Page 7 of Red's Peril: Part 1

Unperturbed, I take out my wallet and pay her, take the key, raise my chin, then disappear back outside. There’s an elderly ice machine I notice as I walk to my room, and a machine with a few sodas and waters in it. From the clanking and clonking, I gather they’re both turned on.

Room eight is, as Cheryl had promised, basic but clean. I note the ancient television sitting on a chest of drawers and check out the bathroom which has a few broken tiles, but even they’ve been scrubbed and there’s an odour of disinfectant in the air. The bed might have a sagging mattress, but the sheets look and smell recently laundered.

Returning outside, I paddle walk my bike until it’s parked directly outside, then remove my saddlebags and carry them in. Shrugging out of my clothes, I enter the shower with the intention of washing off the dirt of the road. The stream of water is powerful and nothing to complain about.

As I stand, letting the water beat down on me, I bow my head, wondering why the fuck I decided to stay.I could have been miles along my way before nightfall.There’s only one answer. The waitress who seems to have bewitched me.

Am I so hard up for female company that I’m turned on by the first girl’s pretty smile?

Sure, my dick could do with some action that wasn’t supplied by my hand, but I’ve managed seven years, I can wait some more. There’s sure to be plenty of pretty women along the route that would make my cock perk up.Why does it want her?

There was something about her. Some sense of longing when she looked at the bike, as if underneath her practical façade she was a kindred spirit, drawn by the freedom of heading out on the road with no restrictions, no rules, and no one to tell her no.

She intrigues me.

Uh-uh,I scoff at myself, trying to dismiss my impulse to stay over having more to do with the stiffness in my legs and ass rather than the woman I just met being responsible for the delay. It’s just me needing a break from being on the road. Even a biker can have too much of a good thing. A chance to rest and recharge my batteries. But as I talk to myself, even I know I’m lying.She got to me.

Stupid asshole, Red. Even if you want her, chances are your paths won’t cross again.Plenty of women get the hots for a biker, drawn by the machine rather than the man. It doesn’t mean they’re going to act on it.

I try to remember her critically. On first sight, there’s not much there. Her ass is great, her tits, well, more than enough to satisfy me, but she’s not model thin or anything near. I’m sure if I touch her, softness and curves would greet me.I could do better.But could I? Her at-rest face didn’t resemble a barn door, but when her features rearranged themselves to show pleasure, amusement, and that sense of longing I’d noted before, she transformed into a thing of beauty.

My kind of girl.Which is odd, as I’d never gone for that type before.

Of course, that’s not unusual. I’m a man. It doesn’t take much to make my dick perk up and pay attention—just decent legs, tits and ass. I’ve seen girls in bars, girls I pass in the street who’ve fuelled some of my night-time fantasies. I’ve never been tempted to follow up, feeling they were out of the league of a ginger-haired reject like me. Most women, I’ve found, want the mysterious dark stranger type, or the blond surfer dude. My pale skin, freckles and red hair don’t attract many women to me. And anyway, for the last few years, I’ve had fuck-all chance to do anything about it.

Wanna come over to my place, doll? Oh, hang on, I’ve just got to change my dad’s diaper…

I’m free. Free to do what I want when I want to. Free to explore. Why settle for the first girl I’ve come across? Of course my dick’s fucking interested. It knows I’ve not got the same restrictions anymore. If it gives me the signal and the girl’s up for it, I can act on my impulses now.

Was it my bike, or me she was interested in?I huff a laugh at the thought it could be the former.

My issue is, I muse as I turn off the water and rub myself down with a towel, is if she does have a reciprocal interest in me, the question is, whether I’m going to act on it.

I’d thought one-night stands were not my thing. Even in high school, I dated. While then knowing a happily ever after was unlikely, I’d be faithful to my current girlfriend, and willing to hang on for the ride until it, hopefully amicably, ended. I was brought up to respect and be respectful to women. Despite how my mom walked out on my dad, I’d stayed that way.

If you want to get off, son, you’ve always got your hand. Women, my dad had told me,deserve more than a quick fling.

Just say I got together with Cheryl, I won’t be changing my plans. I’m too invested in finding my future.Could she be part of it?Could her place really be on the back of my bike? Fuck, I may be wary of one-night stands, but I’m even more concerned with jumping in deep with a woman I’ve only just met.

If, and it’s a fucking big if… If she was up for a night in my bed, could I walk away and feel right about it? On the other hand, on such limited acquaintance, could I take her with me?

Just say Cheryl and I were physically compatible. What’s the alternative? To stay here? I snort. From what I’ve seen of this town, there’s nothing to attract me. I still want to follow my dreams and head south, and I’ve gone nowhere near far enough to make this my base. A god-awful town in the middle of nowhere?No thanks.It’s worse than where I’ve come from.

Okay,I tell myself at last.I’ll enjoy the elongated stay here, rest up my sore muscles from the long hours of riding, then tomorrow I’ll move on.I’ll forget all about Cheryl. I’m bound to find someone else at some point.

Cheryl could be the one.There has to be a fucking devil on my shoulder. When I decide to stay well away from that diner, he perks up and gets in my ear.Cheryl could be the one I’m searching for.The other half of my soul.

Unlikely.

But who’s to say where or when such a woman, if she exists, could turn up? What if I left without knowing, would I always look back with regret?

If I got to know her more, would I be able to ride away?

Damn it. How could one woman get to me with so little conversation between us?

I take out one of my few clean tees, brush the tangles out of my hair, and ask myself, what the fuck is it about her? Am I so starved for female companionship I give the first woman I meet a second look?

I’m fooling myself, but there’s something that calls to my inner soul, a sense she’s unfulfilled, in the same way I’d been while working for Manny. It’s so damn stupid from just one meeting where we’d exchanged so few words, but I want,need,to know more about her.

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