Tegan

As I sat outside the coffee shop at 7:00 p.m. on a Saturday waiting on Pee Bee to arrive, I wondered just what he did all day – everyday – that prevented him from breaking free for thirty minutes so I could pay him.

The sound of music blaring over the unmistakable drone of a motorcycle’s exhaust led me to believe he was pulling into the parking lot, but I didn’t bother looking. Sitting outside at a table with my back to the building, I stared straight ahead as if I could care less about him or his motorcycle.

Dressed in jeans, lace-up boots, and his leather vest, he was either shirtless or was wearing a wife beater, I couldn’t tell. His long muscular arms were bare, and dangled at his sides as he lumbered toward me in more of a galumph than a walk.

Fascinated by his awkward swagger, I watched intently as he approached.

I wondered if it was his big feet that caused him to walk in such a way, or if it was something he did intentionally. Before I could decide, he sat down in the chair across from me.

“See the ride?”

“Kind of.”

“What does that mean? Kind of?”

“I kind of saw it when you pulled in. Like, out of the corner of my eye.”

“You didn’t look at it when I pulled in?”

I shook my head and tried not to smile. “No.”

“Man, you’re a hard little--”

I glared at him. “You about said it, didn’t you?”

“Said what?”

“The B-word.”

The corner of his mouth curled up. “Maybe.”

His hair was all one length, and slightly past his shoulders, which surprised me.

I knew it was long, but not that long, “Why’s your hair so long?”

He wrinkled his nose. “Huh?”

“Your hair. That mess of brown straw on top of your head. Why’s it so long?”

His hands shot up as if to check and make sure it was all still there. He ran his fingers through it, forcing it back along his scalp. “What about it?”

“Your loud exhaust must be ruining your ears,” I said. “Why. Is. It. So. Long?”

“Why. Are. You. Such. A…” He raised both hands in the air and gestured with his index and middle fingers.

I laughed. “Did you just give me air quotes?”

“Is that what they’re called?”

I fought the desire to laugh out loud and nodded. “Yep.”

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Tough guys don’t use air quotes.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. They’re reserved for politicians and douchebags. You’ve not in politics, are you?”

He scoffed. “No.”

“That explains it, then. Never mind.”

I reached in my purse, pulled out an envelope, and tossed it on the table. “There’s a sheet of paper in there I’d like you to sign. Actually, there’s two of them. One for you, and one for me.”

He opened the envelope and pulled out the folded sheets of paper, looked at them, and then shot me a confused look. “What the fuck is this?”

“Proof of payment. I figured you preferred cash, and I didn’t want to pay for a money order, so I’m paying you in cash. You need to sign that so I’ve got proof that you’ve been paid.”

“Just handing me the money ain’t good enough?”

“Sorry, no.”

He unfolded one of the sheets of paper and read it. “Why not?”

“I need proof. To protect me.”

He peered over the top off the paper. “From what?”

“From you.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“Nope.”

“Why?” He ran his fingers through his hair, clearing it away from his eyes. “My hair?”

I shook my head. “It’s not that.”

He raised his eyebrows. “’Cause I’m a biker?”

“Nope.”

Truthfully, his hair, and his beard were great. They reminded me of a past relationship, and they helped me remember, each time I saw them, just how much I didn’t want to be hurt again.

“Why?”

“You’re a man,” I said. “Men can’t be trusted.”

“Why not?”

“Just sign it, please.”

“Tell me why.”

I leaned onto the edge of the table and met his gaze. “What are you thinking about right now?”

“You’re all over the fucking place.” He rubbed the heel of his palm against his eye. “You ask questions, and then you’re just on to something else.”

“I’m not going to beg you to give answers. If you don’t answer me, I’m just going to assume you don’t want to, and I’ll move on.”

He leaned forward. “I’m like Samson. That’s why I’ve got the hair.”

It was a cute response. It didn’t make him safe, but it – along with his frequent smiles – made him seem boyish.

“It makes you strong?” I asked.

He brushed his hands through his hair and nodded.

“Do you believe that?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, yeah.”

“Interesting.”

“Hey, hold on a minute,” he said. “A minute ago. Did you call me a douchebag?”

“Not like when you called me the B-word, no.” I chuckled. “I inferred it.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“Took you a minute, though, didn’t it?”

He looked me up and down. “God damn. Do you ever let up?”

“Rarely. It’s a self-preservation thing.”

“Because you don’t trust us?”

“Something like that.”

He looked at my hands, and then glanced under the table. “You haven’t got a drink yet?”

“I’m not getting one.”

“We met at a coffee shop. People drink coffee here.” He outstretched his massive arms. “Look around you.”

“You picked this place, not me,” I reminded him. “You haven’t been back to your father’s house since you barfed on the floor. If you had, I would have paid you there.”

“I’ve been back,” he snapped back.

“Not in my presence,” I said with a laugh.

He shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”

“You made a fool of yourself, and you were embarrassed.”

