9. Willow
9
WILLOW
“Oh my God, Grace. What do I wear?” I have my phone propped up on my dresser so she can see me while I go through my closet.
Her annoyed harrumph comes clearly through the phone speaker. “I haven’t decided if I want to help you or not yet.”
“I said I was sorry for not telling you I went over there last night.”
“Yeah, and I reserve the right to not forgive you yet. And even if I did, I think this is a bad idea. This isn’t like when I visited you in New York and we met those metal guys with the cool tattoos at the bar. I know they look good, I’m married, not blind, but it’s the Outlaw Sons . Just in the past couple years I’ve seen so many articles about investigations into what they’re doing. Not that long ago a whole ass boat exploded off the coast and everyone knows it had to do with them.”
“I…” I can’t defend what I’m doing. She’s probably right, but… “You haven’t met them. They’re nice!”
“I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?”
“No.” I hold up a flowy blouse with embroidered flowers to my chest and look in the mirror.
She snorts. “This isn’t Coachella.”
“Fine. What about this with jeans?” I swap it out for a tight, hot pink baby doll tee.
“Better. What did you wear last night?”
“The black dress I had on at dinner, and my chucks.”
“Only you would land a date with a bunch of bikers dressed like a middle schooler.”
“It’s not a date. It’s a tour.”
“Yeah, right. That’s why it’s happening in the middle of the night and you’re freaking out about your outfit.”
“Okay, so I’m having a little fun with it. Is that a crime? Hanging out with these guys is getting me back my mojo, Grace. I know they aren’t marriage material, but it’s giving me all sorts of inspiration for the book, and that’s good, isn’t it?” I wiggle into my favorite boot cut jeans that show off the tiny dangling jewel in my belly button.
“Yeah, Lo, it is. I’m happy you’re happy. I know last year was rough, with Keith cheating on you and then losing your grandma. If banging a biker is what it takes to move on, then do it, but just be careful, okay? You haven’t been around much to see what it’s like.”
“Have you had any bad experiences with them?” I ask straight out. “Because if you tell me that they’ve been sexist, or racist or just plain horrible to you or anyone you know, I swear I’ll cut contact right now.”
Her whole face scrunches, putting folds in the moisturizing skin mask she’s wearing. “No. As far as I know they keep to themselves and they never threatened anyone on the street or made us afraid of them. But at the end of the day, they’re a criminal gang and if you stay near them, trouble will find you.”
“I worry about that, too,” I admit. “But I think maybe I’ve been playing it too safe and I need this to remind me I’m only twenty-four. In fifty years, this’ll be a great story I can tell my granddaughter, you know?” The summer I had a fling with the dangerous bikers in my backyard.
I grin.
“Fine, but text me when you get home, alright? I want proof of life before you go to bed or I’ll drag Terry over there so we can rescue you, and if you forget and I see a naked biker butt bouncing in your front window, I will take pictures, put it on a mug and never let you forget.”
I laugh as I check myself out in the mirror. Biker chic or basic bitch? I don't even know. “I’d deserve it.”
“Yup,” she agrees readily, before changing topics and launching into a story about her nemesis at work while I do my makeup.
The doorbell rings as I’m adjusting the wings on my eyeliner. “Oh my God, they're here.”
“Be careful, okay? And have fun.” Grace waves and smiles, but it doesn't erase the worry crease between her eyes.
“I will. Love you!” I almost run down the stairs, but pause at the front door to take a deep breath. I don't know what to expect, or what they’ll expect of me. Am I ready for this?
Only one way to find out. I draw a deep breath then open the door. On the other side I find all three of them, wearing bike leathers and jeans. Their bikes are lined up on the street. Blackout is sitting on the porch railing, while Skyhigh and Dragon are talking. They look up when I open the door, and I can tell they’re surprised by what they see.
“Damn, honey,” Blackout says, whistling low.
Skyhigh reaches out and flicks my belly button ring. “Nice, I like it.”
Dragon nods. He doesn’t say a word, but the pure, masculine appreciation in his eyes is clear.
“Right back atcha,” I say with a grin.
I don’t know where to look. When I first met them, it was Blackout that stood with me, but since then I’ve taken a shot out of Dragon’s mouth and I’ve kissed Skyhigh twice. I feel like I need to decide who I’m most attracted to, but bikers seem to have a very relaxed attitude towards sex and women, so maybe I need to do the same and just see how things go.
“You just gonna stand there?” Blackout smiles roguishly, just a little higher on one side. “I know we look good, but you keep staring like that and we aren’t going nowhere except back through that door.”
“Maybe that’s what the lady wants,” Dragon says.
Ooooh, I’m not ready for that. Not yet. “Um… can I see your bikes? I’ve been on a few scooters and motorbikes, but I’ve never actually been on a motorcycle like that.”
Skyhigh nods. “Then it’s time we change that.” He motions to a small pile near the front steps that I didn’t notice.
Dragon picks up a purple-fading-to-pink motorcycle helmet and a black leather jacket. “You fall off and the road's gonna shred that top right off you faster than we will. Put this on.”
I sniff the jacket, smelling perfume and leather. “Do I want to know whose this is?”
“One of the old ladies had some extra shit she wasn’t using,” Blackout explains.
“Old lady?” The question hangs in the air. It doesn’t exactly sound flattering.
“A woman claimed by one of the brothers,” Skyhigh explains, without really telling me anything.
“So like one of the girls I saw at the club last night?”
