Page 24 of Ridin' Free
“It’s not good for you.”
“Shit,” he grumbled, leaning back in his seat. “Don’t tell me you’re some health nut who doesn’t eat French fries.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not a masochist.”
“Well, that’s a fuckin’ relief.”
“Yeah, and what about you? You eat this shit every day?”
He reached for another onion ring as he replied, “Leg day, baby. I eat whatever the hell I want.”
A soft laugh bubbled out of me. “Fair enough.”
We went back and forth like this for a while, and I felt myself begin to relax. He didn’t dig for anything I wasn’t willing to share; so, in turn, I played fair. We talked about our favorite things—food, music, movies. I wasn’t surprised to learn he wasn’t much of a reader, but I didn’t judge him for it. Turnedout, while there were many things we didn’t have in common, there were a few things we did.
Our distaste for wine. Our affinity for Tom Cruise movies. Our respect for the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Bruce Springsteen, and Guns N’ Roses—along with our utter destain for any modern music with a backing track.
It was mostly small talk, but it was also precisely what I needed. By the time we’d both eaten our fill, the devil within had been silenced and the events which led me to agree to the date in the first place were properly locked away in my mind.
When our server left the bill at the table, Twister reached for it with one hand, extracting his wallet from his back pocket with the other. He counted out the right amount of cash, dropped it on the table, then nodded toward the door. “Ready?”
I followed his lead, and we made our way to the parking lot. It was still warm out, the sun trying to hang on as it hovered over the horizon.
“So, you comin’ to my place?” he asked as I reached for my door handle.
He and I both knew I wasn’t going to tell him no. Still, I needed to make sure he and I were on the same page.
“If I say yes, that doesn’t make us a thing.”
A crooked smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as he kicked a leg over his Hydra-Glide and settled himself on his seat. “Not yet, anyway.”
Turning to face him directly, I shot back “I mean it, Twister. If you’re gonna get the wrong idea?—”
“Oh, I’ve got plenty of ideas, baby, but not one of them is wrong; and I promise you, all of them end with you screamin’ my name.”
I didn’t get a chance to respond before he started his engine.
Speaking loud enough to be heard over the rumble of his beast, he asked, “You comin’ or what?”
I knew it was a bad idea—but the sight of him on his hog, looking at me, with the promise of pleasure the likes of which I hadn’t known before him suspended between us—I didn’t think twice about it.
Twister livedin aranch style home on the far east side of town, about five minutes beyond the compound. The house was situated on a decent amount of land in a small, well-kept neighborhood. I pulled into his driveway as he rode into his garage, parking beside his truck. Other than his vehicles, some lawn equipment, and a work bench I assumed was stocked full of tools, his garage was otherwise nondescript.
I hopped out of my Bronco, pocketing my keys as I closed the distance between us. He waited for me at the door, closing the garage as I crossed the threshold, and led me inside.
The mudroom we passed through doubled as his laundry room. Other than a basket full of clothes on top of one of the machines, it looked hardly used. While he didn’t offer me a tour on our way to the bedroom, I saw his kitchen and livingarea were one, big open space. Just like the garage, there was nothing remarkable about it. Nothing hung on the walls, other than a television. His windows didn’t even appear to have blinds—though, his nearest neighbor would have to be a bit of a creep to see inside.
We walked down a hallway, passing a bedroom, then a bathroom, and there were two more doors which I assumed were both bedrooms near the end. When Twister walked through the door to the right, I did, too.
He flipped on the light switch, revealing a room with a king-sized bed, a single nightstand, a dresser, and little else. The walls were painted the same egg-shell white I saw in every other room. While I assumed his window didn’t have any blinds, he at least made an attempt to cover it by tacking up a black sheet.
If it hadn’t been for the few pieces of clothing discarded on the floor, I would question whether or not anyone actually lived here.
“This time, I get you naked,” he said, earning my attention.
I looked over at him as he shrugged his way out of his kutte.
“Excuse me?”