“I ate too many jalapenos, and then grabbed a sloshing bag of piss. That shit ran down my arm. Nothing embarrassing about that, just gross.”

“You stopped coming after that, I was just saying--”

He sat up straight and puffed out his chest. “You’re full of shit.”

He was full of shit, but I’d give him the benefit of the doubt. It was time to move on. “I don’t waste money on things like coffee. I’d rather eat.”

He glanced at my car, and then let out a laugh. “Or get your car fixed?”

“My car’s a long way down the list.”

“You’re not going to fix that door?”

“It still gets me where I’m going. And, it never rains this time of year. So, as long as it gets me from home to work, there’s no need to spend money on it.”

“Interesting concept,” he said. It looked like an original thought entered his head. He raised his extended index finger. “I’ve got a question.”

“Okay.”

“How come you never cuss?”

“I was raised differently. I don’t need to cuss. I get results with wit and charm.”

“Wit and charm, huh?”

I nodded. “It works well.”

“So, you never cuss?”

“Today, I have no need to. I wouldn’t say never. At some point in time I may need to, and when that time comes, I’ll do it. At least whoever I’m talking to will understand the urgency.”

“Say fuck, and I’ll buy you a coffee.”

“No.”

“C’mon.”

I was tempted to. Instead, I chuckled. “No.”

He let out a sigh. “I’ll buy you a coffee, anyway.”

I shook my head.

He nodded and then stood. “What do you want?”

“I want you to sign that sheet of paper. Then, I want to pay you. And then, I want to go.”

He reached for his wallet. “Let me buy you a drink.”

I pressed my finger against the piece of paper, pinning it to the table. “Do you promise to sign that after we’re done?”

“Yep.”

I conceded, and it felt good. “Okay. Get me something.”

“What?”

“Surprise me.”

He grinned and walked away. A sigh escaped me.

Being in his presence wasn’t as easy as I’d hoped. He was attractive, and so far, he wasn’t being a dick. It seemed he might be different than I expected. I wondered if his asshole-ish behavior was the product of me wrecking his bike, and of him being in the presence of his equally asshole-ish father.

He was still a man, but if he wasn’t a dick, it was possible that we could get along while I was employed to care for his father.

In a few moments, he returned.

He placed a cup in front of me. “Did you look at the bike?”

I glanced at the drink. It wasn’t what I expected. A clear ice-filled cup with white liquid at the bottom and brown at the top, I had no idea what it was. “No, I didn’t. I was thinking.”

He sat down.

I took a drink. “Oh, wow. That’s good. What is it?”

“Iced caramel macchiato.”

I raised the cup as if toasting the subject. “The fact that you can even order something like this supports the air quote statement.”

“I asked them what girls like.”

I motioned toward the sheets of paper. “Sign those before you forget our agreement.”

“You said after we’re done.”

“Did I?”

He took a sip of his drink and nodded. “Yep.”

“Tell me, Samson. Before your hair was long, were you short and skinny?”

He laughed. “No. It’s just. Shit used to happen. A lot of shit used to happen. Then, I grew it out. And, since it’s been long, nothing really bad has happened. So, it’s kind of like Samson, or a good luck charm, or whatever.”

“You believe in good luck charms?”

“I believe in not changing shit if it’s working. Kind of like you and your car.”

“I see.” I took another drink, and studied him the entire time. “What kind of shit?”

He scrunched his nose. “Huh?”

“What kind of shit happened? You said a lot of shit used to happen, and then you grew your hair out. The good luck charm thing, remember?”

“Club shit.”

“What’s club shit?”

“That means it’s not to be discussed.”

I took another sip. “Not with women?”

He leaned forward. “Not with anyone.”

“Like Sons of Anarchy?”

“You watch that shit?”

“I’ve seen it a few times, yes,” I lied. I’d seen them all.

“Kind of like that, but not Hollywood-ized.”

“What’s Hollywood-ized about it?”

“We don’t shoot guns from our hips while we’re riding our bikes.”

“You wait until you come to a stop?”

“Yeah,” he said with a laugh. “We try to.”

“Makes sense. It’d be easier to aim.”

I took another sip, and then looked at the cup. I’d finished a quarter of it without realizing it. I set it aside and folded my hands together.

“Pop says you’re a good nurse.”

I sat up excitedly and then realized I’d done so, but it was too late to fix it. “Did he?”

“Sure did.”

“That was nice of him.”

“He says nice shit from time to time. Ain’t very often, but he does.”

“I like him,” I said. “A lot. I’ll be glad when he’s better, but it’ll be sad not to see him anymore.”

“Nothing saying you can’t stop by and see him sometimes.”

I realized he didn’t know the entire truth about his father’s heart. I forced a smile, and wondered if he could tell the difference. “That’d be nice.”

We sat there for a moment in awkward silence, and I reached for my drink. After taking a sip of the sweet concoction, I met his blank stare.

“My father left when I was young. I think being around yours makes me wonder what things would have been like, if, you know. If he hadn’t left.”

