Ride Steady Read online

  He smiled back.

  “Now about pay—” I started but stopped when he lifted his hand.

  “Talk about that later,” he said.

  “That later bein’ never,” Tabby muttered behind my back and Big Petey winked at her.

  Oh boy.

  “No, really, perhaps we should—”

  Pete looked to me. “Talk about that later, darlin’,” he said unbendingly but gently and finished on, “Yeah?”

  I took him in, thinking about his daughter and Tyra, who didn’t strike me as a woman that would leave her kids with just anyone, and I said, “Yeah.”

  That was when his eyes moved around my head and then he turned, leaning further into the bar, saying to Joker, “Like your girl, Joke. Pretty. Sweet. Wild hair means wild side.” He looked back to me. “We bikers like it wild.”

  I fought against the pink I felt creeping into my cheeks as Joker said to Pete, “Don’t be an asshole.”

  “I think that’s seventy-five cents,” Tabby put in.

  Big Petey ignored that and asked Joker, “How’m I bein’ an asshole?”

  “You know,” Joker clipped, looked to me, jerked up his chin, ignored everyone else, and prowled along the bar and right out the door.

  I thought that was rude.

  Looking around, I saw none of my company felt the same way. They all clearly thought it was amusing.

  I took heart in that (although I was a little concerned—if bikers liked it wild, that was not me) and announced, “I have to get to work. It was really cool meeting you all.”

  “Give me your number,” Tab said. “Maybe you and your little guy and me can go have lunch some time or something.”

  I loved that idea!

  “Great!” I chirped.

  We exchanged numbers. We all exchanged goodbyes. Pete and I made a date of when to meet again with Travis. And I took off.

  I scanned the massive expanse of tarmac outside the Compound, looking for Joker.

  He was nowhere to be seen.

  This unsettled me, because really, I should give some thought to why he seemed to want to avoid me at the same time he seemed to be interested in me.

  But now was not that time. I had to get to work.

  So I got in my car and headed to LeLane’s, thinking that I could roll that question around in my head for ages but I’d never get an answer. The only one who had that answer was Joker.

  Maybe I’d ask him. Maybe bikers liked honesty and straight talk.

  And driving to LeLane’s, that’s what I decided.

  At the party, I’d ask Joker what was the deal.

  And hopefully, after we got whatever it was straightened out, he’d ask me on a date.

  Thinking this thought meant I walked into LeLane’s smiling.

  * * *

  The next day, while I was in my bathroom getting ready for work, my phone rang.

  I looked to it, saw it was Tabby, so I answered it.

  “Hey, Tabby.”

  “Hey, babe. How’s tricks?”

  “They’re good, I think.”

  She laughed.

  I smiled at the phone.

  She quit laughing and said, “Listen, every girl needs to know what she’s getting into on a night out. And since I’m guessin’ you’ve never been to a biker party, I thought I’d call and give you the skinny.”

  That was nice.

  It was also surprising. I’d never had anyone do that for me.

  Of course, when I’d had friends and we went out, we’d always dressed to the nines, hit swank bars, and drank martinis or the like, so I knew what I was getting into.

  And in that moment, it occurred to me that I’d never thought that was much fun.

  I liked the dressing up part, but I’d never liked martinis. I always made a face when I’d take a sip because I didn’t think they tasted good. And I wasn’t a big drinker so one would have me tipsy in a way that wasn’t fun. It was more like I just wanted to go home, get into comfy clothes, and stretch out in front of the TV.

  Further, the goal for the evening was mostly my girlfriends picking up guys or them saying catty things about every other woman at the bar. Since I had a guy (then), I was odd man out on the first part. And I’d never liked the second part. It was mean.

  This made me feel unsettled because all of a sudden, it made me wonder why I went out with them at all when I’d never really had any fun.

  I’d long since wondered why I’d had the friends I had, all the way back to high school, when I didn’t feel I fit in with them, but especially when they dumped me after Aaron did.

