Dixie
It was late afternoon by the time we got on the road. The fall sky went dark early as we headed out of the city and into the endlessly flat landscape that was everything east of the Rockies. When the sun went all the way down Church stopped at a truck stop a few hundred miles from the Kansas border and ordered me to put on a pair of leather riding chaps that zipped up the outside of my legs and buckled around my waist. It wasn’t that cold, but there was definitely a nip in the air as the wind rushed past us on the highway. I didn’t think I needed the leathers but there was something about the look in his eyes as he ordered me to go put the stiff garment on that made me swallow any argument I was going to give him. The blue in his eyes burned and there was heat in his eyes that wasn’t from the air slapping across his stern face. I never considered myself a leather kind of girl but apparently Church had different ideas about that.
I took the leathers from him as he turned to top off the tank. The truck stop was busy enough that it took me a few minutes to maneuver my way across the parking lot and around to the side of the building where the sign indicated that the restrooms were. I found myself quickening my pace as a couple of truckers leaning against the side of the building tracked me under the bills of their stained hats. I didn’t like the way they looked at me and I really didn’t like the way they looked over at Church.
I could have pulled the chaps on while standing in the parking lot but all that vibration and rumble underneath my backside meant Church was going to have to get used to stopping every few hours so I could use the restroom, just like I was going to have to get used to the questioning and not altogether friendly looks that were being fired his way. If he was one of those guys that was determined to make the best time from point A to point B with as few stops in between as possible, he was in for a rude awakening. And I may have stretched the truth a little bit about how recently I had had my rear end planted on the back of a motorcycle.
In high school I’d dated a wannabe rebel without a cause that rode a busted up Victory that he swore would be worth a fortune when he fixed it up. It hardly ever ran and when it did it crawled rather than roared, but other than that I tended to avoid anything that drove on two wheels instead of four. I’d let Brite take me home after work a few times when my car was in the shop and I’d ridden with Rome a time or two when he wanted me to go with him for stuff related to the bar. My dad’s accident hadn’t exactly put me off of motorcycles, but I was very cautious and careful about getting on one, and my willingness to do so was directly related to who was driving the machine. I had never done a long road trip on the back of a bike before and so far I was a fan, but that might have been directly related to the fact that I got to spend hours upon hours clutching Church like my life depended on it, because it kind of did.
I’d wanted to have my hands on the man in a totally inappropriate way since the first time I laid eyes on him, so there was no way in hell I was going to squander the opportunity to touch all the places that I was supposed to be touching as I curled into him and held on for dear life. He felt just as hard, just as hot, just as heavenly as I always figured he would, and I was really starting to resent the soft cotton of the long-sleeved T-shirt he had on for keeping all that golden skin from my fingertips. I wanted to scratch my initials into his abs and rub my palms all over the carved ridges that flexed and bunched under my hands every time he changed lanes or looked over his shoulder to check on me. I already knew Church was built like a mythical deity, but having the fact confirmed for hours upon hours as muscle moved against me was making me twitchy and damp in places that weren’t exactly comfortable against rough denim.
The truck stop bathroom wasn’t the worst I’d ever seen but it was far from the best. It was obvious women’s comfort was low on the priority list as I took in the cracked mirror and hanging door on one of the two stalls. I gingerly picked my way across the stained laminate floor, careful not to step in any of the unidentified puddles of liquid marring my path, and slipped into the stall with the working door.
I handled my business while reading the endless amount of graffiti carved on the wall—apparently there were a lot of women available for a good time if called—and used my foot to flush because there was no way I was touching anything more in this bathroom than I had to. I found a relatively clean spot in front of the mirror to wiggle into the leathers and wasn’t surprised at all when I went to wash my hands that there was no soap and barely a trickle of water leaking out of the faucet. Thankful I never went anywhere without a stash of hand sanitizer, I gave myself one last once-over, decided that I might be able to pull off a little bit of badass biker babe after all, and made my way to the door.
