5. Blakely
Blakely
T wo braids rest on each of my shoulders while I fix my nose piercing in the mirror. I grab a pair of jeans shorts, a black crop top, and a matching ball cap. I get dressed quickly before I head to the store to meet Milo.
The road is already packed with bikers basking under the rays of light while they chat, smoke, and drink coffee from disposable cups with Milo and Donna’s store logo—an eagle flying under the sun and over desert peaks.
I pet Chaos and Arrow at the entrance before I enter the store.
Donna welcomes me with her wide smile and those big, tender eyes, “Good morning, Blakely. Hope you had a pleasant day yesterday.”
BANG.
BANG.
BOOM.
SMASH.
Pursing her lips, she shakes her head sideways. “It’s a miracle we don’t spend every day in the hospital.”
“Well, good morning.” I can’t help but laugh as I scan the store for some snacks. “At least he’s entertaining.”
“I couldn’t ask for a better one.” A giggle-sigh escapes her mouth.
“Donna, honey… the good news is I found the sack of dog food we stashed here. The bad news is I broke two glass containers.” The regret in his tone is hilarious. “Donna?”
Rolling her eyes, she replies, “I heard you.” She extends her hand to face-palm herself, “As long as you’re okay, we’ll get new ones.”
A few glass containers are placed on the counter and are filled with candies and chocolates.
Milo joins us, the sack hangs off his shoulder before he places it in the space behind the front counter. “How’s your old man?” he asks.
I take a plastic bag from the box by the corner and start shoving all kinds of sweets inside. “Stubborn.” The smirk captivates my mouth.
“Yeah,” he fills two bowls with dog food, “Must be hard on him.”
“It is. But there’s nothing he can do about it. Just rest and do hydrotherapy.” I go to the cooler to get a Pepsi can. “Good thing he loves swimming. Medication is making him sleepy and he hates it so he doesn’t take them. And he pushes through every day.”
Donna shoves two slices of pizza in my direction as I get back to the counter. “Sounds like he’s taking care of himself.” She comments, her tender hazel eyes remaining the same way .
“He does what’s best for him and I admire that.” I fish in my pocket for some change.
Milo nods in agreement, “You’re right. Jim is a determined man and I’m sure he will get back out there and maybe come here next year.”
A small smile crosses my face as I nod back in acceptance of his words.
I hope he will.
He can benefit from being surrounded by people he loves and activities he adores.
“Can I get you anything else, hon?” Donna steals my attention again.
My fingers tap against the counter as I reply, “A pack of cigarettes, whatever you have.”
“You got it, I’ll get you what my son usually takes,” she fumbles with a box under the counter, “He says they last longer.”
“Whatever you have, I just need a smoke.” He pretends to imitate his son’s voice which sounds funny and probably way off. “Unless we have something he prefers but he’s not picky.”
I shove the pack she hands me into my pocket, “He’s right.” I hand Donna the money. “Here.”
“On the house,” Milo declares as he crosses the store and places the bowls outside for the dogs.
I turn to Donna. “No, please”
“Don’t insult the man.” She says in a low voice. “He loves to make someone’s day.”
“Thanks, I’ll see ya’ later.” I put everything in my backpack, except the two pizzas I pile on top of each other as I walk toward the exit.
“You bet.”
“Blakely you go ahead, I’ll be there in a few minutes I just need to clean my mess real quick,” Milo says as he passes me by and vanishes behind the back of the store with Donna on his tail.
I raise my voice, “No problem, I’ll see you there.”
“Blakely,” she stops me as I reach the door. “Don’t forget there’s lunch today at The Garage , be there around twelve.”
I stare at Donna as I push the door hard, there must be a vacuum that makes it difficult. “I’ll be there.”
“Great! See you later, hon.” She disappears behind the back doors as well.
The door finally opens up and clashes with a hard object. I turn my head to see a helmet covering a familiar body which I recognize in seconds when that eagle tattoo on his hand peeks at me.
