Page 12 of Bedding the Biker Next Door

Not just the intense, mind-blowing sex, her sweet mouth, or her hot body, but the look on her face when she’d pulled off his motorcycle helmet, gleeful from the ride. She’d spread her wings and flown despite her fears, and the exhilaration she’d experienced had somehow transferred to him, making him feel more alive than he had in a long time. That joy for life only intensified when they were in bed.

Maybe it was because she’d left him feeling so damned good, or because he was simply inspired by her own boldness, but being with Jill last night helped Cole start his day with renewed determination. Today, he would deal with his mom’s things.

More than once as he showered and got ready, he found himself missing Jill. Wishing she was still there. Even though he’d made it clear they’d only be together one night, he hadn’t come close to getting his fill of her. And not just her body. They hadn’t had a chance to talk nearly enough. He wanted to know more about her, who she was, how much further she’d walk on the wild side if given the chance.

He could always call and ask to see her again.

But then he remembered…

He hadn’t gotten her number. Wanting to kick his own ass, he growled and left for home. There, in the half-empty apartment, he packed enough stuff to stay at his mom’s for a few days. If he left before the job was done, it might be another three months before he talked himself into going back again. The housecleaner’s husband had left cardboard boxes in the garage for him, so he just needed to get in, pack, and get out.

Unfortunately, his determination to get the job done waned as he rode back to his mother’s house. By the time he got there, he’d almost changed his mind. Getting rid of her things would mean getting rid of her. No, it wouldn’t Cole, he told himself. His mother’s memory was in his heart, not in her belongings.

Once again, he sat on his bike across the street, staring at the house that had been his mother’s home all his life. He had grown up, screwed up, and shaped up within its walls, and his mother had been his rock the entire time. Everything about that house reminded him she was gone. The longer he stared the deeper the hole in his heart grew. While sitting there, gathering the strength to ride his bike along the side driveway and park it in the rear garage that currently housed his mom’s little hatchback, he saw a dark head poke around the corner from the back of the house.

“What the hell?” Was someone casing the place? He turned off the engine, swung off the bike, and charged across the street. He could see the body that belonged to the head now. It was just a little boy, a tiny one at that. He couldn’t have been more than four or five years old. Why the hell was some kid in his mother’s yard?

Cole glanced over at his mom’s rental house next door. A teenaged girl with a blond ponytail sat in the driveway, which was bordered by a gate and white picket fence. She was surrounded by five toddlers of mixed nationalities. It looked like they were drawing on the sidewalk with an array of colored chalk. Obviously the teen wasn’t the woman his mother had told him about. Her daughter, maybe? A babysitter? Since it was Sunday, it couldn’t be a daycare? Or did daycares open on the weekend these days?

Last night, Jill said she ran a daycare. Adventurous Jill with hair like dark brown mink and beautiful green eyes. Jill, who’d spread herself for him to enjoy and who’d taken him deep into her mouth and body. Jill, who’d put a smile on his face. Multiple times.

Damn it, Cole. Stop thinking about her. What’s done is done. They’d agreed to one night, and he needed focus on the here and now. The kid in his backyard had obviously strayed off from the group next door. Cole walked along the side of the house and waited for the boy to peek around the corner again.

After a moment or two, the boy’s face popped around the side of the house.

“You’re trespassing on private property,” Cole said, his voice sterner than he’d meant it to be.

The little boy froze and stared up at Cole, unsure if he should surrender or run.

“Stanley Baker! Where are you? Come back here, please!” The voice, tinged with mild panic, obviously belonged to the teen girl watching the kids next door.

Stanley Baker ran off, giving Cole a wide, mischievous grin, as though saying, You can’t catch me!

Cole smiled in spite of himself. He kept an eye on Stanley until he rejoined the group next door. Only then did Cole head back to his bike and drive it to the rear of the house, to his mom’s garage. The garage door opener was in his bag, but he decided to just keep his bike parked outside for now. He grabbed his duffel, slung it over his shoulder, and unlocked the front door. After taking a deep breath, he stepped into his past.

He stood there, staring at the threshold for a long time. The house didn’t smell the same anymore. When Mom was alive, there was always the aroma of fresh flowers or something baking in the oven. Now, it smelled musty. Empty. Hi Mom, I’m home. Cole dropped his bag and closed the door behind him, trying his best to hold it together.

The front door opened into the living room. He walked over to the big glass hutch that covered one whole wall. It was filled with antique teapots, dishes, snow globes, and figurines. His mom had loved antiques and there’d been many Saturday mornings when Cole was a boy that she would wake him up early and drag him out to a swap meet or yard sale. She never visited antique stores or bought her things directly because she loved the hunt. Some days, they’d go to ten yard sales and come home empty-handed. Other days, they’d go to just one, and his mom would find herself another treasure to proudly display in the giant hutch that Cole’s grandfather built for her before he passed away.

Cole opened the hutch and took out one of the teacups. His big hands could hardly grasp the dainty handle, and quickly put it down, worried he was going to crush it.

What the fuck was he supposed to do with all this stuff?

It wasn’t like he was going to put it on display in his apartment. But each delicate teacup reminded him of his mother, so he’d be damned if he’d throw them away either. He decided right then that he’d pack everything up, putting into storage the things that had been most precious to him and his mom, then donating the rest.

He left the living room and ambled down the hall to his old bedroom. He smiled when he pushed open the door. Cole had been living on his own since he was eighteen years old, but his room still looked exactly the way he’d left it the last time he’d spent the night there. He entered and sat down on the bed, feeling like his heart was being ripped from his chest. Despite raising a child on her own, his mother had made sure he had everything he ever needed and most of what he wanted.

Over at the shelves above his old desk, he picked up a faded photo of him in a football uniform—Go Mavericks! He thought back to the first time he’d put on that gold and green uniform. He was so proud back then, his mother so nervous about injuries. Cole grew to his full height later in life, along with his bulk, but only after hours spent sweating at the gym. At thirteen years old, though, he was six inches shorter and ten pounds lighter than most of his peers. The coach benched him the entire first game.

That evening, after Cole and his mother got home from the game, his mother saw how upset he was. Putting aside her own fears about him playing football with boys so much bigger, she sat down at the kitchen table and used a crayon and napkin to give him a crash course in Football 101. A cheerleader back in her day, his mom had once been in love with the captain of her school’s football team. Apparently she’d paid a lot of attention to the game.

After giving him a lesson, she told him that when the game started the following Saturday, he should stand next to the coach on the sidelines and be the “squeaky wheel.” “Of course, you need to know what you’re doing, but the best way to learn is by getting out there and getting some experience, right? Every time he even looks like he’s going to put someone in, remind him you’re there and ready,” she told him.

Cole had taken her advice.

At the next practice, he impressed the offensive coach with how much better he understood the game. And at the game that Saturday, Cole followed the head coach up and down the sidelines like a little shadow telling him he was ready. The coach finally put him in just to shut him up. Cole played like a champ that night, and from then on, he was never benched again.

Now, Cole put the photograph back on the shelf. He took a deep breath. He was going to have to just do this.

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