TWO
Present Time
Tequila
Forty-four… thirty-six… sixteen…
Where is he?
I pull the blanket closer to my chest—the one that carries his scent. It reminds me of a sporty, fall smell that captures the essence of a cool late October day like today.
“Hot chocolate, miss?” A man in a staff shirt, who looks older, smiles at me while holding a vendor box.
“Oh, my goodness. Thank you.” As I take the Styrofoam cup, he nods, and I clench it in my palms for warmth.
Throughout my childhood, my parents discussed moving to a warm place year-round. I personally enjoy experiencing each season, with fall being my favorite.
I was always afraid my father wanted to move back to Puerto Rico one day, taking us with him. New York was our home, and I would have been devastated to leave.
The sound of swarming bees passes by, and my head turns with each bike, trying to find him. The moment I lay eyes on him, I burst into embarrassingly loud cheers and leap out of my seat.
Number eleven. That’s Throttle.
I pump my fist in the air, causing my hot chocolate to go flying, and I feel a tiny burn under my leggings. "Shit." I dab the wet spot with a napkin while continuing to watch.
There's something about a guy on a motocross track that is panty melting. It's sexy, powerful, and I speak for all women when I say I give it my one-hundred percent support. And can we discuss how incredibly godlike he looks in that gear? Yes, he’s my friend, but I can’t deny how good looking he is. And apparently the two behind me agree because they haven’t stopped talking about him since he raced by.
My jealous side rears its ugly head and possessiveness swirls in the middle of my gut.
I wonder if he's in a relationship . I hear one woman say. But he's not interested in dating. Ever. The number of women he has been with is always an unwanted thought. It’s gut-wrenching, honestly. He has zero clue I may or may not have feelings tucked away inside my pathetic little heart. Feelings not reciprocated. His best friend, who has missed none of his races since he invited me three years ago. His best friend who will watch a scary movie with him because he's too scared. His best friend who stays up with him to play video games until we can’t see straight or watches our favorite anime together.
He’s clueless because he doesn’t perceive me the same. He's too preoccupied with the club and its hang-arounds to realize my feelings for him. Which is fine. I'm content with the way things are, I guess. But who was I kidding? There are lies in it, fueled by my fantasies of being with him. Maybe if I keep telling myself that it will never happen, I’ll believe it.
Honestly, right now I just want to dump my hot cocoa down their tank tops. Which would be unnecessary and dramatic.
It’s fall. No way, these bitches aren’t cold.
Tequila, calm down. He doesn't belong to you. He is not yours to claim. If he wanted, he could take one of them back to his club and make their wildest dreams come true.
My heart flutters as he speeds around the dirt bowl's berm, causing me to clench my thighs. When the mud kicks up, the crowd cheers.
Oh, and there's me. I leap out of my chair, sending my hot chocolate over the cup and onto my legs once again. “Go Throttle! Go get em!” I plop back on the bench, wrapping his blanket up and around me.
He clears the dirt mound with an impressive high triple jump. It's exciting, and it gives me butterflies in my stomach. He's fantastic and might even secure a spot on the podium. Normally, he comes out on top, but these guys are skilled tonight. And he hasn’t been practicing as much. Racing time is decreasing due to club responsibilities.
“She must be his girlfriend. So sad,” the woman tells her friend.
I smile and pretend to be his. Only for a little.
After completing their last lap, the riders come to a halt and gather near the judging table. I hold my breath and count the seconds as they announce the winners.
Please make podium, please make podium.
“Yes!” I squeal with a jump when his name is called for third place.
I toss my empty cup in the trash and rush to the beginning of the track, walking faster when I see him. It makes me smile when he looks for me. Being the person he relies on. I’m right here. I’ve always been right here. Standing in front of you. Unfortunately, I'll have to settle for being on the sidelines.
I gawk at him. The sight of his chiseled jaw, dusted with dark hair, is enough to drive me mad.
He finds me and his face lights up. Those stellar brown eyes of his widening with excitement. Despite being covered in dirt and muck, he's never looked sexier. And good Lord, those thick pants and boots should be illegal.
I snap out of my creepy stare and quicken my pace. Then before I knew it, I’m sprinting. We’re closing the gap between us.
“There’s my girl.” He flashes that dimple at me.
My girl. Why does it sound so flawless?
“You did it!” I shout with joy as he lifts me up and spins me. The touch of his rough palms on my bare skin sends tingles down my spine. “I’m so proud of you, Throttle.”
He smells of musty sweat, but it’s not gross to me. It's a big turn-on.
