Page 19 of The Biker and the Professor
There’s a long pause before she replies, “Will do.”
I hang up, wagging my head in disbelief and wondering who the hell this Kendra person is. She’s the epitome of insolence. The last thing I want is someone likeherto be thinking that I exchange sex for favors.
~
Cookie is on her porch watering her plants when I return from my sundown jog later that evening.
She grins at me as if she knows something I don’t.
“Hey, you,” I greet, panting as I take a sip from my water bottle.
“Saw Grunt sneaking out at the butt crack of dawn this morning,” she says without preamble, arching a questioning eyebrow. “So, is it true? Is it worth writing songs about?”
Heat crawls up my neck. I don’t need a mirror to know I’m as red as beetroot right now. “I—we—no. We didn’t.”
“Seriously?” She’s genuinely disappointed. “Then what the hell did you two do the entire night? Hold hands and sing kumbaya?”
I’m not used to this. I’m not used to people being so blunt and inquisitive. Where I’m from, people pretend and hide behind pomp, feigned decorum and propriety. People create gossip instead of speaking to you directly.
But it’s different here. No one knows how to mind their own damn business. They have this need-to-know, put-you-on-the-spot mentality.
“No. We just hung out, that’s all.” As in, that’s all she needed to know. In an attempt to both change the subject and feed my curiosity, I ask, “Who’s Kendra?”
She frowns. “You met Kenny?”
“No. I called The Metal House. She was very…crass.”
Cookie laughs as she waters some hydrangeas. “Yeah, Kenny can be like that. But she’s harmless. She’s Grunt’s sister, not blood siblings, but…yeah. They’re protective of each other. If she thinks you’re more than a Club Cat to Grunt, she’s gonna bare her teeth at you to scare you off. You just gotta show her you’ve got teeth, too, and she’ll back off.”
That I’m more than a what? “What do you mean by ‘Club Cat’?”
She glances up at me and twists her lips. “Sorry, I forget you’re not a part of our world.” She moves to another pot of plants. “Club Cats are…kind of like groupies. Chicks who hang around the bikers, readily available. Some hang around with the hope that a biker will make them their Steady, or eventually their Old Lady.”
“Steady? Old lady?”
“Yeah.” She sounds mildly annoyed that I don’t know what she means. “A Steady is sort of an exclusive girlfriend, off-limits to the others. An Old Lady is fully claimed, full commitment on both sides. The equivalent of a wife.”
“Oh.” Well, that’s…something.
“Look,” she says, setting down her watering pot. “It’s obvious there’s something between you and Grunt, and if you’re gonna get with a biker, you need to know a bit about their lifestyle. There’s a bonfire homecoming fete tonight for a brother who’s getting out from a five-year stint today. Come along with me.”
Uh, no. “Thanks, but that’s not my scene.”
She shrugs. “Well, you won’t be seeing Grunt tonight because that’s where he’s gonna be.”
Manipulative much? Is my desire for Nero that obvious? Or is there something she knows that I don’t? Dammit, I hate that I can’t dispel him from my mind, that I can’t resist this relentless ache for him. Flashes of him touching, petting, and kissing me last night makes me burn even more.
I freaking hate how weak I am.
With a defeated sigh, I ask, “What time do we leave?”
~
I’m out of my element. Out of my safe zone.
The ubiquitous presence of big, brawny bikers intimidates me. Men who stare with the kind of lust that scares me instead of arouses me. They’re imposing, rough, masculine…good looking.
I skulk behind Cookie as she stops every two seconds to chit-chat. When men ask about me, she snarls like a mama bear, “Don’t even look at her”, and when women ask about me, she tells them, “She’s mine.” It’s weird, but she seems to be highly respected around here, so I figure I’m safe with her.
