Nightfall settles around the motel as I pace in the small space of my room. I lift my hand to check the time on my phone. Nine-fifty-two.
Electricity crosses my body as I think about Meadow and his gorgeous face. I can’t believe he revealed himself to me. I thought it was a principal not showing anyone his entire face but I guess I was wrong.
He didn’t hide from me which is exactly what he said.
I lick my lips as the images of his tatted biceps and corded muscles flood my brain over and over again.
This was not supposed to be this way.
But I want him.
I want him to fuck me.
For one night we can put it to rest. That’s what he wanted and that’s what I need to get him out of my system for good.Do I think this will help? No, not really. Yet it doesn’t harm either of us, right?
He said time and time again that he wanted to sleep with me so why not take him up on his offer for one night, just one?
No one needs to know.
Wasn’t this trip about having new experiences? I came here to live again and somewhere in the future, I can say I had a wild night with a hot biker in a motel room. Isn’t this how memories are made? Every part of this journey is about me finding myself through moments. If I give up on them, I will just regret it later. I'd rather regret something I did than something I didn’t do.
I tried to limit myself and draw red lines but it doesn’t work when it comes to Meadow. I gravitate toward him no matter what I do. So maybe this could be the option that untie us for good. I think deep inside us, we need that comforting touch while we lose ourselves for a moment.
I scurry out of my door and lock it quickly before I climb the stairs to the second floor and knock on his door.
No one answers.
I stick my face to the window, trying to see if anyone is there but it’s completely dark.
I knock again.
Nothing.
Where are you?
I scan the area for any sign of him when the guy from the next room suddenly opens his door.
“Sorry, did you see the guy who stays here?” I ask.
“Oh yeah, he left a few hours ago.”
“Did he have a suitcase or a duffel bag by any chance?”
He hesitantly replies, “I think… a duffel bag.”
He left.
Again.
“Thanks.”
I rush to pull my phone out of my pocket. I got a message today from MotorRR Daily News but haven’t opened it and when I do it says the next championship is tomorrow at noon in England.
Get your motors running!
I think I know who you are.
I go back to my room, feeling defeated but on the bright side he is one of my favorite riders and he was here for a week and a half under everyone’s radar.