I hadn’t planned on saying it, but somehow it just slipped out. Typically, I didn’t talk about such things, especially with people I really didn’t know or trust. For whatever reason, though, it happened.

“Sorry,” he said. “Lot of the fellas only have one parent, and I’ve always been kind of glad I’ve got two. Couldn’t imagine it any other way.”

I smiled and nodded, feeling curiously more empty than before. “Your mother’s nice, too. I met her over the weekend. I know now why he needs someone to care for him seven day a week. She’s pretty fragile.”

“Yeah, tough for her to move him from the recliner to the wheelchair.” He took a sip of his drink. “So, you got a pen?”

I watched him rake his fingers through his beard as I fumbled blindly for the pen, and wondered what he’d look like without it. At the instant I found it, he kicked his feet onto the chair beside him, locked his hands behind his head, and flexed his biceps.

Dear. God.

With my hand still out of his line of sight, I released the pen and dropped it back into my purse.

“I thought I did, but I don’t. When we’re done, I’ll go inside and ask if they’ve got one I can use.”

“So, is this your only gig? Watching my pop?”

“Seven days a week’s pretty much all of them. I’d work more if I could, believe me.”

He pointed to my purse. “How much you giving me today?”

I had planned on paying him $1,000, but after taxes were taken out of my first check, I barely had $1,000 left. His having already spent the money to repair the motorcycle made me feel ill.

“$760. It’s all I can afford right now,” I said. “When I get caught up on a few other things, I might be able to pay a little more.”

He tilted his head toward the parking lot. “Ever ridden on a bike?”

I loved riding, and that would never change. Hiding my excitement was impossible. “My old boyfriend had one,” I blurted. “We rode all the time.”

It came out much easier than I expected. I hoped he didn’t try and pry more from me about the boyfriend, or the relationship.

“Crotch rocket?”

“No. It was an old Harley Springer.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

“What happened to him?”

And, just like that, there I was. Forced with the decision to lie, tell the truth, or change the subject.

“He moved to Pelican Bay.”

“To Crescent City, you mean? Where the joint is?”

“No,” I said. “Pelican bay. He’s an inmate there.”

His eyes went wide. “He’s in Pelican Bay?”

“Until he dies.”

“God dayummmm. Didn’t figure you for being around people like that. What’d he do?”

“That’s between him and God,” I said. “He’s gone, it’s over. Next subject.”

His face went sullen. After a moment, he grinned a very shallow grin. “You go for a ride with me?”

I was surprised he asked. As much as I enjoyed riding on motorcycles, I knew I shouldn’t – and probably wouldn’t – agree to do so with him.

I looked at my drink. It was empty. I glanced up. “Why?”

“Just for fun.”

“A fun ride? They’re like unicorns. They don’t exist. Remember, I used to date a biker. He wasn’t in a club, but he was hard core. No butt, no putt. Ever heard that one?”

He grinned. “Maybe.”

“Gas, grass, or ass. Nobody rides for free?”

He rubbed his beard. “Might have heard that one, too.”

I glanced at the trash can that was sitting beside the front door, and then at him. I took another sip through the straw and got nothing. I stood. “I’m not sucking your dick.”

“God damn. Where’d that come from?”

“You’re not giving me a ride for any other reason than you think it’ll help you get in my pants. But. I can tell you now, that’s not going to happen. Nobody’s losing their pants, pal.”

I walked to the trash can, tossed in the cup, and returned to the table. “Maybe it’d be best if I just got a pen, and we called it a night. It’s going to be dark soon, anyway.”

He tossed his head toward the parking lot. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

“I almost forgot. A fun ride.” I knew myself all too well. I shook my head. “Bad idea.”

“You go for a ride, and I’ll only make you pay two grand for the bike repairs.”

My eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “Seriously? Why?”

“I’m getting a deal on the repairs. One of my club brothers is saving me a little money.”

“$1,500 isn’t a little money,” I said. “You’re serious? Only $2,000?”

He nodded. “You go for a ride, you’ll only owe me two grand.”

It seemed too good to be true. A no strings attached ride on a Harley, and I saved $1,500. NSA Harley rides were infrequent, if they were at all. But, there was the paperwork. Still looking for an out, but not looking hard, I gave my last excuse. “I’ll have to change the paperwork.”

He shrugged. “Change the fuckin’ paperwork, then. Pay me tomorrow.”

“You understand you’re getting nothing from me? I mean it. You think I was the B-word on the porch that day? You try anything, and I mean anything, and I’ll make you wish you got attacked by a spider monkey.”

He smiled a dangerous tooth-revealing smile. “It’s just a ride.”

His teeth were stark white, and I liked that. I tried not to smile. “Got another helmet?”

“In the saddlebag.”

I picked up the papers, put them in the envelope, and dropped them in my purse. There was no in between with bikers. My choice to go for a ride was either going to be a really good decision or a really bad one.

The only way I was going to find out was to get on the bike.

So, that’s what I did.