  Even though I’d wondered, I’d also not come to any conclusions.

  “So,” Tabby continued, taking my mind off these things, “first of all, biker bitches aren’t big on lots of clothes and by that I mean they show skin. But you dress however you’re comfortable. Casual, though. You might feel weird if you show up all dolled up.”

  “Okay,” I agreed.

  “And since Ty-Ty and Lanie are home with their kids, so the only folks you’ll know are some of the boys, who might be otherwise engaged, and me, I’ll text you when Shy and I get there so you’ll know you have someone to hang with.”

  Again, super nice.

  “Thanks, Tabby.”

  “Don’t mention it,” she said. “Also, kinda anything goes and privacy is sometimes not an issue. Just so you know.”

  “Uh… what?” I asked in confusion.

  “Makin’ out, bein’ loud, groping, smokin’ pot, you name it, it could happen,” she explained. “You’re not into something, the family is what it is because everyone in it wants the freedom to be just that, so no one will push anything on you. But you should know.”

  That was nice too. A little frightening, I wasn’t big on marijuana (though I’d never tried it; still, I didn’t intend to). But it was still nice.

  So I again said, “Thanks,” to Tabby.

  “We girls gotta look out for each other.”

  That wasn’t my experience.

  Nevertheless, I said, “Right.”

  “Okay, I gotta go. I’ll text you when we’re there tomorrow and I’ll see you there. Yeah?”

  “Yes, and thanks again.”

  “No probs, babe.”

  “See you later.”

  “Yeah, later, Carissa.”

  She hung up.

  I put my phone on the counter and stared at it, feeling a variety of things.

  First, I was a little afraid. A biker party would be something all new to me, and I had a feeling parts of it would be shocking, parts of it I wouldn’t like. But all of it would be Joker’s world, and I liked Joker, so I had to be brave and nonjudgmental. Things might get crazy, but my experience so far was that, surface and deep down, these people were good people. They accepted me how I was; I had to do the same.

  I was also more than a little nervous. Joker would be there and, again, I liked Joker. But he seemed at odds about how he felt about me. And I’d never had to try to catch the eye of anyone. I caught Aaron’s eye when I was fourteen and that was it. It wasn’t that I was out of practice, I’d had no practice. And I liked Joker enough it meant a lot that I could beat down that shield he had up for whatever reason. I just had no idea how to go about doing that.

  Further, I was a little confused. Mostly about why I barely knew this man but all of this seemed so important to me. Very important. More important than, rationally, it should be.

  But last, and most, I was excited. Things had been terribly lonely since I lost Aaron. Joker’s question about when I got to live my life had hit home. I had no life. I had my son and I had my work and I had my worry about what was going to hit me next.

  But I had my son. And I wasn’t teaching him anything that was good if I taught him life was narrow. If I taught him that life was about sacrifice, not about living. If I had nothing but him to make me happy, rather than just being happy all around with things to do and good friends to do them with.

  So I was e
xcited. I was excited I suddenly had places to be, things to do, and people to do them with.

  And I was excited to have exciting things to think about.

  Those things being Joker. How his beard felt against my skin when he was kissing me. How he tasted. How tight his arms closed around me. How I wanted to know what his hair felt like (I should have taken that shot when I had my arms around him, but his shoulders felt so lovely, I didn’t). How I wanted to know what was behind that guard he had over his eyes. How I wanted to know if he liked my pie.

  And being mostly excited, for the first time in so long I couldn’t remember the last time (outside having Travis), I was happy. I had a spring in my step. I had something to look forward to.

  And it felt good.

  * * *

  I felt terrible.

  This was a disaster.

  An utter, complete disaster.

  And I wasn’t talking about the disaster that was me assuming, since it was a party, the done thing was to bring something when absolutely no one brought anything. So I’d looked like an idiot when I strolled in with two bags of LeLane’s fresh tortilla chips and a huge tub of their signature guacamole (that was handmade to order at the deli counter).

  Although that was embarrassing, the chips and guac were all gone and I hadn’t even been there an hour.