I gave it a tug and groaned when my fingers touched something sticky. I shook my head when nothing happened thinking that I needed to push instead of pull to escape the nastiness. I frowned when changing tactics didn’t release me from Satan’s bathroom either. I pulled harder and then resorted to using my shoulder and shoving with my entire body weight in the opposite direction but still the door remained shut. I gave a shudder and wiped my hands on my leg.
“I wonder if it’s stuck.” There wasn’t a response because I was the only soul brave enough to enter this hellhole and my voice echoed off the broken tiles that surrounded me. I heaved a sigh and tried again to pry the door open, this time putting a foot on the wall and pulling back with my entire weight. There wasn’t even a creak or a groan to indicate I was making any kind of headway.
Swearing, I patted my pockets futilely looking for a cell phone I knew good and well was in the front pocket of the backpack I had left sitting next to the bike. I didn’t want to risk it falling out of my pockets and shattering on the highway but now, trapped and getting more and more panicked every second, I wished I had thrown caution to the wind and kept the thing on me.
After a few more minutes of pushing and pulling to no avail I started looking for another way out of the bathroom. I figured that was my only option for escape unless someone else was in desperate need of the toilet and managed to Hulk the door open from the other side. I assumed Church would wonder where I had disappeared to and eventually come looking for me, but just in case he didn’t get curious fast enough to suit my now racing heart and sweaty palms I wanted to make sure there was another way out. There was a small window in the stall with the broken door that I wasn’t sure I was going to fit through. I was fairly petite, but my ass was not. I was round in all the places a woman was supposed to be round so even if I managed to get my head and shoulders through the opening I doubted the girls and my back end could squeeze through. It didn’t matter though, if someone didn’t come and set me free in the next minute I was going to try to force my way through the too-narrow opening even if I got stuck. Someone was bound to see my head sticking out of the side of the building.
“Hey! The door is stuck!” I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted in my best “last call” voice. “Someone come and let me out of here!” I used the side of my fist to pound on the door and winced as my shout bounced off the walls around me.
I kicked the door with my boot and swore again. This was actually the perfect way to end a day that had started off too early and kind of crazy.
I pulled the hairband out of my hair so I could tug on my curls. It was a nervous habit I’d always had. There was something soothing about watching the ringlets go straight and then immediately bounce back into their spiral as soon as I let them go. I started to pace anxiously back and forth in front of the door, eyeballing the window like a junkie eyed a fix. I told myself one more minute then I was climbing through regardless if I fit.
I called for help one more time and let my shoulders fall in defeat when there was no response. I was starting to really freak out and I was honestly annoyed that Church didn’t seem to find it at all odd that I had been gone for well over fifteen minutes at this point. I wanted to believe that there was a part of him that cared about me, at least a little bit, but now with his obvious lack of interest in my whereabouts it was pretty clear I was searching for affection and feelings that simply weren’t there. He kept an eye on me when it was his job and when my safety was in his hands, but when I was out of sight apparently I was also out of mind.
“Fuck this.” Throwing my hands up in the air I marched to the broken bathroom, far less careful about the goo on the floor than I was before. I was going to need an hour-long shower to even feel remotely clean after my time stuck in this craphole. I had one foot on the toilet seat and a hand on the back of the tank when I heard my name being called from the other side of the door.
There was no mistaking Church’s southern twang or the annoyance that was clear in his impatient tone.
I wilted with relief that I wasn’t going to have to climb out the window and rushed back over to the door. “It’s stuck. I’ve been in here forever!” My tone was just as irritated and annoyed as his. He should have come looking for me long before now. I crossed my arms over my chest and frowned when the door didn’t immediately swing open.
“It’s not stuck. There’s a piece of pipe shoved through the handle.” I heard the sound of metal scraping across metal and then there was a whoosh as he pulled the door open. There was a scowl on his face and a rusted metal pipe in his hand as I rushed past him and towards freedom. “Why would someone jam the bathroom door?” He tapped the pipe against his leg and looked at me like I had the answer to that very strange question.
I put my hands on my hips and narrowed my eyes at him. “Why did it take you so long to come looking for me?”
