Old School (A Bad Boy Biker Romance) (5 page)

I just wished that Lola was easier to find. Maybe I should hang out on those dark roads on one of my bikes again. If I got lucky she'd be asleep at the wheel once more and she could run me over a second time. It made me chuckle when I thought about it.

It only hit me as I was scrolling through the endless list of Lolas that she had told me one very important bit of information about herself, just in passing.

I looked up the address for Catwalk magazine. I was in.

Lola

Typing mindlessly at my desk seemed to be the job of the day. I needed to look busy for when Jennifer made her rounds, though I had no idea what I was doing. 'Biker Chic' was such an uninspiring concept to me. The kind of clothes I liked to see in magazines were flowy and ethereal, the kind of thing nymphs in the woods would wear at midnight. My own personal style was more sexy, more clingy, showing off the curves that I had worked so hard to maintain. Biker style seemed to be all about looking tough, manly and unapproachable. It just wasn't me.

I thumbed through page after page of leather miniskirts, tattoo transfers and skinny girls sitting open legged on bikes from the scrapbook that Jennifer had made up to inspire us. It was fine, but it had all been done before. The office seemed to have been drained of any creativity or originality and it was stressing us all out. It was shitty for everyone but I knew the noose was hanging over my head. Jennifer had practically spelled it out to me.

If I didn't get this, I was dead.

I typed out the words 'leather boots' into my word document and immediately deleted them. That was no good. I was no good. Who did I think I was, working at a magazine with a reputation like Catwalk had? I wasn't a model or a fashion designer. I wasn't even that great as a journalist. I was just Lola.

One of my co-workers, Tim, dropped an envelope on my desk.

“This is for you New Girl,” he said, but the way he said it was more affectionate than the way Jennifer did. Even so, it stung a bit. I hated being reminded of how disposable I was. Tim had been here for years. His job was safe unless Jennifer really went nuts. I looked up at Tim and forced a smile.

“What's this, a love letter from you?” I said and Tim laughed. He was as gay as Christmas and everyone knew it. It was a real shame for me because he was handsome and the two of us got on like a house on fire. That seemed to happen a lot though. I had scoffed at the thought that all the good men were married or gay at the start of my dating life, but I was beginning to have doubts. All the men seemed to be married, gay, or like Vince had been, crazy.

“Nope, just arrived for you. I'd open it quickly though. Jennifer hates it when employees get personal mail,” he said, before scooting back to his desk. Thankfully Jennifer had gone on her morning cigarette break and was nowhere to be seen. I looked around anyway, just in case. The coast was clear.

I ripped open the envelope, wondering who on earth had my work address and what the fuck they wanted that they couldn't tell me over the phone or to my face. I tossed the envelope into the wastepaper basket to reveal a short, hand-written letter. The handwriting was wild and sprawling and though I had never seen it before, I knew instantly who it belonged to.

I read the letter as my heart pounded in my chest. How did he find me? What did he want? What did I want? A million questions ran through my mind as I processed each word.

Dear Lola he wrote I'm not sure about your culture but in mine it's traditional to buy a guy a drink or three after you split his head open like a coconut. You owe me seventy thousand dollars for the bike and another three hundred dollars for the belt (not to mention compensation for the permanent emotional scarring that will never truly heal) so I think you're getting off easy. Here's my number. If you call me I probably won't ignore you.

-Vince

I couldn't help giggling at his words though they made my stomach twist in discomfort. I thought one night stands were just that -one night stands. Why the hell did this guy want to see me again? Not to mention that blonde girlfriend of his that he hadn't bothered mentioning to me. Maybe they were on the rocks now? More likely, that was wishful thinking on my part. He had the kind of bad boy attitude that seemed to go hand in hand with cheating on people. What a total prick. I needed to tear up the letter and never talk to him again, though I couldn't quite make myself do that.

I couldn't really see him again, could I?

I read the letter in full five times and was halfway through the sixth when I got a tap on the shoulder. I looked up and saw Jennifer standing over me. Caught red handed.

“You know my stance on personal mail at work, don't you Lola?” she said, folding her arms. “What is it? An early Valentine's love letter? A birthday card from your mom? Either way, if it doesn't have anything to do with the 'Biker Chic' photo shoot and its accompanying article then I shouldn't be seeing it. But I am seeing it. What do you have to say for yourself then? Please tell me this is some sort of misunderstanding.”

She couldn't fire me for opening up one little letter at work, could she? I took one look at her and knew that she could. Jennifer could do whatever the fuck she wanted and she knew it. My mind raced desperately for something, anything to say that wasn't just a pathetic 'I'm sorry'.

For once, things worked in my favor and the perfect excuse popped into my head.

“It's a misunderstanding, Jennifer,” I said, smiling up at her though my whole body was quivering in terror, “I've been in touch with the owner of Vinny's bikes, have you heard of it?”

Jennifer's expression changed. To my surprise, she actually looked intrigued. My lie was working! I just had to keep it going.

“The custom shop in town? Sure I have. They just launched a line of motorcycle accessories that's doing oddly well in the fashion world,” she said. I could sense a hint of excitement in her voice. Holy shit, this was actually working really well!

“Yeah, I've been talking to Vince, Vinny, about the shoot. He thinks it's a great idea and wants to help out anyway he can. He says we can use some of his custom bikes instead of those stupid prop bikes that they have in all the other magazines. He'll even loan us some of the accessories if we want to feature them in the shoot. It will give it a real authentic, edgy feel. None of the other magazines will be doing that.”