  “Girl, you want a fresh one?”

  I turned my head from my wounded contemplation of Joker with the big-haired, tube-topped, ultra-mini-miniskirted brunette at the pool table (I just knew biker babes wore tube tops!).

  Joker was not smiling and flirting. But he was still flirting. I knew it. I knew the way she sashayed around him and gave him knowing looks and rubbed up against him every chance she got and licked her lips after they’d take a shot of whatever they were shooting.

  I’d been at the party for forty-five minutes. I got there after my shift, rushing home and changing clothes because Tab had texted to say she and Shy were already there, so I’d gotten there pretty late (or late for me).

  And when I got there, the party was in full swing. There were a lot of people there, lots of women, other bikers from different clubs (if the patches were anything to go by), and it was what Tabby said it would be. The music was loud. The people were loud. There was making out. Groping. Flirting. Drinking. Shots thrown back. And smoking, including the marijuana variety.

  In this mess, although Tab found me right away and got me a drink, Joker hadn’t even looked at me.

  Not once.

  I looked to the guy behind the bar. I’d just met him and he’d told me his name was Snapper. He was in the Rush/Shy/Joker age group of the Club. Currently, he was acting as one of several bartenders (though they didn’t seem to have an official one, guys went back, girls went back, you wanted it, you got it or you asked whoever was back there to get it for you).

  I had my hand around a warm beer and my seat on a stool, my eyes locked to Joker, and Tabby had left to go to the bathroom.

  So I was alone.

  Again.

  Even at a big biker party.

  “Sorry?” I asked him, the fact he’d spoken to me belatedly processing through my thoughts.

  “Fresh,” he said, tipping his head to my plastic cup that was not even half-drunk. “Toss that warm shit and I’ll get you a cold one.”

  “Um…” I couldn’t answer because I couldn’t think.

  I could only hurt.

  Why did I hurt?

  Why did I even come?

  Joker, it was now clear, didn’t want me.

  Maybe he kissed back whoever kissed him. He was a guy. Guys probably did that. And it was obvious from the used condom wrappers that he had experience. Maybe he was just a good kisser because he’d had a lot of practice.

  But I had in no way given him the impression I wanted it to stop.

  He’d stopped it.

  I was taken from my thoughts again when Snapper pulled my cup out of my hand, threw it (and its liquid contents) in a trash bin, and grabbed a fresh plastic cup. Then he went to one of the three kegs behind the bar and pulled me a new one.

  He came back and set it in front of me.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled, and as I did, I took that opportunity to take him in fully.

  He had light blond hair, long and pulled back in a slipshod bun at the back of his head. He had light blue eyes and blond lashes, the both of them together unusual and attractive. He had blond stubble on his cheeks, but I knew he shaved (though, apparently infrequently) since the whiskers at his chin were a lot longer than the rest so I figured when he was feeling in the mood to be neat, he just wore a goatee. He also had nice cheekbones, very white teeth that probably seemed whiter due to his tanned skin, and a straight nose.

  “You the one with the kid?” he asked and yet again that dirty washed through me.

  I dropped my eyes to my beer, lifting it, and before taking a sip, replied, “Yeah. I’m the official Chaos charity case.”

  I put my cup to the bar, still looking at it, but didn’t continue to do this as I had planned, along with feeling sorry for myself and finding a time when I could tell Tabby I had to go (that time being soon), because I felt a fist gentle under my chin, lifting it.

  My eyes went to Snapper’s.

  “We all fall on hard times,” he said quietly, removing his fist from my chin. “It’s just lucky for you that you fell in the right direction.”

  “That’s one way to look at it,” I told him.

  “Only way, babe,” he returned immediately. “We are who cares about us.”

  I felt my brows draw together. “Sorry?”

  “You weren’t worth the trouble, we wouldn’t make it.”

  That was so nice the dirty washed out of me and I couldn’t help but smile. “That’s sweet.”

  He smiled back. “Maybe. Still true.”

