On the drive to my parents’ house the next day my phone chimes with a text. When I stop at a red light I find a message from my dad: Change of plans, honey. I'll need a rain check.

Hmph. I toss the phone on the seat and press the gas. It's not the first time my dad has cancelled on me.

It’s likely my mom will be home on a Sunday, so I continue on my way. Sure enough, she and my 15-year-old sister Kendra are in the kitchen when I arrive.

“Hey, dear, did your father reach you?” Mom hugs me, carefully keeping her flour-covered hands clear of my clothes.

“Yeah, I got a message from him. Something came up?” I give Kendra a hug and kiss the top of her head.

“Some business meeting, I think.” Her evasive tone is impossible to miss.

“Might that be on the golf course?”

“Yes, I think so, dear.”

Naturally.

They're making cookies. Mom rolls out the dough while Kendra puts parchment on baking sheets. I visit pretty frequently, but I still miss this. I grab a cookie cutter and join in.

“What's new with you, sweetie?”

My mom would probably fall out of her apron if I told her what was actually new with me. I can just imagine our conversation. What's new? Oh, not much. I just spent the past two days in bed with twin bikers. What's that, mom? Yes, bikers. As in Hell’s Angels. Yeah, they're huge, covered in tattoos. Dressed in leather. That is, when they're dressed at all.

“Not much,” I tell her, taking a turn at evasion. I cut out a few ghosts and search for the cutter shaped like a witch’s hat.

I'm not lying to my mom, just leaving out details of my life that she wouldn't want to hear, but it feels dishonest anyhow. I've confided in her about many things in my life, but I know better than to tell her about Deke and Jake. She'd go into cardiac arrest.

“Are you and your friends having a Halloween party this year?” Kendra asks.

“No plans to. I’ll probably be studying.”

“You should see my costume,” she says. “I’m going to be a punk rock zombie. I have a mohawk wig, black fishnet tights, and a makeup kit to make it look like my skin is rotting.”

I look between my sister and mother, my eyes wide. My mom goes stiff and I swear the temperature in the kitchen drops fifteen degrees. “That’s not an appropriate costume for a young lady,” Mom announces.

Kendra looks at me, hoping for encouragement, but I’m not touching this topic with a ten-foot pole. I would never have tried to wear a costume like that at my sister’s age. Hell, I probably still wouldn’t.

I give her a sympathetic smile, but don’t say anything. The atmosphere in the kitchen stays tense, but they both carry on making cookies. When the first pan is in the oven, Mom brings up one of her favorite topics.

“Have you seen Neil lately?”

“I told you we broke up.” The shape I’m cutting sticks to the counter, and I squish the dough between my fingers to channel my frustration.

“I still have hopes for you two. Neil is a catch.”

“Uh huh,” is all I say. I’ve been over this with her, but she only hears what she wants to. On paper, Neil’s a catch — good family, just passed the bar exam, on his way to a very promising career — but in real life? Not so much.

Sex isn’t everything, though it is important. Today, my body still humming from all the pleasure the twins gave me, I can’t help but contrast Neil’s bedroom performance — or lack thereof — with Jake and Deke’s generous attention to my every desire.

I know the Abbott brothers aren’t right for my future, but they made it painfully clear that Neil isn’t right for me either. Somewhere, a man must exist who’s caring, kind, good in bed, and would pass muster with my parents. Right?

Another cookie sticks to the counter, and this time I ball up the dough and jam it in my mouth.

* * *

That night, I find out that my walk on the wild side did not make my biker fantasy disappear. Quite the opposite. The fantasy is now an extended length, full color, richly-detailed double feature that has me tossing and turning and waking up hornier than a sailor at sea.

I take an ice-cold shower in the morning and throw myself into my job during the day. In the evening, I study, but somehow even the dry material of a financial course manages to sound sexual to my lust-addled brain.

Tuesday, I drag myself through the same routine, hoping that with each passing day, I’ll be thinking of Deke and Jake less and less. But that night, while I struggle to focus on a video lesson, the rumble of an engine interrupts my already-weak concentration.

I don’t typically hear motorcycles in my apartment complex; I don’t think anyone nearby owns one. When the sound is doubled, I immediately jump up to look out the window.

My body’s reaction to the sight of Deke and Jake is intense. If I were an illustration, I’d have been in black and white, and I’d instantly turn to color upon seeing them.

My skin becomes electrified, and heat floods my core as I watch them dismount their rides. My heart soars.

Is this what terrific sex does to a person? How am I going to move past this Pavlov-type response to them?

I decide to worry about that later.

Like an eager puppy, I have my door open before they’re halfway up the stairs. The option of playing it cool doesn’t even occur to me until later. When they’re within reach, I hug them before welcoming them inside.

“How you doin’, sugar?” Jake asks.

“Good. How are you?”

“Better now, darlin’. Did you miss us?” Deke kisses me as soon as I close the door.

“Yeah. I guess you missed me, too?”

“We were just in the neighborhood,” Jake says with a laugh.

“Well, I’m glad you stopped by.”

I hear myself then. I sound like we’ve been apart for months when it’s only been two days. But if they’re here, they must be missing me too, right?

Then Deke pulls something from the pocket of his jacket. “I found this under my bed. Your scarf?”

He hands it to me and my heart goes cold. They’ve just come to return something to me. “Thank you,” I say, hoping I don’t sound as disappointed and pathetic as I feel.

We’re still standing just inside the door. I suddenly feel awkward and revert to formal manners. “Would you like something to drink? Come in and have a seat.”

“We can’t stay,” Deke says. “We have to get back to the bar.” His words are like little knives to my heart. “There’s another ride this weekend, though. We wondered if you’d like to go.”

My heart’s on a roller coaster. I’m an idiot. I make an attempt at restraint. “Where to?” I ask, even as inside I’m yelling, Yes, yes, yes!

“Over toward Lewiston,” Jake says. “Great fall colors right now. This may be the last club ride of the year.”

“That makes sense,” I say.

“Are you free?” Deke asks.

“I think so … yeah, I can probably go.”

His mouth turns up in a grin, and I try not to giggle at the emotion bubbling up in my chest. What the hell is wrong with me?

“We’ll be in touch Friday with details.” And with two not-long-enough hugs and two delicious kisses, they’re gone. I’d wonder if I imagined them if I couldn’t still feel the scratch of their beards on my cheek.

What am I doing? My biker experience was supposed to be a one-night thing. Not a long weekend, and certainly not a repeat event the following weekend.

I already know deep down inside me that the more time I spend with them, the harder it will be to say goodbye for good.

I press play on the assigned video again, but the words are a jumble and my eyes don’t focus on the screen. After a minute of indecision, I pick up my phone and summon professional help.