Lucky bastard.
He’s standing there unimpressed like a giant rock. I can’t see his eyes but I can feel them piercing mine and a shiver tickles down my spine.
“Charming as always. This is why I have to wear a helmet around you otherwise I’m gonna get a concussion. I should get you a caution sign and hang it around your neck twenty-four-seven.” He flexes his arms to the sides, looking cocky and almighty.
“Too bad, I would’ve loved to see the door slam straight into—”
He shushes me by sticking his hand to my face and pushing me backward while he enters the store. I’m flailing my occupied hands like a mad woman, trying to get away from him. My muffled curses clash with his hand, and I seriously have no problem slapping my pizza over his face if only he would take that helmet off. When he shakes my face subtly, I bite a part of his palm and he steals it away.
“It’s a public space, naughty girl.” His sweet chuckle takes me by surprise. “Seems you’re out to get me.” And he’s back.
“Don’t flatter yourself that could’ve been anyone,” I chew around my pizza triangle.
“Yet it was me again.” This guy is like a magnet I can’t seem to disconnect from.
I retort, “The world doesn’t revolve around you.”
“Maybe the world doesn’t but your world, definitely.” Annoyingly, his playful tone of voice ignites something inside me so I pretend to take a few bites of my pizza without a care in the world.
“Find another toy to pick on,” I fake a smile.
“Not a morning person, don't you?” He crosses his arms while his long legs are spread firmly in place.
I avert my gaze to the big clock in the corner. Seven. “Oh, I am until dark, tall, and mysterious shows up.” I sass back, waiting for him to say something back.
“Did you read that in some novel?” he quotes me.
As much as I don’t want to admit it, he is fun.
I smirk, wiggling my eyebrows once. “Late at night with my toys.”
“I think I’m going to stick with you.” He is such an annoying prick.
“Why bother there are plenty of women out there,” I motion to the crowd in the distance.
“Meh,” he shakes his head sideways, “I don’t drop my toys so easily, but nice try,” He deadpans.
“You should, I bite.” I give him a knowing look.
“I can handle your teeth.” His raspy voice is full of confidence. “Mark me all you like.”
I draw my upper lip back in a snarl and furrow my eyes at him as he waltzes inside the store. He salutes me and I flip him the bird in return so he pretends to catch it and shove it into his pocket while he says, “For later,” and turns toward the counter.
Are we flirting?
I bite the pizza hard, stuffing my mouth with it as I leave to set up my equipment.
Milo meets me at my room to gather my tattoo gear and we install it in a cool, colorful, wide caravan that is parked in the motel parking lot. I clean and sterilize everything before I cover the table and chair in plastic wrap.
Milo fixes the power and shows me a list of potential clients for this summer.
Lots of names.
Black on white.
I’m overwhelmed by the numbers. “This is amazing. I didn’t think I would work so much.”
“You’re kidding!? Everyone was waiting for you just like they did Jim. You’re no different.” Milo is quick to eliminate my disbelief. “It’s your first time and you’re already giving Jim a run for his money.”
“This is crazy.” The shock is plastered to my face.
“We’ll use our public address system at the store just text me the name if they don’t answer their phone.”
“That is so cool.” I place the bottles of ink on the table. “Depends on the size of the tattoos we’ll see how many I can fit in a day.”
“Don’t sweat it. We have time and you should rest and take days off in between and enjoy this.” He assures me before his gaze drops to his phone. “Sorry, I got to go there’s an emergency.”
“Don’t let me stop you,” I comment as he leaves.
First name on the list.
Meadow.
I assume Milo already informed the first client of the day.
And just like a hurricane, a man climbs inside and sits on the chair next to the table. His olive-green compression shirt pushed inside his gray jeans with armor pads that fit him perfectly and paired with combat boots.
I would recognize him anywhere, especially with that eagle tattoo I can’t seem to shake out of my head.
“Meadow?” I eye him up and down. “You signed up for today’s session?”
