Excitement.

It settled in her chest, seeping into her sternum like a jolt of adrenalin oozing into her heart, speeding up the rhythm to a staccato that only she could hear. The old man who ventured into the branch library twice a week to leave little treasures on the checkout desk had nothing for her today. Keoni wasn’t disappointed with his lack of attention. His treats always ended up in the trash but it was still nice to be thought about.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Willie. No treat for me today?” she asked the old man who often smelled like corn chips and browned butter.

“Why do you care? You just throw them in the trash anyway,” he said.

“Mr. Willie, it is nice to be thought about. Your gifts make me feel special, even though they are inappropriate. How about you share a good word with me each time you come into the library instead?”

“Anticipation,” Mr. Willie offered. “That’s a good word and it’s all over you. Ms. Wiles, you look different, too. Not so tight about the mouth.”

“I got some sleep,” she lied.

“Looks like you got a new man. Your hair’s different. New dress, too,” he said.

The troubling feeling she often got around men surfaced, especially from a patron who paid such close attention to her. It was also part of the reason she’d started taking self-defense classes, which lead to Taekwondo classes, which led to her earning a black belt. The black belt was a backup in case her gun failed. If shit got nasty and hand-to-hand became necessary, she was ready for that as well.

Keoni always played it safe. In college, she majored in a safe field, took a safe job, and began dating safe men. At 38 years old, safety had bored her to the point of screwing a stranger in a bar on a nasty chair. The same stranger with piercing blue eyes she couldn’t wait to see in a few hours. Mr. Willie was also a stranger, who in all fairness was simply strange.

“Nice of you to notice, Mr. Willie,” she said.

“You should go,” he said to her.

“Go where?” she asked surprised.

“He’s going to ask you to go with him on a weekend trip. You should go. It will change everything for you,” Mr. Willie said with a wink.

Strange.

Keoni gulped hard. The palpitations in her chest grew more rapid by the minute. The old man creeped her out. She threw away the treats he often gave her out of fear that he put “roots,” a term her Mama used for voodoo spells, on the trinkets.

“Mr. Willie, your second sight is giving me a fright,” she said, forcing a smile on the corner of her lips.

“No. You met somebody. You like him. He likes you. Go with him. You’re long overdue for a dose of fun,” the old man said, offering a wink of his muddy cataract-covered eyes that were once hazel.

Keoni stared at him as he wandered off into the stacks. He would be back as soon as the van for the Senior Home where he lived returned. One audio book and one movie were his normal checkouts on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Every other Saturday, Mr. Willie also came in. This time on his way out, he laid an old weathered hand on the counter. When he lifted it to collect his movie and audio book, he left the familiar stench of corn chips and brown butter and a mini motorcycle on a key chain.

“That old man is fucking creeping me out,” Lola Darting, the evening supervisor said.

“You and me both,” Keoni responded, picking up the key chain. Her eyes watched him walk away and a chill ran down her spine. On Thursday, he’d left her a piece of black satin. The dress she wore on Friday night had a black satin bodice. Her eyes went back to the key chain.

The mini motorcycle was pink. She thought about her friend Onyx, who was a member of the Atlanta Chapter of the Lady Guardians Motorcycle Club. More than anything she wanted to be a member. The non-profit group of lady riders, raised money for charity organizations. She knew the National Chapter, based in Pennsylvania, started out as a group of 1%’s who went legit. The colors of the MC were pink and black and she envisioned herself on a hot black bike, trimmed in pink. However, before she could join, or become a “Hang Around” to learn the culture and rules, she needed to learn to ride. Hell, she could barely ride a bicycle let alone hold up a motorized one and ride through Atlanta traffic. Keoni could barely drive a car through it. She thought again about the movie she’d seen as a child, and after the ride last night on Throttle, the idea surfaced again as she touched the mini pink bike.

I can actually do this.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Lola asked. “Is he telling you to get a motorcycle? That old man is a nuisance.”

“No, he is a Seer,” Keoni said with a wry smile.

“Seer my left nipple! He can barely see three feet in front of him, let alone anyone’s future. Old Gandalf the Grey needs to take a shower, smelling like old French fries cooked in dirty grease,” Lola said with her lip turned up.

“I thought he smelled like corn chips and browned butter,” Keoni said.

“See, there you go. The last time I smelled browned butter was when the skillet got too hot and I scorched my eggs. Girl, I’m telling you – write. All those metaphors and similes you use. You are always playing with words all day long to describe every nuance you’re feeling. We could be rich by now,” Lola said.

“How could we be rich? Neither of us are French, so you can stop with the Oui” Keoni said.

“I would be your agent. Booking you on a library tour around the state. Girl,” she said with her lips pursed.

“I’m going to lunch, Lola,” Keoni said, ignoring the suggestion the woman made.

“Think about it,” Lola told her.

