Damon:A Bad Boy MC Romance Novel(103)

"Are there stars?" I asked, half-drunk with bliss, speaking into the  sand, not even sure what I was saying. I felt almost like I did after a  long, hard run or cheerleading practice. Only a million times better.

"Yeah, baby, there are stars," Boon replied, his voice smooth and warm  like melted chocolate. I moaned and stretched, rolling over, loathe to  move at all but wanting to be closer to Boon. I looked up; there were  stars everywhere. The sky was positively fluorescent with stars. The  cicadas sang. The lake whispered to us. He reached out and wrapped an  arm around me.





21





We almost slept there that night. We didn't fall straight to sleep  after, which was a blessing. Instead, Boon told me a story. It's a silly  story, I promise, something that made me giggle. Granted, I likely  found it funnier than you will, since I was lying in his arms when he  told it, and just about anything he could have said at that point would  have seemed amazing.

It was a biker story. Boon said those were pretty much the only sorts of  stories he knew. He also only said it was a story: I think it was a  joke. He swore it really did happen to someone he knew, but I think he  was just saying that to make it seem real.

"One of the older guys in our crew, Castor, he was riding solo from  Florida back to California. There's a lotta biker lingo, road talk,  stuff that when you say it, people look at you like you're crazy unless  they're in the know, too. So Castor stops off at some diner in Alabama,  he says it's four, five AM. Trying to get some chow.

Real cranky waitress. She must have just been about to get off or  something, but anyway he says she had that bit- uh, a real sour look on  her. So he's smiling, Castor's a nice guy, you'd like him, a real  sweetheart, asks for two headlights and two wheels. You know what that  means?"

I shook my head no, snuggling close and letting the rise and fall of his  chest lull me along with his voice, the cadence of his words like a  melody in my post-coital intoxication.

"Well, she didn't either, and she starts getting all flustered. You  know, she's tired, some dirty biker comes in asking for nonsense. So she  says ‘we don't got that', and waits for him to order something else.  But, see, Castor knows the cook there, he's been there before. So he  smiles and says, ‘ask the cook, he'll know what I mean'. But the  waitress isn't having that, she's just pissed about everything. No one  likes being shown up at their own job, right?

So she calls back to the cook, ‘some wacko here says he wants two  headlights and two wheels, says you'll know what the hell that means'.  And the cook, of course, pops his head out, sees Castor and gives him a  nod. ‘Ayup, two sunny-side up eggs, two pancakes, comin' right up,' the  cook says. And this really gets the waitress going. I mean, you ever  dealt with a diner waitress at that time of the day? They're not all  sugar and gumdrops, for sure.

So of course she's madder than hell ‘cause she's been made to look  silly. So the waitress goes and disappears back into the kitchen. While  the cook's preparing Castor's food, she comes out and slams down a big  bowl of chili right in front of Castor. Just full of beans. And she  says, ‘here's you're chili, big boy'. And of course, Castor didn't order  any chili, so he says so, asks what she wants him to do with a bowl of  chili he didn't order. And she goes, ‘two headlights and two wheels  won't get you very far without any gas!'"         

     



 

See? It was a stupid story. It wasn't even very funny. But laying there,  in his arms, I thought it was the most charming thing anyone had ever  said to me. It was my first time indulging in ‘pillow talk'. I was  smitten. If you'd asked me, right then, if I loved him, I'd have said  yes as loud as my voice allowed me. After all, like I said, oxytocin is a  powerful drug.

We lay there on the sandy beach for three hours, nodding in and out of  conversation, never quite falling into sleep. He told me more about his  gang, which he referred to as his family. The way he spoke about them, I  could feel how passionately he truly cared for each man in the crew. He  didn't get into the gritty details, for which I was thankful. Being  reminded of his shady past, his dangerous life, would only have ruined  the moment, reminded us both of the reality of the situation.

