Page 9 of Devil's Dilemma

Which brings me to today, and why my stomach is full of butterflies. Yes, I’d agreed after he’d worn all my objections down. Me, Melissa, had caved and accepted to go out on a date with a biker.

All week I’ve had doubts about my decision, my hand going to the phone several times to cancel it, but a little voice at the back of my head constantly asked, why should I be the one always missing out? It could be something wonderful would come of the date and we’d have many more, however much I thought one night in my company would end it.

How our conversation had finished on Sunday kept echoing around my head.

“Melissa, I must warn you. I’ll take you out Friday. We’ll have a meal, conversation, and then I’ll drop you back at your door. However much you beg me, I don’t put out on a first date.”

“Skull!” I batted his arm with my hand.

“What, babe? You disappointed?”

A loud laugh escaped me. “No. I…”

“Tut, tut. You thought you were going to corrupt me?”

I bristled. “It’s the other way around, surely?”

His face filled with cockiness. “You know you want to, Melissa. Say you’ll come on a date with me. Friday.”

I wasn’t agreeing to an abstract concept, by adding on a day he was making a concrete proposition. And heaven help me, I was interested enough to agree.

It seemed easy on Sunday. Something to look forward to Monday and Tuesday. On Wednesday the worries began to creep in. By Thursday I had serious misgivings—which made me bake three trays of cookies which were received gratefully at work the next day, well, what was left after I’d tested them. When I woke today, I seriously doubted I could go through with this.

Wear jeans,he’d said. Does that mean he expects to take me on the back of his motorcycle?

No, of course he wouldn’t.Just look at him, then me. I must weigh much more than he does. I’d unbalance his bike for certain.Do curvy women like me even ride?I’ve never been on a bike or taken much notice of them.

I’d rather wear a dress that would hide my large hips, I muse, as I struggle with the zipper on my jeans. I turn and look over my shoulder critically in the mirror.Yes, just as I thought, they show off my fat ass.

My top, though, he didn’t issue any instructions for. I go with a flowing shirt that disguises the size of my tits. Why on earth people get enlargements I’ll never know. Who would willingly put themselves through the back ache that comes with carrying these bazookas around? And the boob sweat…Perhaps I should consider a reduction?

The top also hides the roll of my muffin top.

It has to be a joke.What would a man like Skull see in me?

I should cancel.Yes, I should. But there’s a part of me that is curious how this evening will go. I’ve a broad enough back that if I find out I’m the butt of a joke, it wouldn’t overly bother me. And, there’s a chance, albeit a very slight one, that this strange relationship might actually work.

Fat chance.

A ring on my doorbell signifies it’s now too late. I’ve lost my chance to back out.

Picking up my purse, I check I have my phone and my wallet, then open the door to find Skull waiting there, and behind him like a lurking beast waiting, his motorbike.

“Looking good, woman.”

I stare but can’t see anything other than appreciation in his expression. He seems to be genuinely pleased by the way that I’m dressed, and the light makeup I’m wearing.

He’s wearing a button-down shirt under his leather vest, the contrast with the black leather and his tanned skin is striking, making him look… edible in a word. My tongue licks my lips automatically.

As he smirks, I step around him and point my finger. “You parking that here?”

“What?” He turns in the direction I’m indicating. “No, that’s our transportation.”

I stare at the motorcycle as though I’m looking at a hangman’s noose, and before I’m aware of what I’m doing, take a step back. I would have taken another, had his hand not landed on my arm with just enough pressure to prevent me.

“Look,” he starts earnestly. “You give it a try. All you need to do is to put your arms around my waist, and lean as I do at the corners. You don’t like it? We’ll come straight back. Don’t care if we’ve only gone a few hundred yards, but please, for me, give it a chance.”

I hang onto him?

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