His eyebrows snapped down over his eyes and his mouth tugged down into a frown. He looked like he was going to give me attitude right back, but then his eyes traveled over me, taking in the curls that were now everywhere from my nervous fingers and my legs encased in all that black leather. Whatever he was going to say died and the gold in his better than hazel eyes sparkled and shined with something that made me want to blush and shift my weight on my feet. I knew I was all right to look at, hell, on the days I put effort into it I could be better than all right, but I’d never had anyone look at me like I was the best thing ever before, especially not someone who really was the best thing ever. It made my heart flutter and all those dreams he’d willfully crushed pulsed with new life.
Church gave his head a hard shake and cleared his throat. He tossed the pipe towards the side of the building and motioned that we should head back towards the Harley. “I was headed over here to check on you when some guy stopped me and asked me if I could help him with his car. There was smoke billowing out the front of it, so I couldn’t exactly ignore him.” He lifted his hand and rubbed his knuckles along his jaw. “I told him it was a busted radiator hose and then I came to find you.”
I huffed and moved to follow him, some of my anger dissipating since he had a reasonable excuse for not rushing to my rescue and he actually did sound sorry. “Probably just kids that thought it would be funny. It wouldn’t have been so bad if someone bothered to clean the restroom at least once this millennium.” I didn’t want to think about the truckers with their narrowed eyes and tight mouths as they watched me walk away from Church. Suddenly getting locked inside the devil’s restroom alone didn’t seem as bad as it might have been.
He grunted and turned to look at me over his shoulder. “I should have been paying closer attention. I told Rome I would watch your six, and so far I’ve done a piss-poor job of it. You shouldn’t be walking around a truck stop after dark without my eyes on you. Anything could happen, and getting locked in a dirty bathroom is the least of it.” His words mirrored my nervous train of thought to a T.
I wrinkled my nose at him as I wrestled my hair back into a band so I could fit the helmet back on my head. Some of my panic was fading and it was replaced with a healthy dose of self-recrimination. “I work in a bar, Church. I don’t get off shift until three in the morning. I know how to watch my surroundings, and I know how to take care of myself. I should have paid closer attention or waited for you to walk with me.” I swore I could feel him whenever he was close by. The air felt different, heavier, and thicker. My skin tingled while my heart raced. I would know if he was missing without even having to look for him. I would elementally know it, that’s how attuned to him I was.
He stopped at the side of the bike and turned to face me. There was a muscle ticking furiously in his jaw and his hands flexed like he couldn’t control them at his sides. “I told you I would take care of you, that I wouldn’t let anything happen to you on this trip. I know you can take care of yourself, pretty girl, but for the next few days it’s my job to take care of you. Not happy that I dropped the ball right out of the gate.”
He was mad.
I could see it in the set of his wide shoulders and in the way his mouth tightened. His gaze swirled angry and furious with a riot of clashing colors as he took a step towards me, looming and glowering as we stared at one another.
I couldn’t function. All I could do was blink up at him slowly because it was exactly like the time he asked me if I was good. I was so used to being on my own and handling whatever I was handed all by myself that it made me forget how to breathe and made my knees weak when I thought about being able to lean on his strong shoulders and to have someone else there to carry the burdens I was often loaded down with.
“Oh.” The word squeaked out, too high and too thin. I didn’t want him to give me hope that there could be more when he snatched that option away every chance he got, but his words, those beautiful words, they made all those fantasies that centered on him and I together forever pulse and pound hard in my blood.
He reached out a hand and used the tip of one of his fingers to tuck a loose curl back behind my ear. “I will do a better job of keeping an eye on you while you’re in my hands.”
I wanted to turn my face into his palm and let him caress my cheek but it was all too much for my tender heart to take. The only thing I’d wanted since I fell for him was to be in his hands and for him to find a place for me inside of his heart. I’d wanted all the things he was saying to me from him when I thought there was the possibility of a future for us. He was going home to a life that didn’t include me and I was going back to Denver and a life that wasn’t going to be nearly as satisfying without him. Him giving all of this to me now felt wasted and trivial. He could throw pretty words and sentiment at me because he knew we were going to head our separate ways soon and he wouldn’t have to live up to them for very long.