I, in turn, told him about my life in Missoula. My summer job at an  ice-cream parlor. Stories about Alicia and Becky and our other friends.  The time we went cliff jumping, and I felt like I was flying. The time  Alicia got drunk, got pulled over on her bicycle, and wound up getting  pancakes with the cop. A time when Becky and I were little children at  church and dared each other to drink holy water. Random, silly stories  that I would never have told if I hadn't felt so comfortable, so open,  so free to be myself.

The warm air held us like a cradle. Finally, I realized, it was getting  late, and I needed to get home. My parent's hadn't been happy about me  going out in the first place, and if I strolled through the doors the  next morning they'd be livid. Pulling myself up, I brushed sand from my  skin.

"I have to go," I said, leaning over Boon's body as he lay still. His eyes opened, peered into mine.

"No, you don't," he said, reaching up and pulling me down, on top of  him. He wrapped his strong arms around me, my face pressed against his  chest, the taste of his sweat on my lips. I giggled as he squeezed me.

"No, no, I do, really, I have to," I said, my voice muffled. Gradually,  he relented, releasing me. I leaned back, drawing myself onto my knees.  Looking down at him, I didn't want to leave. I wanted to stay forever in  his embrace.

"What now?" I asked, blurting out the question that had been lingering  between us since we'd collapsed on the ground together. Boon propped  himself up on his elbows, looking out onto the still lake.

"Well, I guess I'm screwed," he finally said. My brow furrowed.

"How so?" I asked.

"Well, I can't stay, your daddy made that clear. But I can't leave,  either. Not after … that," he said, actually sounding sheepish. I felt  myself blushing.

"Was it that good … for you?" I wondered aloud, not really believing that a  guy like Boon, who could pretty much have his pick of girls, would  really be blown away by a virgin like me. His teeth gleamed in the  moonlight as he smiled up at me.

"Darling, that was … .resplendent. You're dangerous. You should come with a  warning," he said, and I felt a swarm of butterflies released in my  stomach.

"So … so what do we do?" The question hung in the air. Boon leaned up  more, coming to a sitting position. He took my hands in his, looked into  my eyes.

"Come away with me. Come to California  –  or no, let's go to Maine. Let's  go east, as far east as we can get, far away from my dad and your dad  and everything. We can be together, and start new lives … " his voice  trailed off as he realized what he was saying, and who he was saying it  to. I shook my head, tears tickling my eyes.

"I can't do that, Boon. I mean, I really … I really like you. A lot. Like,  a lot. But I can't just leave. I have … I have a life here. A good life. I  have my friends, and my parents, and I'm going to be starting  school … I'm not like you. I can't just pick up and go somewhere. And I  don't want to! I want to stay here. I love my life. It could only … well,  the only way I could like it more is if you were in it."

"I know," he said, head hanging. "I know. I could never really ask you  to do that. God, Samantha, you're so young, and so good. I can't … I can't  try to change that. I'm no good. I'm trouble. You deserve everything  life wants to give you. And I can only give you … bad news."

I squeezed his hands.

"Stay. You're not trouble. Maybe your father is, maybe your friends are,  but you're not. You're good; I can see it. Stay. I'll talk to my dad.  He can help you! He's the sheriff, he could get you a job, help you get  set up with a new life, one where you can be you, the good you. It can  happen, I promise. Just let me talk to him … "         

     



 

Boon was shaking his head, resigned.

"You're his little girl, Samantha. You don't know what fathers will do  to protect their daughters. He's not going to help me. He's just going  to chase me out of town."

"Let me try. Please, just, stay at the motel, a few more nights. Let me  try. That's the least we can do," I said, trying to catch his eye. He  looked at me. I sensed his hesitation.

"Okay," he finally said, his voice rough and low, no louder than a  whisper. "A few days. But I wouldn't get your hopes up, little sister. I  certainly don't have very high hopes myself."

I could have fucked him again right there and then for even giving me  the chance to talk to my dad. He was right to be pessimistic, but he was  also wrong: my dad could be understanding, could change his mind. And  even if my father couldn't, my mother could certainly help change his  mind for him.