Kristen Ashley - Motorcycle Man

“You all right?” he, for some reason, asked me.

“Uh…” I answered because I could say no more but the answer was, no. I was not all right. Tack’s ex-wife was a bitch, she wanted my job, he had two kids and he may or may not have fucked around on his wife. None of this I wanted to know but all of it was bouncing around in my brain in a way that I knew, no matter how studiously I did it, I wasn’t going to be able to avoid thinking about it.

“My ex is a bitch,” he stated the obvious.

“Um…” I replied, still unable to utter more.

“Your job is safe,” he informed me.

“Uh… okay,” I whispered, uncertain if I was happy about this fact or not.

That was when Tack shared even more stuff I did not want to know.

“She’s got this in her head, she’ll probably be back and she’ll probably do other shit to fuck with your head,” he told me. I stared up at him as my heart started beating harder and he went on, “She does, you tell me immediately. I’m not here, you phone me. Got that?”

“Um… okay.” I was still whispering.

“Give me your cell,” he ordered and, not thinking, wondering how that crazy woman was going to “fuck with my head”, I grabbed my cell from the desk and stretched my arm out toward him. He took two steps to me, slid my phone from my fingers, flipped it open, his thumb started moving over the number pad and I heard beeping.

“Uh… Tack?” I called.

“Yeah?” he asked, head bent to my phone, my phone still beeping.

“How will she… erm, fuck with me?”

He flipped my phone shut, tossed it on the desk and then he was bent to me, his hand wrapped around the back of my neck, bunching my hair and his face was an inch from mine.

“Don’t matter. Whatever she does, I’ll deal with it. You won’t. Got that?”

“But –”

“She calls, you hang up. She shows, you walk the fuck outta here, take your phone, go to my room in the Compound, lock yourself in and call me. Yeah?”

None of that sounded good except for the part about me calling him and him dealing with it. Therefore, I whispered, “Yeah.”

“Don’t be scared, Red. She’s a bitch but she’s stupid and I got your back.”

“Uh… okay,” I said yet again, not liking him having to have my back and now seriously wondering if I wanted to continue with employment at Ride Custom Cars and Bikes but for different reasons. Then I stared into his eyes, decided to change the subject and whispered, “You know my name.”

His face softened in a way I’d never seen before but I liked a lot. Too much. Way too much to be conducive to healthy, functional employer/employee relations and he replied quietly, “Yeah, baby.”

“How long have you known my name?”

“Since the first shot of tequila I handed to you when you gave it to me.”

“Why did you pretend you didn’t know my name?”

“Because, Red, I’m gonna fuck with your head too.”

Oh boy.

“Tack –”

“But you’ll like the way I do it.”

I wasn’t so sure about that.

“Tack –”

“Gotta go.”

“Tack –”

He interrupted me when his mouth hit mine for a hard, swift kiss that included his tongue touching my lips briefly in a way that made them tingle before he lifted his head.

My heart was beating wildly and my fingers were clutching the arms of my chair when his hand slid from my neck to my jaw, taking my hair with it and his thumb swept my cheek.

“Later, darlin’,” he whispered. Then he was gone and I blinked at the door when I heard the lock turn even though I no longer heard Naomi.

I closed my eyes tight for the second time that day and waited until my heart stopped beating hard and my lips stopped tingling before I opened them.

Then I whispered to the door, “Damn.”

It was Saturday night, twenty after six, and I was wondering what to have for dinner at the same time I was clicking through want ads on my laptop.

I’d just returned from yoga class with Lanie. I was still in my black roll top yoga pants and cornflower blue stretchy racerback yoga camisole with the deep gray racerback yoga bra under it. I was also in a mellow mood. Yoga did that to me. It made me feel energized but mellow and after the week I’d had, mellow was a good thing.

I’d only seen Tack once since his ex came to call, he kissed me and then disappeared. It was last night, Friday, when I heard the roar of bikes come into the forecourt of Ride. I was getting used to the roar of bikes but this wasn’t the roar I was used to. This wasn’t one or two bikes. This was a lot of them so I got out of my chair and looked out the window to see Tack leading six other bikes into Ride. Two of those bikes carried Dog and Brick, the two directly behind Tack. The rest of the guys I’d seen around but had not met. They parked beside the two bikes already outside the Compound, got off and entered the Compound. Ten minutes later, three more bikes roared in, two of these carrying the two men I’d seen Tack have the unhappy conversation with, they parked and into the Compound they went. None of them reappeared before I called it quits for the day and I was glad.