He glides me against his powerful body, and I can feel every solid muscle. He holds onto me tightly with my breasts pressed against him and his arms locked around my back. With nerves, I swallow and leave the safe embrace before things get awkward. We've had no weirdness between us, but I want to reduce the number of sexy embraces with him. For my heart’s sake.
His tall frame makes me tilt my head back to see his handsome face, slightly tearing away from his comforting, warm scent.
“You smell sweet, my Tequila Rose.” He tells me that a lot. Which is why I make zero effort on buying a different body lotion. But I believe the multiple hot cocoa spills are to blame this time.
Hearing his nickname for me is addicting and I’m selfish for loving it so much. For loving that it’s mine and mine alone.
He grabs the fallen blanket, flicking off any leaves or dirt, then covers me with it. “I made third place. I didn't figure I’d even finish on the podium. These guys were sick.” He raises the trophy—small enough to be shoved into a pocket, but I’ve never been happier for him. “Guess that practice paid off. Not to mention, I have my biggest fan and cheerleader right here. It means a lot that you came.”
Like I could miss it.
“Nah, it was all you, Throttle.” I smile up at him, my cheeks heating.
“Come on, help me with my bike?” He winks, taking my hand, and walks me alongside him to his KTM. When I climb on the back of it, I hold on for dear life, and hug my body against Throttle’s, wishing I could stay like this forever.
He takes us to his parked truck and together we secure his dirt bike onto the bed of his old ninety-eight Silverado. I’ve done this a few times. After all, I haven’t missed a race. Except for when I had the flu and asked him to record it on his go pro for me to watch later. Even sick, I was prepared to go.
He hops to the ground, reaching out his hand for me to grasp and join him. My breath catches when I land in his arms, against his chest. Jesus Tequila, control yourself. He has touched you before, so what is wrong with me today?
I see him grab the huge duffle bag and take cover by his truck, pulling out his clothes. I glue my eyes to him as he removes his gear and then his shirt. He may be slender, but his muscular build, coupled with the ink adorning his skin, is enough to make any woman swoon.
When he goes for his pants, that's my cue to turn. I fumble with the bungee on his bike, pretending to secure it more from below, as if he didn’t just do that two minutes ago.
I sneak a glance to check if he's finished, but I hesitate as I catch another glimpse of him pulling a shirt over his head. Every time he flexes, his tattoos and abs ripple.
“Tequila.”
“Yeah?” Am I drooling?
“Ready?” He shrugs on his club’s leather cut as his last piece.
To have someone like Throttle would be unparalleled. I can count the men I've slept with on one hand, and still have fingers left. It's obvious how many women he's been with, and I'm not foolish to not know. The idea of him being a flirt and sleeping around as if it's his second job is painful. Though, I’m not na?ve.
Two guys stop in front of us. Both from the contest and both wearing snarky grins.
“Didn’t realize they let gang members into these races,” the one with blond hair and judgment says.
My first instinct, they’re assholes who are jealous because they didn’t place in the race. My second thought, people are quick to stereotype. Attacking someone and it gets under my skin.
They do not know who Throttle is.
Throttle's jaw muscles twitch, but he remains silent. Why isn’t he saying anything? Why isn't he defending himself?
Always sitting in the back of the classroom, I never had a ton of friends. I was the shy one. But for people I care about, game is over. Regarding Throttle, I can express that I'm a masochist in multiple ways.
I take a single step toward the douchebags. “You don’t even know him and based on your rudeness, I'd say he's a better person than you. Where is your trophy? He won one, though.” I tilt my head in Throttle’s direction. “Oh, and it’s not a gang. It’s a fucking family.” I puff out my chest like I’m a two-hundred-pound male instead of a one-hundred-and fifty-pound, five-foot four female.
“You got a mouth on you, b—”
“I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you.” Throttle slams the tailgate closed and then walks over to me. “Tequila, get in the damn truck.” By the way he grinds his teeth, I’m going to assume he’s a bit mad.
I stare, blinking for a few seconds. “But—”
“Now.”
I slump into the passenger seat with a pout.
He casts a glance behind him, where the two jerks are. “I’d suggest leaving.”
“Come on, man, let’s go. It’s not worth it,” the blond buddy tells him.
“Your friend’s smart. I’d listen to him.” Throttle stands with an impressive calmness.
The guy murmurs "whatever" under his breath before they both leave.
“Why did you let them talk to you like that?”
After slamming his door, he pauses with his hand over the key. “Because it doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters. You deserve to be treated better.”
