Page 22 of The Biker and the Loner
I expect a fight, but he doesn’t give me one. He just guides me out of the smokers’ section and onto the sidewalk. I feel his hands leave my waist, but I don’t look around as I’m too busy booking an Uber deluxe.
According to the app, my ride should be here in seven minutes. When I turn to relay this to Scratch, he’s nowhere to be seen. Gone. Just like that. No goodbye, nothing.
“Freaking bikers,” I mumble under my breath. See, this is why we can never happen. He’s probably gone off to find a sure lay since I’m not splitting it wide for him tonight.
Turning back to the road, I tuck my phone in my clutch and wait for the Uber to arrive. It’s Friday night and LoDo is pulsing with life. High, drunk millennials stand in long queues outside the filled-to-capacity clubs and pubs along this stretch, hoping someone will get out so others could get in. A gaggle of girls close to me gossips nastily about their “friend” who’d opted out of girls’ night at last minute. A “friend” who isn’t there to defend herself.Bitches. Humans are scary creatures.
The rumble of a motorcycle gets my attention. I glance to the right to see Scratch approaching on his bike, his body as big and powerful as the hunk of shiny metal he’s straddling.
He rolls to a stop in front of me, the throttle going. “Get on.”
“My Uber will be here in a few minutes. I’m fine.”
His tone brooks no argument when he again orders, “Get on the goddamn bike, Ley.”
Hand to my hip, I ask with attitude, “Or else?”
He lifts one eyebrow in a challenging arch as he asks, “Yousureyou want to know what ‘or else’ is?”
I swallow.
Nope. Nope, I do not. So, I drop the attitude and climb on. Strap on his helmet, wrap my arms his middle, and press my cheek to his back.
“Good?” he asks.
“I’m good.”
With that, he roars off.
I’ve ridden on the back of Scratch’s bike several times before, back when he was either picking me up or dropping me home for Grunt. So I’m no stranger to having my arms around his solid middle or my face pressed against the musculature of his back, a silly, heady grin on my face. Being on his bike used to be everything to me, as it was the only time I got to hold and smell him.
Now, it feels different somehow.Better.Closer. Maybe because this time I know that Icouldhave more if I wanted. It doesn’t have to end the moment I dismount his bike.
Or maybe it’s because I now know what he tastes like, feels like, how skilled he is with his fingers.
Or maybe it’s because I believe I’m truly his, and I subconsciously waited for him all this time.
Whatever the cause, being on the back of Scratch’s bike again feels right. Like it’smyspot. Where I belong.
And so, as the wind whips me all about my face, I grin.
~
We’re outside my gate in less time than it would’ve taken the Uber.
I reluctantly dismount and attempt to tame my windblown hair with my fingers. “Thanks for the ride.”
But he’s not looking at me. He’s looking past me to the mansion behind the gates. “She’s in there?”
Oh hell. “She’s changed, Scratch,” I lie with an underlying plea. “She doesn’t do it anymore.”
“You’re lying.” It’s a statement, not a question. “What I don’t understand is why you continue to allow it. You’retwenty-five. A grown-ass woman.” His sharp eyes cut to me. “Or have yougrowntolike it?”
“You don’t need to understand,” I bite out. “It’s none of your business.”
“You like it, Ley?” he questions again.
“Screw you, Scratch,” I spit, then whirl around and stomp through the smaller sidegate.
