Page 3 of Nuts

I found it laughable that our neighbors saw my stepfather as a former Marine war hero, and the biker as an annoying burden. Truth be known, he was a violent drunk, and the biker was exceptionally kind.

He was also smoking hot.

Strangely, he didn’t even seem to know it.

I gawked at him as I unlocked my car.

While I got an eyeful of his bulging tattooed biceps, he glanced over his shoulder and waved. “What’s up, Smudge?”

My mouth curled into a grin. “Nothing. Just going for a coffee.”

“Not working today?”

“I do. At 1:00.” I opened the door and glanced at my watch. “It’s only 7:30.”

“Got a minute?”

It wasn’t the first time he’d asked me to come help with something. My visits to assist him with motorcycle repairs wasn’t what initially got me intrigued with bikers or motorcycles, but it did get me interested in him.

I’d been fascinated with bikers and their two-wheeled modes of transportation since I was a child. My real father was a biker. Although I didn’t remember him, my mind was filled with stories. My mother told about how he made her laugh, the fun bike trips they would take, his amazing smile, his take-no-prisoners attitude, and the moral code that he lived by

He was a mountain of a man it seemed everyone looked up to. Then, one day, while he was protecting one of his fellow bikers in a bar fight, he was struck from behind by a member of a rival club. Later that night, an aneurism took his life. I was only two at the time.

My mother was left with a box of photos, most of which mysteriously disappeared. I had salvaged one, a photo of him, his brother-in-law, and their motorcycles. Before the photos disappeared, she would go through them and tell me stories about him until I fell asleep.

My job at the Harley-Davidson dealer in San Marcos was a direct result of the interest that my biological father sparked. My neighbor and his retro Harley simply continued to feed my captivation.

“Sure.” I tossed my purse in the front seat and dove in the car.

As silly as it seemed to do so, I backed my car out of the driveway, drove fifty feet to his house, and pulled up alongside his motorcycle. I felt more comfortable being gone from the place my stepfather liked to call home. For me, at least for the time being, it was more like a prison.

I got out of the car and snuck a quick look at him as he stared at the bike. He was lean and muscular with random tattoos scattered over his arms. His chiseled jaw, broad chest, and handsome looks would all but guarantee him a spot in a biker television show or movie, but his lack of trust in mankind undoubtedly prevented it.

Dressed in his normal attire of tight jeans, boots, a white tee shirt, and his leather vest, he looked like he did on any other day.

Irresistible.

After soaking up a few seconds of his striking good looks, I tore my eyes away and shifted my focus to the motorcycle. “What’s wrong with it?”

Still gripping the wrench in his rubber-gloved hand, he wagged it toward the shiny black beast. “Lowering it a few inches. Need to change the shock, but I can’t get the bolt out without pressure on the suspension. Tough to sit on the fucker and reach underneath it at the same time.”

“Somebody needs to sit on it?”

“There’s only two people here.” His eyebrows raised slightly. “You need to sit on it.”

“Hand me the wrench,” I said flatly, struggling not to smile as he spoke. “You sit on it. I’ll take off the shock.”

He chuckled and then motioned toward the seat. “Get comfortable.”

I’d sat on his bike several times in the past, once while he fitted a new rear fender on it. That particular day’s repairs took half the afternoon, and I enjoyed getting to know him better as the day progressed. When we were finally finished, he tried to pay me for my time, making the otherwise enjoyable event seem like a laborious task.

I didn’t know how old he was for sure, but I guessed he was about thirty. Having roughly ten years between us wasn’t a big deal to me, but I couldn’t help but wonder if he continued to see me as the off-limits awkward teenager I was when he moved in.

I raised my leg over the seat and sat down. I gave him my best sensual gaze, all the while trying to make my thin lips look a little fuller. “I’ll give you until 12:45, how’s that?”

He either didn’t notice or didn’t care. It came as no big surprise. I’d flirted with him for the past few years, and he seemed to have zero interest in me. I knew I’d continue nonetheless, hoping that one day he’d succumb to my carnal gestures.

He squatted beside the motorcycle and then reached under it. “Ought to be about five hours longer than I need.”