“Yes, Wilder.” The unforgettable voice he wields like a weapon against my eardrums .
“Blakely.” I correct. “I’m happy to hear my dad left such a huge impression on everyone around here.”
The helmet is attached to his face like a crown. When he opens the visor, a skull riding mask covers his nose which leads to the only visible part of him—his breathtaking green eyes. They’re so green but when the light flickers in his irises they look a little yellow.
The intensity they hold, as they gaze at me, pins me to my seat and blurs everything around me for a moment too long—another piece to the puzzle that has a name now.
Meadow.
“He did. Big shoes to fill.” He props his forearm on the table, “Are you feeling the pressure?”
“Honestly, I know what I’m worth.” I hold his gaze, not wavering for a second. “And I did learn from the best,” twitching my mouth to one side, I shrug. “So I’m good.”
“I like that. Let’s get this done, Wilder.”
What’s the point of correcting him?
I am a Wilder.
A proud one too.
“So how many did my Dad ink?” my finger wags over the length of his body.
“All of them.”
Surprise covers my features as I grab a pair of spandex gloves, “You like my Dad’s work?”
“I like your Dad period.” He stretches his limbs, and a cracking sound permeates the air. “He’s a great man. Must be a great dad too. ”
I place my tablet on the table. “Couldn’t ask for a better one.”
Nodding his head in agreement, he says, “Me neither.”
“Do you want to take the helmet off?” A shield. A mask. A disguise. It’s hot outside even in the morning.
What is he trying to hide? If that’s what he’s doing. It’s either a helmet or a pair of sunglasses and a ball cap.
His fingertips tap against the surface of the table as he responds, “Can’t be seen with you, it’ll ruin my reputation.”
“Can you see the fuck you in my smile?” My lips stay glued as I fake a wide grin.
He gives me a quick glance. “Suits you.”
He is so antagonizing. I don’t know how he does it.
“It’s a part of me, might as well, you know,” he adds.
“So it doesn’t mean you want me to tattoo your face.” My voice is dripping with sarcasm. “Shame.”
He chuckles. “Hard pass.”
“Okay, what would you like me to tattoo and where?” Back to being the professional I am, I fix the equipment around me.
“Ride in peace on my wrist.”
I spend ten minutes playing with different fonts until we find the one he likes the most and when he is ready, my eyes don’t stray from his ringed fingers, and the prominent veins that lead to a couple of bracelets circling his wrists.
I just want to run my fingers over his veins and feel them pop out—just thinking about it gets me excited as I suppress a shiver. God, I hope I don’t smile like an idiot.
Get a hold of yourself horny bitch .
It’s not me, it’s my motherfucking hand kink taking possession of my body.
The bracelets don’t interfere with the stencil placement but they definitely distract me. “Can you take the bracelets off?”
“Sure.” He drags them up slowly. As if on purpose they get stuck mid-way before he extracts them all.
Motherfucker.
I sterilize his hand, prepare everything after I put the stencil, and wait a few minutes. The machine springs to life and I start to line the first word.
I forgot my speaker in my room, music helps me focus, and it is a nice getaway from awkward silence.
“Why are you here?”
“For my dad,” I answer.
“Why did you come here?” he questions, causing me to quark an eyebrow at him.
“A change of scenery.” I press the needle back to his flesh, watching the pain ooze out of his eyes. Yet I’m not sure if it’s from the tattoo or a different kind of pain. The same pain I saw in Dad’s eyes countless times.
He waits until I pull the needle again. “An escape?”
I give him a stern eye.
“No judgment.” He comments. “I get it.”
“Maybe.”
His eyes play a game of tracing my reaction. “A guy?”
Not anymore. In the beginning, Aiden was like an avalanche in my mind, toping anything else. “I needed to find myself. Make my memories like my dad.”
“This is a good place to start.” He sits still, contemplating.
I can’t read him. Not really. Yet, he has something honest that sparkles in his eyes even though he can turn that off in a split second.