I took a step away from him and tugged on the end of my coat so that I didn’t reach for him. “It was just a prank gone wrong. I’m sure it will be smooth sailing from here on out. We’d better get going if you want to make it into Kansas tonight. You said you wanted to ride at least a few more hours as long as the weather cooperated.”
He looked like he wanted to say something more to me but instead he gave a jerky nod and moved to strap his own headgear on. He swung a long leg over the bike and waited for me to situate myself behind him before starting the motor back up. I didn’t hold him as tightly as I had the first part of the ride and I didn’t lean as close to him as I could. My body wanted the contact but the rest of me couldn’t take it. He had my emotions on overload and my hormones battling against common sense. This favor felt like it might be the death of me and we hadn’t even crossed any state lines yet.
I had my hands low on Church’s ribs, but kept a pretty tight grip on him with my legs. It didn’t feel as intimate as curling myself into his back and even though the distance was minimal it felt like we were miles apart. His big body was just as stiff as mine was as he muscled the motorcycle through some heavy traffic the closer we got to the border of Kansas. It was semi-truck after semi-truck whizzing by making air rush around us and provoking me to be even more alert and tenser than I normally was when riding. Being on a motorcycle was already dangerous, being on a motorcycle surrounded by twenty-ton trucks seemed even more hazardous. If Church lost focus or got distracted at all, things weren’t going to go well for either of us. Luckily he drove the bike like he did everything else, with single-minded determination and unwavering intensity. There was nothing casual or relaxed about him as he zipped around the big rigs. I wasn’t sure that was how he normally handled the bike or if he was simply being extra cautious because of my history but either way I was grateful for his palpable concentration and consideration.
It took us another hour to hit the very flat and, even in the dark, very boring landscape of Kansas. We had the entire state to drive through tomorrow and I knew from a previous road trip that I had taken with my family when I was younger that we were in for a lot of corn and cows. I was ready to call it a day. My backside was starting to get numb and my spine hurt from sitting so straight so that I could keep some breathing room between me and Church’s leather-clad back. I was also hungry and still needed that hour-long shower to wash away the grime and gunk from the truck stop bathroom. Not to mention I’d been pulled from bed way earlier than I was used to, so I was struggling to keep my eyes open and to stay alert to what was happening around us.
I was leaning forward in order to holler into Church’s ear that he should stop when we got to the next town that looked like it might have a decent hotel or motel for us to crash at for the evening. I was jolted from my position when all of a sudden an engine revved, tires squealed, and headlights cut across the black asphalt far too close to us for any kind of comfort.
I couldn’t stop the shrill shriek of terror that ripped out of my throat as the massive machine I was perched so precariously on rapidly veered to the right. I felt a wobble and heard the motor protest underneath me.
Pride be damned. I threw myself into Church’s back and wrapped my arms so tightly around his middle that I wouldn’t be surprised if he had to struggle to breathe. I squeezed my eyes shut and sent a silent prayer up to the sky just in case some divine being wanted to cut me a break today. I didn’t see my life flash before my eyes but everything that could be did.
The family of my own I would never have.
The perfect wedding that I’d dreamed of ever since I was little looking at the pictures that hung in my house from that magical day my mom and dad shared.
The guy … who wasn’t perfect … but still made my heart flutter and my knees weak. The one that I wanted more than anything I had ever wanted before … the one who felt cold yet refused to let me warm him up.
And the sex … good God the sex. The mind-melting, soul-stopping, heart-healing, and body-bending sex. The sex that would make all other sex meaningless and forgettable. The sex that would make everything old feel new again. The sex that would be unforgettable and extraordinary. The sex I was never going to have because the man I wanted to have it with didn’t know what I knew.
It made me want to cry for what could be and for what should be. It made me hurt for both of us because even though my heart was invested and his wasn’t I knew Church deserved more than a life spent alone staggering through the dark.
By some miracle the bike stayed upright and neither one of us went flying off the seat and into a field of corn. Church pulled the motorcycle over onto the shoulder of the highway and propped the heavy machine up on the kickstand so that we both could climb off and catch our breath. Big trucks continued to zoom by oblivious to the near-death experience that left us both shaken and rattled.