  “That’s also sweet.”

  He kept smiling and offered, “Want a shot?”

  I shook my head. “No. I shouldn’t. I’m driving.”

  “You get blotto, I’ll put you on the back of my bike, take you home.”

  “I, well… that’s nice, but my son comes home the day after tomorrow and I have a lot to do as well as a shift at work. I probably shouldn’t be hungover.”

  “Your call,” he muttered.

  “Though I’ve never been on the back of a bike,” I shared and he focused on me.

  “No shit?”

  I shook my head.

  He grinned and he took his time doing it. “Then fuck that beer. Best high of your life, bein’ on a bike. I’ll take you out.”

  My disaster of a night started looking up. “Really?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I looked toward the pool table and saw in the short time my attention had been diverted, Joker and his brunette had stopped playing and now Rush was playing with some redhead.

  Rush’s girl wasn’t in a tube top. She was in a Harley T-shirt and tight jeans, much like me. Minus the Harley tee—mine was a girl-fit Broncos babydoll tee—and also minus the tight jeans. I had on jeans, just not tight, except at the bottom where every pair of pants seemed to be tight these days.

  I scanned the room and saw Joker was gone altogether.

  So was his brunette.

  My heart squeezed.

  “Yo!” I heard Snapper call and I looked to him to see he was looking beyond me. I turned around and saw Tabby was heading toward me and Snapper. “I’m takin’ Carissa out on my bike. You wanna look after her purse or put it in Shy’s room or somethin’?”

  At his request, Tabby’s gaze immediately cut to the pool tables. When she took them in, for some reason, her face got hard before she softened it and looked back toward us.

  “Not a problem,” she said, stopping at us. “Go. Ride.”

  “Never been on a bike,” I told her and her face split in a big smile.

  “Then go. Ride.” She leaned in to me. “Beware, wind in your hair, moon on your skin, you’ll fall in love.”

&nbs
p; I wasn’t sure that was a good thing. I’d fallen in love with something I couldn’t have, and if I fell in love with the wind in my hair and the moon on my skin, without someone to give that to me, I couldn’t have that either.

  But to heck with it.

  Maybe this would be the only bike ride I’d have in my life.

  And maybe the kiss Joker gave me was the only fabulous kiss I’d ever get.

  And maybe my dream of having a family or the other dream of getting behind the steel guarding Joker’s eyes was lost to me.

  But I was still breathing.

  So I’d take what I could get.

  Tabby put her hand on my purse, which was lying on the bar. “Got this. Have fun.”

  “Thanks,” I whispered.

  She winked at me.

  I looked to Snapper. “Let’s go.”

  “Meet you at the end of the bar, babe.”

  “Right!” I chirped, jumped off my stool, threw Tabby a smile, nabbed my jacket that I was sitting on and bounced to the end of the bar.

  When I got there, Snapper had pulled on his leather jacket. He grabbed my hand and guided me out the door and to his bike. Then he got on his bike before instructing me on how to do the same.

  The bike roared, he backed out on an angle, and we glided over the tarmac of Ride.

  He pulled out onto Broadway and I got it.

  The wind in my hair.

  The moon on my skin.

  The leather of his jacket in my nostrils.

  The solidness of him under my hands at his waist.

  We got close to the onramp of I-25 and he shouted, “Hold on!”

  “Sorry?” I shouted back.

  “Hold on!” he yelled, taking one hand off the grip and using it to pull my hand from his waist and around to his stomach.

  He put his hand back on the grip and we turned up the ramp, going faster, faster, faster, the wind whipping my hair and biting into my skin. I curved my other arm around him, put my chin to his shoulder, drew in air and leather, and I got it.

  Instantly.

  That it being why this was the life for a biker.

  No encumbrances. You wanted to smoke pot, you smoked it. You wanted to wear a tube top, you wore it. You wanted to drink shots, you drank them. You wanted to make out hot and heavy on a couch in a room filled with people, you did it.

  You wanted to live, you lived.