I stroke his skin with the needle, watching the black ink taint his wrist. “Why did you come?”
“I needed a break. I’m also here to give bike lessons.” The tone of his voice switches to something more energetic. “Stunts and stuff.”
“That’s nice.” I tilt my gaze up and he’s already fixated on me. I’m caged under his penetrative gaze. It’s silent yet so loud, that it makes my heart pick up speed.
“I never pictured myself as an instructor.” He finally says.
“What did you see yourself as?”
He finally tears his gaze away and looks outside.
From our point of view, the open road is right in front of us and some bikers already testing the lane with their wheels. “The one on the tracks.”
“Why can’t you be both?” I outline another letter. “You shouldn’t limit yourself.” I keep my eyes on his tattoo.
“Guess so.” The distant sound of his voice tells me he’s deep in thought. “Can you add tire tracks underneath the line?”
I fix the details in my head to match the size of what we currently have. “Sure. It’ll be small. I’ll shade it nicely without filling it completely.”
“Do it.” He answers readily, still distant.
I ink the inner side of his wrist for approximately ten minutes of radio silence. In my head, the quiet is equivalent to screams. At least the engines outside generate lovely symphonies.
He stretches his free hand. “So your favorite sport is bumping into people?” He pretends to cough. “Or is it just me?”
There he is.
I was getting worried.
My ears perk to the sound of a bike flying past us. “It was an accident.” I take a long inhale, letting it escape out of my mouth as the sound passes.
That was hot.
The satisfaction sparkles in his eyes as well. “The first time, maybe. The second time, it’s starting to become a pattern.” He sounds so amused by himself.
I wash his ink with a bottle I prepared prior. “The third time, I’ll buy you a Band-Aid.” I add a layer of paper towel, pour some more, clean it, and resume finishing my work.
“Add a pack of cigarettes and we have a deal,” he quips.
“You drive a hard bargain,” I sass back with a grin and a tiny laugh escapes my mouth as I shake my head sideways.
“Relationships or being on your own?” He changes the subject, propping his booted feet over his knee while his free hand rests on top of his helmet.
“I prefer tattoos, they hurt less and last longer.” I muster my most sincere expression. “I already told you, I came here for me and I’m not interested.”
I want my man to make an effort in our relationship, same as me. I don’t want to lead him on. Right now, I’m here for me. It needs to stay that way.
“That’s a bit cold but honest.” He replies.
“Then, you get my point.” I dip the needle in the black ink cup. “We crave to be desired and wanted and if that’s not in our cards, we need to shuffle again.”
He nods up and down. “That’s an interesting analogy.”
I buy myself a few minutes of quiet when I zero in on his tattoo.
This is what I wanted. To find my peace. This is why my dad sent me here.
Then why does my stomach twist?
The pad of his thumb plays with the ring attached to his finger on the other side of the armchair. “What is the toughest question you can ask a person?” out of the blue, his words catch me by surprise.
I simmer in my pot of thoughts. Decisions. Responsibilities. I always chased happiness even when I didn’t know what it meant.
“Are you happy?”
He exhales a loud breath out of his mouth, “Yeah, that’s a tough one.” His tiny chuckle comes out with a sigh. “When I figure it out I’ll let you know. Certain things put a smile on my face and make me feel good. It’s not a constant thing and I think happiness isn’t either. Moments make us happy.”
As much as I hate to admit it, he is right. Life is a long sequence of moments and each has its flavor. Color. Emotion. Voice. And shape.
Shutting down the machine half an hour later, I announce, “ We’re done.”
He examines the tattoo, “You got skill.” He clenches his fist and his veins almost jump at me. “Didn’t think less.”
“Don’t forget to apply ointment or coconut oil and leave the wrap for a couple of days. Wash it softly. Make sure to wear something that at least covers it when you are under the sun. It’s not ideal but it’ll do.”
