Page 19 of Red's Peril: Part 1

I’ve completed my job when she hurries out, sheltering under a borrowed umbrella. I’m still holding her bag, as she runs up. Wordlessly, I hand it out to her.

“Red,” she starts, almost pleadingly, then stops.

Unless she says she’s changed her mind, and in truth, it’s probably already too late if she has, there’s nothing more we have to say to each other.

“Look after yourself, Cheryl,” I tell her, as I step my leg over my bike, the one thing I know will never desert me.

“You too, Red.”

I don’t miss the look of longing on her face, as I press start and allow the engine to roar. But it’s too late now. Vowing to look forward and never to look back, I ease out the clutch and move forward.

The last thing I see as I glance in my rearview before turning out onto the road, is her standing right where I left her, huddled under the umbrella, with a look of sadness in her eyes.

I raise a hand, and she lifts one back.

Then I’m off, riding alone, as I was always meant to be.

Chapter Seven

Cheryl would have loved thisI think to myself as I wind my way up into the mountains. The air is still cool, but the day is bright, and the sun glistens off the snow already settled on the tops. The scenery is wonderful. If she were still with me, we could have stopped off to explore, but alone, I have no impulsion to do anything but ride.

I’ve changed direction slightly, gradually making my way west. I’m now in Colorado, and somehow headed to the very state where I didn’t want to end up.

It’s time to head south again, I tell myself. Well, tomorrow in any event. As the light is fading, I need to find a place to lay my head for the night. I’m not fussy, and soon find a place to stop.

As I take off my saddlebags, my eyes flick to the empty rack.Hope you got home safe, Cheryl.Hell, we hadn’t even exchanged phone numbers, and I’m still berating myself. How could I have just left her? Anything could have happened to her alone.Should I retrace my tracks and go back to check on her?

Part of me says yes. I’ve stopped off two nights since I’d left her, and each night slept alone in my bed. I miss her like fuck. I miss a warm body to slide my cock into, but so much more than that. Until she abruptly decided my life wasn’t for her, she’d been such an easy companion, one I’d have had with me out of choice. I miss our discussions, even though they’d not been of substance.I miss hearing her voice.

Fuck it!I can’t go back. She had her reasons for leaving, shit she hadn’t told me about. I could tell there was more to it. What would I find if I followed her home? It might be to discover an ex-boyfriend who had reconsidered his loss and persuaded her to return to him. It could simply be that she wasn’t the girl I thought she was.

But still I worry about her, whether she got home alright.Maybe I could ring the diner where she worked?But I’ll be fucked if I can remember what it was called, or even the name of the Podunk town where I’d stopped.

Nah. That chapter’s closed. The sooner I put her out of my mind, the better.

Leaving my bike parked outside my room, I wander to the building next door. It’s a bar and if true to the sign outside, should still be serving food.

It’s one of those places you enter a stranger but aren’t made to feel one for long. As soon as I’ve a drink in my hand, a man approaches.

“Was it you I saw ride in on that bike?” He nods over to the motel where my bike is standing in plain sight.

I confirm that it was. It’s not the first time my older model has attracted interest. Soon, he’s regaling me with stories of bikes he rode in his youth. When a couple of his friends come over, we’re soon debating the virtues of Harleys and Indians, and agreeing that anything not made in the US isn’t worth our time.

I order a bar meal, just fried chicken, but when it turns up, it’s delicious. We get off the topic of bikes and onto my journey. Being weekend warriors, the trio of men find my long ride admirable and of interest, and also my indistinct plans for the destination at the end of my ride.

“California.” One smashes his meaty hand onto the table. “LA, that’s where I’d go.”

“Why, Brett?” the man who originally approached me, and who I’ve since learned is called Frederick demands.

Brett wiggles his eyebrows. “Think of all those wannabe actresses. They’ll be gagging for some cock.”

The third man, Les, rolls his eyes. “Firstly, they’re all called actors now, whatever the sex, and secondly, I doubt your cock has worked for years.”

Fred laughs loudly, and Bert just shrugs. “It’s the principle. I bet this young’un here doesn’t need any blue pills.”

Grinning, I avoid agreeing with his assumption, and try to get the conversation back on track. “Cali’s okay, but it’s too crowded. I’d like to go somewhere quieter. And LA’s such a big place, I’d get lost there.”

“Vegas!” Fred offers triumphantly. “If I was your age, that’s where I’d go.”

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