Motorcycle Man
Page 57
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He tasted great.
His arm around my waist tightened and I lifted my head just enough to see his sleepy, sexy, already heated blue eyes on me.
“You need to get down to business,” I whispered and his eyes went from heated to hot.
Then his other arm locked around me. He rolled me to my back and he did what he needed to do, proving Elvira right.
Biker boys knew how to live.
Chapter Nineteen
Except Better
“Oh lordy, stop talking.”
This demand came from Elvira and when it did, the table full of women at Club burst out laughing. This was because I’d just explained precisely Tack’s ability to give pleasure. And I did this because I was highly inebriated.
It was Wednesday night and we were at Club.
The last two days I’d spent in the office at Ride’s garage dealing with work and man drama. As far as the work was concerned, it wasn’t like I was gone two days. It was like I was gone two weeks.
And, kid you not, men were crazier than women. Each mechanic and body guy’s life was like a soap opera and they did not leave it at home. Over donuts and coffee, they were in my office telling me about it. Breaking up with women, making up with them, juggling two at a time (or three and, in one case, four), exes entering the picture, hysterical pregnancies, real pregnancies, STD scares, women who didn’t “get them”, skanky ‘ho’s they fell for and who stole from them, financial troubles, car troubles (yes, mechanics had car troubles!), family troubles.
It wore me out just listening to it. Then again, I’d been listening to it for two weeks, they’d broken me in early so I figured one day, I’d get used to it.
And going to Tack’s house after work the night before was no less exhausting.
The good thing was, riding on the back of Tack’s bike with Tack was phenomenal. I’d ridden on the back of a bike before but I’d never done it with a man who I could press close to and hold tight.
It. Was. Awesome.
The other good thing was that Tack had a fantastic house. He lived on a quiet, secluded lot up in the foothills, his house built into the mountains and nearly the whole front was a deck that had spectacular views. You walked into an open entryway that fed to the left into a big comfortable living room that jutted out past the deck. Straight off the entryway was a big kitchen with views to the deck and beyond. The house was long, three bedrooms (one Tabby’s, one an office and one Tack’s master that had its own bath) and bathroom all off one side down a hall. The other side had more windows with Tack’s spectacular views.
What surprised me was that it didn’t scream Biker! Not that I would know what that was, just that it didn’t look rough and tumble and lived in and mostly filthy like the Chaos Compound. Just lived in. It wasn’t tidy but it was relatively clean and the kitchen was clearly used but immaculate. The furniture in the living room had been chosen for comfort only, wide seats, slouchy cushions, lots of throws and toss pillows, all inviting you to take a load off.
Although it didn’t scream Biker! it was decorated in “The Biker Experience”. A framed black and white picture of what Tabby told me was Sturgis, South Dakota circa some other time when there were ox and horses in the dirt streets. A framed, greasy motorcycle sprocket that Tabby told me was from Tack’s first bike. Jumbled frames holding pictures of Tack’s kids as well as men I knew or had seen (in other words, members of Chaos) and others I didn’t know. All of them wearing tees or leather jackets or leather vests with their arms slung around each other’s shoulders. All of them wearing shit-eating grins. All of them hairy, rough poster boys for the biker lifestyle. Some of pictures had Tack in them at varying ages from teenager to who he was today. And rounding out the décor were a number of motorcycle rally posters.
Tack carried my bag to his bedroom with Tabby and I following (Tabby talking). I found it had a big bed, two nightstands but only one that had a lamp, no alarm clock. A dresser across the room from the bed, tall, six drawers. There were two big windows covered in beige curtains. Tacked to the wall above the bed was a huge, slightly tattered American flag. And there were more picture frames filled with snapshots but not on the walls, on the dresser. Rounding out the look of Tack’s room were jeans, t-shirts, socks, belts, boxer briefs and boots in a tangle on the floor.
The night at Tack’s was exhausting because Tabby and Rush were there. I found teenagers had a lot of energy. And they were noisy.
I discovered the last part of this when we showed and there was music coming up from the basement where Rush had his room. It was metal and it was loud.
Clearly in her element and entirely comfortable, Tabby assumed the “woman of the house” role and claimed me immediately. She showed me around, gave me the lay of the land in the kitchen, got me a drink and gabbed animatedly to me the whole time. It was like she’d been deserted on an island , hadn’t seen another human being in ten years and was beside herself with joy that she finally had more than a coconut to talk to.
That day, Tack called and sent Rush out with a grocery list I prepared so all the fixin’s were available to make dinner for Tack and his kids. This I did to the stylings of Led Zeppelin. No, strike that. This I did with a continual loop of their song “Rock and Roll”. It was a kickass song but the twelfth time, I had to admit, I was over it.
Fortunately, Tack was too and I knew this when he stalked to the open door to the basement and shouted down the stairs, “Either you move to the next track or your f**kin’ stereo is sailing over the deck!”
“Black Dog” immediately came on.
This was such a relief that I smiled at Tabby. She burst out laughing.
And I thought that was nice. Not Tack shouting threats of stereo mutilation but the whole thing. Cooking with Tabby jabbering to me. The comfortable, lived-in house with spectacular views and a fantastic kitchen. The way they had about them that firmly said a family lived there.
Yes. I decided I was liking this roller coaster.
I made spaghetti with my homemade meatballs, garlic bread and Caesar salad with homemade dressing. I followed this with pistachio/chocolate parfaits made in some of Tack’s tumblers with pistachio and chocolate pudding (instant, I didn’t have the time to make homemade and further, I didn’t know how to make homemade pudding) and Cool Whip sprinkled with pistachio nuts. The meal wasn’t as good as Tack’s food but Tack and his kids hoovered through it. It also packed close to the same calorie and fat wallop so I figured I did all right.