“Thank you for your hospitality, Wilder. It was nice chatting with you.” He bolts out of the opened door but stops abruptly. “Last question since it’s my turn. Are you always wearing a different expression to mask how you really feel?”
“Are you always sticking your nose in someone else’s business?” the bite just flies out of my mouth.
Nodding his head, “It’s not that hard when you willingly follow my lead.”
Putting my equipment aside, I grab my bag of sweets. “I have a feeling you’re going to be a pain in my ass.” Popping a candy into my mouth, I chew around the sour flavor that turns sweet.
“Precisely what I intend to be.” He retorts before he turns to leave.
He can be equally nice and a total dick at the same time. It’s disturbing. Confusing. And somewhat attractive.
“Almost forgot,” he spins to face me, “Don’t ride with strangers.”
“What?” my brows knit together.
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“No, I don’t.” I contemplate until it strikes me, “Unless you were the biker from last night.”
“No comment.” The sense of pleasure he gets from this is infuriating.
I grind my teeth. “Meadow…”
He leans against the door frame, “Now that you know my name don’t accidentally moan it when you masturbate.”
My resting bitch face settles in place, “You’re delusional.”
“You’re blushing,” he lowers his voice to a whisper.
“I’m not,” I reply in a clipped tone, clenching my teeth. “It’s like a hundred degrees, and bite me.”
“You’re cute when you run out of things to say.” The vicious weight of his stare encounters my wicked one until his eyes travel to my lips.
I slowly pronounce each word on purpose, “You’re cute when you leave.”
He nods as he turns to leave, “Whatever makes you sleep better, Wilder.” Amusement rolls out of his tongue as he strides away.
My phone pings and I grab it to see an email from MotoRR with daily news about this season’s championship.
“ Bow Reyes is still leading the competition as one of the top pro riders after his amazing performance. The twenty-six-year-old champion from Las Vegas, Nevada is on the way to winning the next world championship for the second time in a row.”
I read the first few lines before I close my phone and put it aside. He is the faceless rider, that’s what everyone calls him because he refuses to show his face, stating he likes his privacy. He is one of the best and has the sickest riding skills I’ve ever seen.
I’m pretty sure he is going to slay this competition this season after he gained countless fans by doing stunts for a few movies. He has the top sponsors in the business as well as top gear and talent.
I always wanted to compete myself, but most competitors start at an early age so they can gain more experience and start competing at younger levels. Also being a woman makes things difficult.
Bow Reyes started riding when he was three years old, that’s crazy, but also the reason he is where he is today.
Maybe I’m a dreamer but… I have this wish to participate in a racing competition one day. It doesn’t have to be big league or anything major, it can just be something I can accomplish and experience.
Wishful thinking.
What do you think, Mom?
I take another look at the list and my eyes get lost in all the names that are written down. I did not expect this but it is going to earn me a lot of cash. Finally, I could save money for new gear and my dream bike.
I could also pay for Dad’s hydrotherapy. This is how I can repay him for always being there for me. Despite my reservations—which I never verbalize—I know he will tattoo even with the pain.
We have a lot of clients, even when I’m here he told me he would work at the shop occasionally because he can’t let people down but I care about him, not them .
My fingers draw circles on my phone screen before I shoot him a text.
Blakely
Hey Dad!
Did you go to hydrotherapy?
Dad
Hey sweetie, I did.
I have a new instructor.
Blakely
Really? Is he any good?
Dad
She is nice.
She...
Blakely
Does she have a name?
Dad
Lucie.
Blakely
And what do we think about Lucie?
Dad
Blakely…
Blakely
I just want you to be happy and have someone when I’m not around.
Dad
You sound like your mother.
Blakely
Then she is right.
Dad
She was always right.
Blakely
Can you tell me another story about her?
As I write those words, tears are blurring my eyes.
How is it possible to miss a person I never met?
Technically, we’ve met but it doesn’t feel like we did because I don’t remember her. I have no memories of my own so I always look for a sign in things she left behind.