Church ripped his helmet off and glared down the highway like his fury alone was enough to stop the reckless driver in his tracks so that vengeance and quite possibly an ass kicking could be doled out. He shifted his furious gaze to me and put the helmet on the seat of the bike so that he could catch me when I started to wilt to the ground. My legs wouldn’t hold me up anymore and my spine felt like Jell-O as I folded towards the asphalt.
I was shaking so hard that he had to struggle to find a good grip on my arms to keep me upright. “It’s okay, Dixie. I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
I couldn’t do it anymore. The space was too much. I needed his strength and his quiet confidence to keep me from falling apart on the side of the road.
I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my face into the center of his chest. I could hear his heart beating just as fast as mine was but while I quaked and quivered, struggling not to cry, he stood sturdy and strong, unruffled and as cool and calm as always. He was like a tree standing tall and unmoved after a terrible storm. There was so much comfort in that steady self-assurance that my legs quit trembling and my lungs remembered how to work.
I breathed him in and exhaled the terror and panic out. I thought he was going to stand there immobile and immovable but his hold shifted from my upper arms so that one arm wrapped around my shoulders clutching me to him almost as tightly as I was clinging to his waist, while the other moved so that one of his hands was cradling the back of my head, helmet and all. He held me to him letting me know that if pieces started to break off if I did indeed shatter, he was there to catch them and put them back in place. It was singularly the most important and most impactful hug of my entire life.
After a few minutes of headlights hitting us and exhaust fumes choking us I gave him one last hug for good measure and pulled back enough that I could look up and barely make out his features in the shadows.
“I totally believe that it’s in your best interest to keep me alive, Church. I’m having serious doubts other motorists feel the same way. That was way too close for comfort.” My voice was slightly shaky and the humor I attempted was forced at best.
He gave a little nod of agreement. “Way too close. If I hadn’t been paying attention that would have been bad … really bad.” I appreciated the fact he didn’t sugarcoat things for me. I hated the fact that he seemed to be taking some sort of responsibility for the poor driving habits of someone else when he told me, “I shouldn’t have asked you to take this trip with me. I should have just bought you a plane ticket and met you at the airport. I’m used to the risk and I was being selfish and shortsighted as usual.”
I lifted a hand from his waist to the side of his face. His cheek was warm despite the chill from the night air around us. He also had the start of a golden scruff that made him look even more attractive … if that was possible. His jaw felt like steel under the tips of my fingers but the curve of his bottom lip was soft as I ran the pad of my thumb over it. The touch must have startled him because his lips opened on a soundless sigh and his breath whispered out to touch my fingers.
“I told you I am well aware of the hazards that are associated with riding motorcycles. I am intimately acquainted with all the things that can and do go wrong. My dad was a very skilled rider and he still got hurt. Sometimes bad things happen and all we can do is learn to adapt and work with what comes next. I knew the risks involved and I said yes anyway.” I was talking about more than the risks involved with spending endless hours on a two-wheeled death machine and he knew it.
We stared at each other in silence for a long time until he gave a jerky nod against the fingers that were still tracing the lush outline of his very kissable mouth. “I think we should call it good for the day. We can pull off at the next exit and find a hotel to crash in.”
I nodded in agreement. “Okay.” But there was something I had to know before we tempted fate by getting back on the bike. “Hey, Church.” My voice was husky and rough in the darkness that surrounded us.
“Hey, Dixie.” His always gruff voice rasped like sandpaper across my overly sensitized skin.
I shifted my hand to his cheek and lifted the other one up to his thickly muscled shoulder so I could get the leverage I needed to lift myself up onto the tips of my toes to reach those delectable lips that had been calling to me since day one. He grunted a little as I leaned fully into him so that we were chest to chest and almost lip to lip.
If I was going to risk my neck on the back of his bike with all the crazies out here on the road, not knowing what could happen to either of us from one moment to the next, I was going to do it knowing what it was like to kiss him. I was going to know what his mouth felt like on mine and how he tasted on my tongue. I was going to memorize every single nuance and every little sound because when I went back to Denver this kiss and the memory of what it felt like was going to have to last me a lifetime.