Jennifer's eyes widened. She looked at me with awe, as if she was seeing me for the first time. I looked around the office and saw that my co-workers were looking at me in a similar fashion. We were definitely getting into uncharted territory here.

“That's an incredible idea Lola. Very innovative.”

Now it was my turn to be in awe. I had never heard Jennifer give out a genuine compliment to anyone in my whole time working at the magazine. Judging by the way my colleges were looking at me, this was new to them as well. “Thank you,” I said.

Her expression changed right back to her standard, just-ate-an entire lemon sourness.

“I expect you to have all the necessary arrangements made by Monday,” she said, before turning on her heel and marching outside for another cigarette. I let out a sigh of relief.

Tim looked at me.

“What was that about, Lola?” he said. I shrugged.

“I don't know. I was scared so I made something up.” He smiled at me.

“Well, she ate that shit up! I haven't seen her look that excited about an idea in forever -and I've been working here for almost five years!” his smile quickly turned into a slight frown, “I guess I better leave you alone to work on this. If you got her all excited for nothing I can't imagine what she would do!”

Tim wasn't intentionally trying to scare me. The guy didn't have a mean bone in his body. I had no doubt that his advice was meant to be helpful, but that didn't matter. I was now scared shitless. I had lied to my boss and there was nothing I could do to stop her from finding out. How could I have been so stupid? I was screwed.

Well, not totally screwed. I could meet up with Vince and try to convince him to get in on the project like I'd promised Jennifer he would. I knew that, but it wasn't exactly an appealing option. In fact, getting fired was starting to sound better and better when I compared it to an awkward second meeting with the guy I'd almost killed. I tried to convince myself of that at least, but it was inevitable.

I would have to meet with Vince again.

Vince

One date. That was all I had ever been on in my entire life. Twenty five, almost twenty six years on this earth and the only time I did the bringing flowers and meeting the Dad thing was at the Junior Prom. Even then, I'd ditched my date halfway through the slow songs and mauled her best friends under the bleachers instead. My morals had evolved a little since then. I didn't do the cheating thing, because I didn't do the monogamy thing. I fucked a different girl every night and nobody ever got hurt (unless they were into that kind of stuff). Save a few nutcases here and there like Sophie, of course, but there are always outliers. It was a good system and it worked for me.

I guess that's why when Lola accepted my offer for drinks, I felt a little bit conflicted. I got her text while I was sorting through engine parts at work. My phone beeped and I pulled it from the pocket of my jeans. The message was from an unknown number but I knew right away that it was her. The message read: Hi Vince. Drinks would be good. Don't ever send me shit at work again please.

-Lola.

She had gotten my letter then. Brett walked past me to grab a can of green spray paint for the graffiti themed helmet that he was working on. He saw my face and grinned.

“Text from Sophie?” he teased, grabbing the paint from the shelf. I shook my head in disgust. “Fuck no, I told that bitch where she could get off. And it's not with me!” I said. Brett still didn't wipe that shit eating smile from his face.

“Should have known, you looked too happy. So who is it this time?” he asked, “And does she have a sister or perhaps a good friend who might be interested in meeting me?”

“No one wants to meet you, fucker. I guarantee it. This is that chick that almost killed me last week, you know, the one I was telling you about?” I said. Brett nodded knowingly.

“Yeah buddy, not like that story was hard to forget. You're making an idiot of yourself on that shitty bike and bang! A petite brunette hottie with big tits runs you over. And she actually feels bad enough for your sorry ass to fuck you!” he said, shaking his head in disbelief, “Unbelievable! Why do you always get so lucky with this shit? I can barely get girls in clubs to talk to me.”

“That's cos you're a creep, Brett. And yeah, that's the girl,” I said. It was strange, Brett always talked like that and it had never bothered me before. Yet I hated when he talked about Lola like that, like she was any other bimbo I had slept with in the past. She really was something else, “We're getting drinks together.”

Brett's eyes turned big and round like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. It sounded worse to me too when I said it out loud. He spluttered a little bit, staring at me in shock.

“Drinks? You're going for drinks with a girl? That's a date!” he exclaimed. I shook my head, wishing I hadn't told him. Brett was a great guy in a lot of ways but Jesus, he sure could pull some bullshit out of his ass.

“It's not a date. It's an excuse to see her again so I can get her into bed. I didn't even get a blow job from her last time. I wanna see what else she can do,” I said, but Brett was still shaking his head. I hated having to defend this shit to him. A small part of me wondered if he was right to react this way.

“Vince, buddy, you gotta listen to me. You fucked her already. You got what you wanted, so now you move on. That's what you do, it's what you've always done since I've known you. It works! Taking her out for drinks is a bullshit idea. She might put out or she might not. If she doesn't then you'll take her out again. By then she'll know that shit works and she'll keep holding off until she has a ring on her finger,” He insisted, “Listen, I get it. Some of the girls are more special than others. I once slept with a gymnast who made the other sex I was having seem like shit compared to all the freaky bendy stuff she could do. And you know what I did? I got my dick wet and then got the fuck out of there before she could take my last name.”

I rolled my eyes at him and told him to fuck off. He did, but I could see him tutting to himself as he spray painted the helmet. It pissed me off that he was judging me so harshly, but at the same time it worried me. Maybe he was right? Sure, Lola was hot and all but there were millions of hot chicks in the world who I hadn't slept with. Maybe seeing her again was playing with fire.