His arm around my waist tightened and I lifted my head just enough to see his sleepy, sexy, already heated blue eyes on me.
“You need to get down to business,” I whispered and his eyes went from heated to hot.
Then his other arm locked around me. He rolled me to my back and he did what he needed to do, proving Elvira right.
Biker boys knew how to live.
Chapter Nineteen
Except Better
“Oh lordy, stop talking.”
This demand came from Elvira and when it did, the table full of women at Club burst out laughing. This was because I’d just explained precisely Tack’s ability to give pleasure. And I did this because I was highly inebriated.
It was Wednesday night and we were at Club.
The last two days I’d spent in the office at Ride’s garage dealing with work and man drama. As far as the work was concerned, it wasn’t like I was gone two days. It was like I was gone two weeks.
And, kid you not, men were crazier than women. Each mechanic and body guy’s life was like a soap opera and they did not leave it at home. Over donuts and coffee, they were in my office telling me about it. Breaking up with women, making up with them, juggling two at a time (or three and, in one case, four), exes entering the picture, hysterical pregnancies, real pregnancies, STD scares, women who didn’t “get them”, skanky ‘ho’s they fell for and who stole from them, financial troubles, car troubles (yes, mechanics had car troubles!), family troubles.
It wore me out just listening to it. Then again, I’d been listening to it for two weeks, they’d broken me in early so I figured one day, I’d get used to it.
And going to Tack’s house after work the night before was no less exhausting.
The good thing was, riding on the back of Tack’s bike with Tack was phenomenal. I’d ridden on the back of a bike before but I’d never done it with a man who I could press close to and hold tight.
It. Was. Awesome.
The other good thing was that Tack had a fantastic house. He lived on a quiet, secluded lot up in the foothills, his house built into the mountains and nearly the whole front was a deck that had spectacular views. You walked into an open entryway that fed to the left into a big comfortable living room that jutted out past the deck. Straight off the entryway was a big kitchen with views to the deck and beyond. The house was long, three bedrooms (one Tabby’s, one an office and one Tack’s master that had its own bath) and bathroom all off one side down a hall. The other side had more windows with Tack’s spectacular views.
What surprised me was that it didn’t scream Biker! Not that I would know what that was, just that it didn’t look rough and tumble and lived in and mostly filthy like the Chaos Compound. Just lived in. It wasn’t tidy but it was relatively clean and the kitchen was clearly used but immaculate. The furniture in the living room had been chosen for comfort only, wide seats, slouchy cushions, lots of throws and toss pillows, all inviting you to take a load off.
Although it didn’t scream Biker! it was decorated in “The Biker Experience”. A framed black and white picture of what Tabby told me was Sturgis, South Dakota circa some other time when there were ox and horses in the dirt streets. A framed, greasy motorcycle sprocket that Tabby told me was from Tack’s first bike. Jumbled frames holding pictures of Tack’s kids as well as men I knew or had seen (in other words, members of Chaos) and others I didn’t know. All of them wearing tees or leather jackets or leather vests with their arms slung around each other’s shoulders. All of them wearing shit-eating grins. All of them hairy, rough poster boys for the biker lifestyle. Some of pictures had Tack in them at varying ages from teenager to who he was today. And rounding out the décor were a number of motorcycle rally posters.
Tack carried my bag to his bedroom with Tabby and I following (Tabby talking). I found it had a big bed, two nightstands but only one that had a lamp, no alarm clock. A dresser across the room from the bed, tall, six drawers. There were two big windows covered in beige curtains. Tacked to the wall above the bed was a huge, slightly tattered American flag. And there were more picture frames filled with snapshots but not on the walls, on the dresser. Rounding out the look of Tack’s room were jeans, t-shirts, socks, belts, boxer briefs and boots in a tangle on the floor.
The night at Tack’s was exhausting because Tabby and Rush were there. I found teenagers had a lot of energy. And they were noisy.
I discovered the last part of this when we showed and there was music coming up from the basement where Rush had his room. It was metal and it was loud.
Clearly in her element and entirely comfortable, Tabby assumed the “woman of the house” role and claimed me immediately. She showed me around, gave me the lay of the land in the kitchen, got me a drink and gabbed animatedly to me the whole time. It was like she’d been deserted on an island , hadn’t seen another human being in ten years and was beside herself with joy that she finally had more than a coconut to talk to.
That day, Tack called and sent Rush out with a grocery list I prepared so all the fixin’s were available to make dinner for Tack and his kids. This I did to the stylings of Led Zeppelin. No, strike that. This I did with a continual loop of their song “Rock and Roll”. It was a kickass song but the twelfth time, I had to admit, I was over it.
Fortunately, Tack was too and I knew this when he stalked to the open door to the basement and shouted down the stairs, “Either you move to the next track or your f**kin’ stereo is sailing over the deck!”
“Black Dog” immediately came on.
This was such a relief that I smiled at Tabby. She burst out laughing.
And I thought that was nice. Not Tack shouting threats of stereo mutilation but the whole thing. Cooking with Tabby jabbering to me. The comfortable, lived-in house with spectacular views and a fantastic kitchen. The way they had about them that firmly said a family lived there.
Yes. I decided I was liking this roller coaster.
I made spaghetti with my homemade meatballs, garlic bread and Caesar salad with homemade dressing. I followed this with pistachio/chocolate parfaits made in some of Tack’s tumblers with pistachio and chocolate pudding (instant, I didn’t have the time to make homemade and further, I didn’t know how to make homemade pudding) and Cool Whip sprinkled with pistachio nuts. The meal wasn’t as good as Tack’s food but Tack and his kids hoovered through it. It also packed close to the same calorie and fat wallop so I figured I did all right.