With a sigh, he rotates his body to face me. “It doesn’t matter because I don’t give a flying fuck what people think or say about me. The only thing that matters is going home to my brothers, my family, who are the only ones besides you I care about. Got it?”
His, I don’t give a shit attitude, doesn't fool me; I understand him better than anyone.
“Anyway...” He starts the truck. “I wasn’t about to get into a fist fight while you’re with me. I won't put you in danger because I'm not fucking stupid,” he tells me, and my hearts beats faster. “Let's get out of here. I just burned a huge number of calories, and it's not from sex.” He winces and my heart flutter turns to ache. “Sorry, sometimes I forget you’re not the guys.”
Ouch.
Knife. Chest. Twist. Yeah, my stomach isn’t laughing.
He takes something from his dashboard as I gaze at the tattoo on his forearm with the cross. He always wears the same matching figure around his neck, hanging from a silver chain that he never removes. I've wanted to ask him why, but it might appear insensitive.
One day I ’ ll find out about his past—his demons. I want to uncover all there is to understand about Throttle.
Throttle
I’m a dick. Sometimes I cease to use my brain. Why would I bring up sex with women? To her, of all people. To the person whose opinion matters most to me. My best friend. The chick who is always there supporting me. Motivating me to be the finest possible version of myself. And I'm labeling myself as a pathetic manwhore.
I don’t deserve her.
“I'm not insisting that you stop. But there's a McDonald's coming up on your right at the next exit, about 1.2 miles away.”
I laugh. Another reason I adore her. She eats burgers and fries with me or whatever else she can put into that pretty mouth of hers. The women I sleep with wouldn’t dare touch a carb .
“You read my mind.” How did I get so lucky?
“You’re right. You are lucky. Don't forget to switch lanes before you pass the exit.” She chuckles.
Shit. I uttered that out loud.
With food bags in our laps, I turn off the truck while Relient K plays in the background.
It's strange, but I enjoy watching her eat. The way she nibbles a fry is ridiculously cute.
“Don’t let that asstwat and what he said get to you. You’re a great person, Throttle. You and your club. In fact, you guys rank among the greatest people I have ever met. When Chain hired me, I was shaking out of my mind. It's not unlikely to hear terrifying stories about biker clubs. Not everyone is like ours.” She pauses and swallows the rest of her food. “But after getting to know everyone, there’s not a place I consider safer.” She smiles, with a small amount of ketchup staining her bottom lip. Without a second thought, I reach over and brush it off, parting her lips with my thumb.
My gentle gesture made her nervous, and I can’t guess why. Have I ever considered the possibility of her liking me as more than just a friend? Yeah. Shit crossed my mind. I’m also not blind. I see the way she looks at me. It's imprinted on me like a painful scar.
I realize how my flirting and sleeping with the hang-arounds affects her. Which is why my comment earlier was insensitive. But it’s who I am, and I’ve never led her on. I never give her the impression that this is anything beyond friendship. We have a silent agreement. She knows that this will not progress into something, and it makes me sound like a complete and utter dirtbag. But my selfishness gnaws a hole in my chest when I consider letting her go. Us as friends lets me be around her—without being with her.
“Thanks, I don’t deserve you, you get that?” With a smile, I push my fry container atop her lap. “Believe it or not, I’m full.” My hand grazes her toned thigh. She may be off limits, but I’d be an idiot to not notice how sexy she is. “Ready to head back?”
“Yup. I have to prep the bar for tonight.” She tosses a fry into her mouth.
As I merge onto the highway, it crosses my mind, bringing up school with her. I know it's not her favorite subject to discuss. Not sure why? She’s one of the smartest women I’ve ever met. She ought to be proud of herself.
“How’s your classes going?” Fuck it.
Her life interests me in ways I don’t understand. I guess it’s because she’s so important to me, and not everyone knows she’s studying to be a teacher. If she tells Chain, she thinks he will adjust her schedule to give her more time for her schooling. He would too. He and Maggie both.
“Good. But it’s somewhat stressful. Working at the club as much as I am makes it hard to study.”
“Going to a certain someone’s races doesn’t help either.” That’s where my selfishness surfaces. I want her there. Every damn time.
“You aren’t wrong.” She smiles. “But I love watching you. I don’t want to give that up.”
My fucking heart swells. She is the sweetest girl I have ever met, and I want nothing but the best for her. She deserves everything. Anything she wants handed to her on a goddamn platter with a big ass bow.
“You’re a special girl, Tequila. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I’d have to kick their ass if they do.”
I notice her fidgeting and clearing her throat. “Thank you, but I’m just being a friend.” Her face falls to sadness.
Fuck.