I don't know what to do or say, so I just watch him for a second while he crouches down and works on his bike. Sticking a silver tool back into the side of his bike, he gets up and comes over to me.
Lifting his chin at the bike he asks, "You ride?" I shake my head no. "Imma get on, and you get on behind me," he tells me plainly. A mix of anxiety and excitement come over me. I've never been on a motorcycle before. I watch his jeans stretch and pull over his thick legs as he lifts himself over the bike. Looking back at me, he jerks his head for me to come over to him once he's settled.
"Put your hands on my shoulders for support. Throw your leg over ‘n you'll be good."
I do as he tells me. It's not nearly as graceful as he was, but I don't land on my ass, so I'd call it a success.
"Lean into me," he demands shortly.
I do, but I try to give him his space. I don't know where to put my body. I'm not sure of where to put my hands either, so I fold them in front of me. Should I sit back or forward, right or left. Where the hell do my feet go? Oh Jesus.
"Umm … "
He shakes his head at me and chuckles. The sound stops me in my hunt for the perfect riding position. He doesn't laugh, but hearing him makes me smile. He just shakes his head when he realizes I'm staring at him.
Reaching back, he wraps both hands around my thighs, tugs me close and lifts my legs to place my feet on the foot pegs. God, he smells so good – clean and fresh, with a hint of cologne.
"You need to stay just like that."
With one last squeeze of my leg, he lets go. I almost grab his hands and put them back, wanting the contact. My thoughts are immediately blasted away from the roar of the bike as he starts it up.
Tilting his head, he says, "Just relax. Arms around me ‘n hold on." Grabbing my hands in his, he pulls them around his waist, letting them rest low on his thighs. Giving my hand a little squeeze, he lets them go and grabs onto the handlebars.
///
"Lean when I lean. Move with me ‘n the bike, baby."
I can't keep this stupid ass grin off of my face. I'm taking my first ever motorcycle ride, but I'm even more excited about the man who is taking me on it. I keep my body pressed tight against his as he takes off, and as we ride, he occasionally reaches back to touch my leg, or squeezes my hands for reassurance.
I can see why people love this. The longer we ride, the lighter I feel. I get a sudden urge to just beg Rampage to keep going, taking me away from all the stress and pain in my life, even though I know running will never change my circumstances, at least not for long, so I just enjoy this for as long as I can.
We ride for a while until Rampage starts to slow down. He turns and pulls into a small parking lot with a shack of a restaurant, parks the bike, and shuts off the engine.
"Hands on my shoulders, push up ‘n off."
I do as he says. I make it off as well as I made it on, which means I made it on my feet, not on my ass, and that's all that matters.
"You like it." He states. It's not a question. I just nod because it's impossible to speak with this stupid ass smile on my face. Reaching out, he runs his thumb over my lower lip, tracing my smile.
"That is one of the best fucking smiles I have ever seen, babe," his eyes darken and he licks his lips. My body reacts instantly. I stick my tongue out, licking his thumb and watch as his eyes flare with something scary and exciting.
Pulling his hand away, he shakes his head and quietly says, "Let's go in before I do somethin' you'll regret."
****
We're seated in a booth where the seats are ripped to shreds. Our table has a phone book under the leg, just to keep it steady. The God-awful, puke green Formica table is flaking and chipping, while the walls have old smoke stains. The dust and soot are so thick, you could write your name on them. The bar is scuffed and scarred, and all the stools are mismatched. The waitress looks just as old as the weathered wood siding, but she's friendly.
As soon as our asses hit the seats, we have coffee poured and sitting in front of us. With a raspy chuckle, the waitress welcomes us with, "Mornin'. Welcome to the Red Rooster."
The place is falling apart from the inside out, but good God, they have the best breakfast I have ever eaten. Huge, fluffy pancakes, and the best biscuits and gravy I have ever tasted. I will definitely be eating here again, no matter how far I have to drive to get here.
Rampage is sitting across from me, eating a burger for breakfast. I watched as he began to pick the thing apart the second it was set in front of him.
"Why didn't you just order it plain?" I ask him.
Lifting an eyebrow he says, "Bob don't cook for picky fucks like me." Taking off the pickles, tomatoes, onions and lettuce, he sets them on the edge of my plate.
"What do ya want me to do with them?"
"Don't care. Just don't want that shit near my food." Fine I'll eat them.
"You don't like fresh veggies?"
"Fuck no. Nasty shit." His burger is now nothing but two half pounds of greasy meat, a quarter pound of bacon, and at least four slices of gooey processed cheese sitting in between two buns. It's a heart attack on a plate.
Picking up the tomato, I take a bite. It's ripe and juicy. Rampage visibly cringes when it touches my lips.
"These are so good," I observe around an exaggerated "Mmm … "
He actually screws his face up in disgust, "I'll take your word for it."
"You don't eat any veggies? Fruits? Anything that is actually good for you?"
"Potatoes count?" What a man thing to say. It is considered a veggie, but it's a starchy carb, so it's obviously not the healthiest vegetable he can eat.
"Sure, I guess so."
"Then yeah, I eat potatoes, but other than that, it's not going in my mouth." He waves a disgusted hand at my plate.
"Well I'll eat them. I love veggies.".
We eat in silence, catching glimpses of each other here and there. I know that he's staring at me, like he's trying to figure me out. I can't complain. It's probably the same way I'm looking at him. One thing that I can say is that even with the staring, I feel completely at ease with this man.
"So, you from ‘round here?"
"Originally. I was born here, but I've lived everywhere. How about you?"
Taking a drink of his beer, during breakfast I might add, he sits back and looks thoughtful for a second, "All my goddamn life."
///
"You got family here?" I knew that question was coming. Shaking my head, I look down, trying desperately to avoid this.
"No Mom or Dad? Brothers and Sisters?" He pushes and again, but I just shake my head. I don't have anything to say on the subject, so I try to take the heat off of me.
"Do you have family?"
"Yep. The club's my family." That doesn't exactly answer my question. Just like I've been doing, he's avoiding the question.
"No Mom or Dad? Brothers and Sisters?" I counter back.
"Nope."
I know that's all I'm getting and I think I've made my point. If he doesn't push, I won't push.
"How long you been livin' back here?" He asks, changing the topic.
"Just about two years. We moved away when I was 7."
"You plan of stayin' ‘round after school?" he asks around a bite of his clogged artery on bread.
Shrugging, I take a bite of my hash browns and gravy, and suddenly the question's forgotten.
"Mmm … so good," I mumble around my delicious bite. Rampage chuckles softly, his lips turned up in a small smile.
I don't answer this question because I just don't know. I don't even know what tomorrow holds for me. I'm just going day to day, praying to get through school and getting rid of Ryan.
When I look up at him, he's staring at me so intently that I know what he's about to ask me next.
"You gonna tell me ‘bout what happened to the Chevy? Why you were at my place at one in the mornin'?"
5
Black & Blue
Rampage
It drives me fucking crazy when she doesn't look me in the eyes. When I ask you a question, you look at me. I expect people to look at me when I speak to them, but her eyes are everywhere except on mine, and it pisses me off. She can't just show up all bloody, sleeping outside our club with a busted out window and not explain that shit. I went with the easy questions first, just to ease her into the harder ones, even though she blew me off on those, too. I'm done pussyfootin' around the subject.
"Lala," I push her for more. I mean fuck, something is going on and I want to know.