Chapter 5 Catfish #2
“Please tell me you still have the account. I need to check out your demographic. Bet it was mostly women.”
I shake my head. “After what happened next, there was a nationwide mandate that no patched-in member or prospect could have any social media accounts.”
Wren sips the wine. “Jesus, what the hell happened?”
“So, my ‘girlfriend’ comes up to the clubhouse. Says we’ve been in a long-distance relationship for two years, and that she wants the money she sent me back.
She threatened me with the cops, which was pretty damn ballsy of her after she’d walked into the clubhouse by herself.
Told me she’d told the lady who ran the guesthouse she was staying at where she was going. ”
Wren’s jaw drops open. “Oh my God. She’d been catfished.”
I nod. “It all unraveled. Someone had stolen my identity, was posting my pictures. They’d obviously done their homework to find out my location.
So, this woman, Melissa, had started messaging with the person, and then they started this wild two-year online thing.
Nothing to do with me at all. But I was the face she thought she was in love with. ”
Wren places their glass down next to their laptop. “It’s utterly wild to think someone could fall for it. Like, had Melissa never asked for a video chat with this person?”
I put my hands up. “Honestly, I have no idea. The extent of my involvement was proving I had no involvement.” I don’t tell her that Melissa had wanted to start a relationship with me because, in her words, I had the face of the man she loved, and I could take her for a test drive.
She wasn’t my type. Mousey. Uninteresting. And a weird habit of picking the hairs in her nose.
“So, Catfish stuck?” Wren asks.
I nod. “Yeah. You don’t really get a say in what your road name is. I mean, I know guys called One Ball, ‘Tater, and Lipstick. So, it could be a lot worse.”
Wren laughs at that. “I’m sure their story isn’t as interesting as yours.”
I shrug. “Lipstick was so called after his wife divorced him because she found a ring of another woman’s lipstick around his cock.”
Wren’s face distorts into one of disgust. “That’s gross.”
I place my palms on the kitchen counter. “Being a biker isn’t pretty. It’s about carving out a life you want.”
“You want lipstick rings around your cock? Wait. Never mind. That was a wholly inappropriate question.”
Their cheeks turn pink, and in that moment, Wren looks utterly edible.
I lean towards them. “Inappropriate? Maybe. But the truth is, if I want lipstick rings around my cock, or I want to ride a bike I’ve paid for while wearing club colors I’ve earned, I’ll do it.
And if I want to avoid paying taxes to a fucked-up government that has no idea how to reach out to a young boy with a struggling mom with healthcare problems and make their lives right, or ignore rules set by the wealthy to enslave the poor, I’ll do that too. ”
Wren’s mouth opens just a little as they listen to what I’m saying. Then, they smile. “You should run for office with that kind of passion. Not the lipstick rings, although most politicians these days have a lot worse skeletons in their closet.”
I offer Wren my hand. “We should formally meet. Hi. I’m River Haines. Treasurer and club secretary for the Iron Outlaws, Colorado chapter.”
Wren takes my hand and shakes it. “Wren. I’m a freelance black hat hacktivist.”
It shouldn’t sting that they don’t trust me with their name. Not their deadname, but a full name of their choosing. “What’s one of those?”
“Hacktivist, because I try to use my skills for social and moral good. But black hat because I violate a lot of laws to do what I do. And also, the things I support need money. So sometimes I hold my nose and do jobs I don’t want to do to get money, so I can support the things I do.”
I think about Lipstick and how he lost his wife over the things he wanted in life.
I haven’t given my future a whole lot of thought.
Mostly, I’m at peace with my role here, plus looking after Mom, Willa, and the kids.
Living solo. Sometimes, I feel like finding someone and having kids of my own would be the perfect life.
I suppose if I was going to have a partner, finding someone who was comfortable in the gray, or black, would make life as a biker a hell of a lot easier.
Suddenly, I’m picturing myself with Wren, which is fucking ridiculous. I mean, I’m a straight guy. Although, either King or Grudge might shoot my balls off and turn me into a eunuch if I touch Wren.
“Is that why you’re here?” I ask.
Wren sighs, then looks down to their laptop and starts typing.
And we both ignore that they never answered my question as we eat.
After dinner, Wren disappears back into their room. And while I generally like Lucy and Grudge, I don’t wait for them to return to the apartment before I hit my room too. Once I’m stripped to my boxer briefs, I scroll through random shit on my phone.
Mostly, it’s bike maintenance videos, and articles about bikes I’ve been meaning to catch up on.
But none of it can compete with the sound of the shower running in the bathroom.
I try my best to be a decent human being, but my thoughts slip to visions of Wren standing beneath the spray, running their hands through their wet hair as soap runs down their body.
I love messing around in the shower with another person. It’s wet, pun intended. Slippery. Easy clean up. Intimate, if you want it to be.
And the idea that the person could be Wren?
“Fuck,” I groan, tossing the phone onto the bedside table.
I tug the pillow over my head to drown out the sound, but it’s no good. My cock is harder than iron. And there’s no way I’m getting any sleep tonight unless I ease the pressure.
The shower door slides open, and I imagine what Wren would look like, standing there, water dripping down that body, between their legs.
My hips shift under the sheets, my breath thick in my throat.
Fucking hell.
Giving into the urges, I slip my hand beneath my briefs and grip my cock firmly. I should think of something else. Someone else.
But it’s impossible.
Somehow, my mind is full of Wren.
The sound of their voice. The curve of their mouth when they call me out. The way their lips move when they speak. Those fucking gray eyes that are gonna be the death of me.
I groan softly and let my eyes drift shut again.
My hand moves slowly along my shaft, my thumb catching the slick on the head. It lubricates the slide a little.
This isn’t supposed to happen.
I’m not supposed to be daydreaming about Wren.
I’m straight. At least, I always thought I was. But here I am, hard and aching and a hot minute from coming all over my stomach because of the way Wren looked at me as they ate.
The way they bared that inch of skin between their cargo pants and their T-shirt.
The way they licked a crumb of dumpling off their thumb, slow and deliberate.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
The bathroom door unlocks, and I swear I can see Wren walk down the hallway in a swirl of steam, smelling like something I want to eat. I hold my breath, scared of making a sound that would give away what I’m doing.
I move my hand faster, teeth clenched as I consider how good it would feel to have Wren’s lips around my cock. All sharp eyes and attitude looking up at me.
I try to remind myself I’m not supposed to want this.
But I can’t stop. I want their mouth on my neck. My fingers in their hair. I want to push them up against a wall and find out what kind of sounds they make when they come.
Would they want me back?
Jesus, it feels too good. My balls ache, itching for a release. I can barely keep my hips still to stop the goddamn bed from creaking.
I squeeze my cock as visions of Wren walking into my room, letting go of their towel, and dropping to their knees in front of me flood my consciousness. Images of me, holding onto that thick lush hair as I fuck their throat.
And it’s when they look up at me, eyes watering, that I come, biting my lips together to stop from making a sound. There’s a thin wall between our rooms, and the last thing I need is for Wren to know I’m jerking off to thoughts of them.
But Jesus fucking Christ.
My back arches off the bed, pleasure flooding through me in one sharp, unforgiving wave.
For a moment, all I can do is lie there, my chest rising and falling as I try to get my breath back under control. I stroke out the final shudders and let myself revel in the pleasure of a fast orgasm.
And I allow myself one last thought of Wren as I bring myself back down. It’s of the two of us, holding each other as we sleep.
And it’s a perfect image, even if guilt will tumble in soon enough.