“Nah,” Blackout says with a laugh. “Yeah, sometimes the guys bring their old ladies around if they’re in the mood, but I think it was just sluts and wannabes last night.”
“Is that what I was? That’s what you meant when you said I was free game because I wasn’t with a man?” Ugh. “I don’t know about?—”
Skyhigh takes the helmet and sets it on my head, tucking my hair behind my ears as he adjusts the fit. “I won’t sugar coat it. There’s a whole lot that ain’t pretty about our lives, but don’t judge a world you don’t live in, baby. Or people you don’t even fucking know.” He doesn’t sound pissed exactly, but it’s the voice of a man who’s done apologizing for his life and I can respect that.
I can’t say I’m thrilled with calling women sluts and old ladies, but I nod. “Okay. Then show me, but can I at least ask if any of you have women who… belong to you?
Dragon levels a dark look at me, chin tipped up like he’s borderline insulted. “No.”
“No I can’t ask? Or?”
“Stop fucking with the poor girl.” Blackout rolls his eyes at Dragon. “When it’s just us, honey? Ask whatever you fucking want. If we don’t want to answer, we won’t. And no, we don’t turn down a good time if we’re in the mood, but none of us have a regular girl or anyone who thinks they have a claim.”
A knot loosens in my chest. I can handle the implications of ‘ we’re no angels ’ from a bunch of single guys that live in orgy central, but the idea that one or more of them might have a girlfriend and they’re still acting like this with me would definitely be a deal breaker. I slip into the jacket. Despite the thick leather, the inside is soft and it’s not as heavy as it looks. A little big just like the helmet, but not a bad fit.
“You’re with Blackout,” Skyhigh says, gesturing to the bikes lined up in front of my house.
I start to ask which bike is which but stop.
The first is dark red with black trim. There's a serpentine dragon detailed with amazing detail onto the tank in gorgeous gold paint, and the front wheel cover looks like pure, airbrushed flames. It's a sleek bike, but the engine looks huge, which suits Dragon perfectly. Dark, sexy and powerful.
The next one is totally different. All shining silver chrome, with a paint job that mimics ripples on the surface of pure blue water. It looks built for speed. Nimble. Definitely not small or dainty, but like an ocean blue lightning strike.
The last bike is all black. Even the engine and chrome are black, like it's just the shadow of a motorcycle. In the dark of night, if it wasn't for the streetlight over it, it'd be basically invisible. I walk straight for it, and Blackout chuckles. “Is it that obvious?”
“Were you guys trying to be subtle?”
Skyhigh laughs. “Where’s the fun in subtle?”
Blackout pats the saddle. “I'll get on first to keep it steady, and then you climb on behind me. Keep your feet on the pegs and lean when I do. And hold as tight as you want. Won’t get any complaints from me.”
When I was growing up, my parents dragged me all over the world, and because they only really worked for whatever retreat or collective we were staying at, it wasn’t exactly a luxury experience. I’ve clung to the back of more than one little moped and motorbike, but as I actually try to swing my leg over Blackjack’s motorcycle, I realize how much bigger it really is. To get into position, I have to really press myself right up against his broad back and straddle his narrow hips. When I wrap my arms around his torso, I can barely reach.
“Ready?” he asks over his shoulder.
“Yes?”
He starts the bike, and it turns out I wasn't ready at all. Size isn’t the only difference. It comes to life with a roar, like a lion that was rudely awakened, then settles into the kind of big cat purr that rumbles through my whole body, starting right between my legs. I had no idea the size of the engine would make this much difference.
Dragon and Skyhigh fire up their bikes, and the guys fall into position. Skyhigh leads, with me and Blackout in the middle and off a bit to the right, and then Dragon slides into place at the back, in line with Skyhigh.
My heart leaps into my throat as Blackout opens the throttle, sending us flying down the empty street. The echoes of the growling engines off the houses makes it sound like a whole army of motorcycles instead of just the three of us. When we round the corner in the direction of the club, I try to lean like Blackout does, and make the mistake of looking down at the road that’s flying by only inches from my feet.
I whimper into the wind, and my hands scramble to grab onto his shirt under the leather vest. I can’t hear his laugh, but I can feel his chest vibrate, and a big, warm hand covers my fingers, squeezing gently before going back to the handlebars.
Instead of making a left at the end of the block and going straight to the club, we turn right, heading down the street towards the water and merging onto the local parkway that follows the coast. I'd ask where we're going, but there's no talking over the howl of the wind and I trust that the guys know what they're doing. At this hour, traffic is light, but there's enough that we weave a little in and out of traffic, overtaking it with ease. Over time, I relax into the feeling of the bike growling between my legs, and lean my head against Blackout’s back to watch the moonlight glistening on the water.
No wonder people love motorcycles. There's a feeling of meditation and total freedom, like we own the road. The rushing wind makes me feel like I'm soaring in a way that sitting in a car never could. An excited laugh bubbles out of me and I sit up straighter, closing my eyes and letting the wind beat at my face. I feel alive . Like I've been underwater and just surfaced to fill my lungs full of clean, fresh air.
We’re only out for maybe fifteen minutes before the guys pull off the parkway, run a red light, then circle back towards the club. The front gates are open when we get there, and the guards wave us through. They drive past the church and into the courtyard between the buildings. When we come to a stop, Skyhigh lifts me off before I can figure out how to maneuver my stiff legs out from behind Blackout.
He looks down at me with a mischievous look in his eyes. “Welcome to the jungle, baby.”