stage, slipping out of bra and panties with a smile and a wink?