Page 6 of Love Complicated

Tucking my tie into my shirt, I zip up my jacket. Twisting my hand on the throttle, I take off out of the parking lot, gravel and dust spraying up behind me. The roads leading into Calistoga are fun on any motorized vehicle if you ask me, but on a vintage Indian motorcycle, even better.

I’m hauling ass down the long winding road, cutting through the hills of Napa Valley like I did as a kid. Only difference here, this time I have a driver’s license.

I’ll admit I’m going faster than I need to, but it’s no excuse for what, or shall I say who, cuts me off on a corner while she’s crowding the yellow line. A silver minivan that seems to think their part of the road consists of both lanes.

My heart pounds in my chest, adrenaline shaking me when I realize she’s in my lane. In a split-second reaction, I try to correct my line, lay the bike up straight, but it’s not enough, and I nearly miss her damn mirror to my head as I peel off the road and dump the bike in the ditch.

Have you ever laid a motorcycle down in the ditch? It’s notfunby any means.

I’m not the kind of guy who keeps his cool easily. Sometimes it’s the little things that set me off. Wrecking my bike while I’m already late for work?

Makes me livid.

Prying myself from the dirt, I dust off my black slacks and scowl at the broken headlight and blinker on my bike. I’ve had this bike since I was sixteen. My dad gave it to me for my birthday. Before that, it had been my grandfather’s. While I was pissed I didn’t get a brand-new car, I grew to appreciate the gesture and the fact that it was one of a kind. This is a 1931 Indian Scout. No one has this bike.

I stare down at it, my hands shaking at my sides. I glance at my watch. Now I’m really going to be late.

Adrenaline from nearly dying courses through my veins and heart. It’s pounding obsessively in my ears. “Son of a bitch,” I growl, picking the blinker up and attempting to at least keep it from falling off completely. Pops is probably turning over in his grave about now.

“What the hell were you doing in my lane!” a woman screams at me from behind, her hands on her hips. “You could have killed yourself!”

Her lane? Me? I could have killed myself? Who does this bitch think she is?

I think I actually gape at her. At least I can feel my mouth forming the “what the fuck” position. It takes me a moment before I understand what’s happening. This chick is still screaming at me but what the fuck is she yelling at me for when she’s the one who doesn’t know how to fucking drive?

“No, actuallyyoualmost killedme.” I spin around to face her, my voice grave. I try not to be a dick to women unless necessary, but it’s fucking necessary, don’t you think? She could have killed me. “Andyourlane? Since when is crossing the yellow line consideredyourlane?”

Her eyes dart to mine in horror. Something’s familiar, but I can’t place what. I lived in this town for the first fifteen years of my life. No doubt, I probably know this woman somehow.

Seriously though. . . who the fuck does this bitch think she is screaming at me? I take a moment to look her over because I do notice without too much assessing, she’s hot, regardless of her being dumb.

She looks like a mess though, an insanelyhotmess with shoulder-length platinum-blonde hair blowing in the wind, a contrast to the dark sunglasses hiding her eyes. I notice her nose, the way it turns up at the end and the way her full lips catch my attention just as quickly. Naturally, as with any sight of an attractive woman, my stare dips to her chest.

Nice tits.Sure, they’re covered in what looks to be iced coffee and her nipples are showing, but still, nice tits I wouldn’t mind putting my mouth on.

Her voice is sharp like she’s trying to peel away a layer of my skin by her tone. “I wasn’t inyourlane, ya juvenile dipshit!”

My fiery eyes blaze back at her. I want to rip the shades from her face when I say, “The fuck you weren’t.” I point to my bike. “You’re paying for that.”

She looks at the bike, then me, then back to the bike like she’s trying to figure out a math problem she doesn’t know the answer to. “The. . . uh. . . the hell I am. That piece of junk isn’t worth anything.”

To most, sure, my bike looks like something I pulled out of the junkyard, but it’s not. It’s a one of a kind.

My cold eyes sweep to hers. How dare she call my bike junk. And then something snaps inside of me. Maybe it’s her rage pouring out of her, but I want to be the brunt of the rage. If nothing else, I’m a fucking asshole for loving the look on her face. The one where she appears to want to punch me.

She straightens her spine and slants her chin up, walking to where I’m standing by the ditch. What, does she think she’s too good to explain what the fuck her problem is? But you know what else she does? Grabs my goddamn tie tucked in my jacket, wraps it around her fist, and pulls my face to hers. We’re inches from one another, and I’m not sure if it’s the smell of her, sweet and salty just like her words, but it makes the dull ache in the pit of my stomach worse. “Iwasn’tin your lane, dickbag,” she repeats, only instead of being a juvenile dipshit, I’m now simply just a dickbag.

I can’t help it, call me a sick fuck if you want, but both turn me on, or maybe it’s just the way she says it when she’s angry and in my face. I’d love to see what she screams at me when I’m fucking her so hard she can barely breathe, let alone call me names. And said dickbag’s dick jerks to attention in my pants at the verbal lashing I’m taking from this bitch in the minivan.

And this is where I realize exactly who she is. Only one girl can evoke this type of reaction from me.

It’s Aly.

It might have been years since I last saw her, but you don’t forget a girl like her.

Before she lets go of my tie, I take the opportunity to tease her a little. “If you want my dick, all you have to do is say so,” I whisper into her hair, my lips dangerously close to the shell of her ear. “No need to run me off the road to get my attention.”

Her hand drops from my tie, to her side, and she steps back, the honking of a car swerving around her minivan she basically parked in the middle of the road grabbing our attention.

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