I didn’t need more of Tack screwing up my workdays. And I didn’t need thoughts of how cool Tack looked sitting on a Harley. So the minute the clock hit five, I closed up shop and got the hell out of there.

Now, I was perusing want ads on-line. I needed a new job. What I did not need was my body (and heart, I had to admit) to jump every time the door opened and I worried Tack was walking into the office to fuck with my head in his own, unique, scary biker dude way. And I certainly didn’t need to leap off the roller coaster that was my life to leap right back on a different one.

Lanie was all for this plan. Actually, Lanie was all for the plan where I walked into Ride on Monday whereupon I would instantly give notice. But I’d spent Wednesday night paying bills and examining my bank and investment accounts. I’d downsized my living operations when my paychecks quit coming but that didn’t mean the money quit going. My calculator and I deduced I could live frugally for another six months. I could live seriously frugally for seven, maybe pushing it to eight.

But that meant no yoga classes with Lanie and I liked my yoga classes with Lanie. That also meant no Sunday night self-facials where I used the expensive stuff that made my skin feel freaking great. That also meant no Thursday pig outs on takeaway. I could live but I couldn’t live like I liked to live and I’d worked hard to get to a life I liked to live and I didn’t want to let it go.

I bought my house ten years ago when it was a buyer’s market. My house was two blocks from Porter Hospital. It was small but had a big yard and sat amongst a bunch of other small houses with big yards or huge houses that had been built after the old house was scraped off or small houses that were now larger because their tops had been popped.

Because I bought my house ages ago, my mortgage was low. It was a one-story, two-bedroom adobe with a living room, dining area and huge-ass kitchen. I’d fixed it up exactly as I wanted it, even splurging on a fabulous kitchen including top of the line appliances and kickass countertops. There was a two car garage out back and a nice-sized shed. There was also a great deck. I had fantastic furniture in the house and on the deck, fabulous décor and a well-landscaped yard that looked good only because I spent a bunch of time in it.

This was the one downfall of my house and if I had to do it again, I would buy a house with zero yard. I wasn’t a fan of mowing my yard and had quit my job before I’d purchased a riding lawnmower. Even though I had a kickass power mower, it still took me hours to mow my huge yard. This was not my favorite activity. Part of the reason my yard was well-landscaped and I spent so much time in it was because I was incapable of not having my surroundings be the best they could be. It gave me a sense of peace and if I had to work at that peace, so be it.

Still, that didn’t mean I liked it.

I was about to get up, make myself a cup of tea and peruse my cupboards for dinner ideas when the doorbell rang.

I felt my brows draw together as I stared at my front door. No one came calling without warning unless it was some religious person wanting to help me find God (just as long as it was their God) or someone wanting to sell something which was both kind of the same thing.

Damn.

I took the laptop off my thighs, put it on the coffee table, pulled my ass out of my couch and wandered to the door. I opened the little, wooden baby door that had a wrought iron cross outside that gave me a view to my stoop and I stared at Tack.

What the hell?

“Hey, babe,” he greeted.

“What are you doing here?”

“Open the door.”

“What are you doing here, Tack?”

“Open the door, Red.”

“Not until you tell me what you’re doing here,” I returned.

“Darlin’, you don’t open the door, a minor injury might turn into a major one,” he stated.

“What?” I asked.

“I’m hurtin’ out here.”

Ohmigod! He was injured!

I threw the wooden baby door closed, unlocked the front door and pulled it open to see Tack wearing his uniform of tight tee (this one black), faded jeans and motorcycle boots. He was also carrying an enormous pizza box and a six pack of beer. What he wasn’t was visibly injured.

I blinked.

Tack pushed in.

“What…?” I started and trailed off as Tack sauntered into my living room like he’d done it a million times before, dumped the pizza box on my coffee table then rested the six pack on the inside of his forearm.