Solana’s a natural perched on the back of my bike. Her thighs bracket me, her breasts soft and tight against my spine. She knows to lean with me for every curve in the road, trusting me to keep us upright and safe.
Once upon a time, I used to give Rachel rides like these. Back when we were young and still getting to know each other.
But it was nothing like this. Rachel hated how heavy the helmet was, and she didn’t like the loud rumble my bike made.
As the years went on, those rides got fewer and fewer. They became less frequent as we gradually fell out of love.
Sometimes I craved nothing more than snatching her up and putting her on the back of my bike to relive the good times. Then I realized there was nothing I could do to ever bring them back.
We were broken beyond repair.
With Solana, it’s like breathing fresh air for the first time in longer than I can remember. It’s like finally sharing this moment on the open road with a woman in a way I always craved.
Her excitement’s a visceral feeling that pulses between us. Her enjoyment matches mine.
Even her laugh makes me crack a grin, despite my focus being on the road.
After an hour of riding, I spot the old diner I’ve been aiming for, a classic roadside joint that hasn’t changed since the nineties.
The neon sign flickers between working and dead, only three other cars in the cracked parking lot.
Perfect for staying under the radar while we catch our breath and grab a bite to eat.
We slide into a cracked vinyl booth in the corner where I can watch the door, old habits dying hard even during our escape.
But it’s not lost on me at any moment my enemies could come for us. I intend on being ready should the worst-case scenario occur.
Solana’s still a little breathless, unable to keep from quirking in a slight smile. It’s infectious and makes my mood ten times lighter than usual.
“How does your hair still look perfect?” she asks, reaching across the table to run fingers through my silver strands. “Mine looks like I’ve been through a tornado but yours is just obnoxiously windswept.”
I catch her hand and bring it to my lips, kissing her knuckles while the large-busted waitress pretends not to notice. “It’s alearned skill that comes with being a biker for thirty years. Took some convincing, but the hair knows how to behave by now.”
We order pie because we’re both craving dessert and there are no rules when on the open road. Pie for dinner is perfectly acceptable.
She gets apple with vanilla ice cream. I get cherry with whipped cream. We end up eating from both plates like an old married couple who are more than a little familiar with each other.
She steals bites of cherry filling while telling me about rehearsals for the play, her entire face lighting up.
I could listen to her talk about it for hours. Just based on how happy it makes her.
“Opening night’s next month,” she says around a mouthful of apple pie.
“I’ll have to think of a way to come see it. An excuse for a divorced biker like me to turn up to a town community play.”
“Maybe Tabby would be interested in seeing it!”
I’d like to think I could bring my little girl to see the play. But there’s no denying how awkward it could be for everybody involved. I’d feel guilty about lying, and I don’t want to put Solana in another situation where she has to either.
Then there’s Tabby—how would she feel if she ever found out her dad brought her to his girlfriend’s play without telling her? His girlfriend who’s half his age?
Still, I make a mental note to be there no matter what chaos erupts between now and then.
The ride home is slower, more peaceful, as full darkness settles over Texas. Solana relaxes completely against me, her grip loose and comfortable, occasionally squeezing just to let me know she’s still with me.
Back at my house, we stumble inside, exhausted from the long trip. We collapse into bed still fully clothed, her locs spilling across the pillow as she curls into me.
It feels so immediately right you’d think she’s been doing it for years instead of days.