Keoni couldn’t think about it. All she could think about was Throttle. His muscled frame under the leather pants as she bounced on him like a child welcoming Daddy home from a hard day’s work. The scent of his cologne lingered in her brain’s storage bank, triggering feelings of warmth in her mid-section. The feel of him inside of her generated butterflies in her stomach when she thought of him. He had been relatively cool about the whole thing. She smiled at how he snuck her out the back door and sent her home.

Protective.

Her heart started to beat faster again as she mentally ran over everything in her closet to wear tonight on their date. Sexy. He wants sexy. I can do that.

The evening traffic was going to be a monster. Throttle hated midtown and the crowds of the city. All he wanted to do was fill up his pull-behind trailer loaded with his tent and mini grill, then head to the lake for weekend. Fresh fish, clean air, and no traffic noise. Atlanta was starting to feel like Los Angeles—over populated with self-centered assholes.

He let Keoni pick the place simply because he had no idea where she lived. The car tags on the blue Ford had been smudged with dirt, so he couldn’t even see the county she lived in, if it were in fact her vehicle.

“Stop it,” he said aloud as he straddled his Valkyrie, kickstarting the motor. “You will find all of that in about an hour.”

The engine roared to life as he backed out of the garage, turning the nose towards the city and heading to the rendezvous spot to meet Hot Stuff, who also was on her way to The Vortex.

Anticipation.

It rode shotgun through side streets that everyone else seemed to have found on their GPS as well, slowing down the eagerness to get to her new man. Hell, she first needed to get rid of the old one who hung around like funk in the bedroom after having sex once you left the gym. Carlton wasn’t really her man. After tonight, she planned to make Throttle hers, if he wasn’t weird. Or violent. Or a criminal. Or married. Or a whore.

“Who am I to talk?” she asked, shrugging her shoulders as she made a left on 8^th Street, coming up the back way and parking under a street light. The heels were high, the skirt was short, and the blouse was cut low. The bright red cotton clung to her C cups, making the push-up bra earn its price. Her breasts jiggled when she walked into the bar to find him sitting in a waiting chair, long leather clad legs spread wide, tedium covering his face. His eyes grazed her up and down when she walked in, taking in everything from the hot red toenails to the bright red blouse. Her long, well-shaped legs seemed to go on forever and Throttle swore his heart stopped beating, his dick grew three inches, and the saliva in his mouth congealed.

“Hey there, Hot Stuff,” he said, getting to his feet, giving a nod to the hostess that they were ready to be seated.

“Throttle,” she said, walking over to him, placing her arms around his neck. Her red matte lipstick gave her mouth a fuller look. “How’s my man?”

“Hungry,” he said, placing a single warm hand on her waist. He didn’t trust himself to touch her any more than that or they would be asked to leave the establishment for inappropriate behavior.

“Me too,” she said as the hostess asked them to follow her.

Throttle followed that ass in the skirt that begged for him to lift it to see what was underneath. If he were lucky, nothing was under it and he would get a chance to taste the goodies in the jar. I bet she tastes sweet.

He held her chair, waiting for her to take a seat. When he removed his leather jacket, Keoni noticed he wore an Easy Low Riders MC black tee. She had a million questions.

“Thanks twice for the other night,” she started the conversation.

“Yeah, about that,” he said but was interrupted by the waitress, who wanted their drink orders. Throttle ordered a bourbon neat, and she a dark cola. Her eyes took him all in. Keoni loved the scraggy look about him. He appeared as if he had tried and half way through said ‘fuck it, good enough’.

It was good enough for her.

“Hot Stuff, how did you wind up in my bar?” he asked.

“Your bar?”

“My bar,” he repeated.

“Totally accidental,” she said. “I was supposed to meet my friend who is a Lady Guardian at a biker bar for a drink. Didn’t realize I turned down the wrong street. I saw all the bikes and assumed it was the right one, that is until I walked in.”

“That was stupid,” he said.

“You telling me? To have that big joker walk over and whip out his junk at me. The chanting people? Hell, I’ve seen that in a movie. I figured either I take you or they would take me. I wasn’t going to be running to my car with my ripped-up panties around my ankles,” she said with wide eyes.

A smile crept across his sexy lips as he watched her talk with her hands. Expressive. Warm. Full of life.

“You’re a Jodi fan I take it,” he said softly.

“I was until that Hotel movie. That thing wasn’t worth the film it was printed on,” she said. “Have you seen it?”

“I have,” he said, watching her.

“Okay, action movies or thrillers?’

“I prefer the thriller. Gives me something to ponder while the movie runs. You know, see if I can figure it out,” he said. “I take it you are an action junkie?”

“In real life, no, but movies, oh yeah. The higher the body count the better,’ she said.

“John Wick is up your alley,” he said with no emotion in his voice.

“It was okay. The 50-year-old Keanu can’t move like he did in his ‘take the red pill’ days,” she said, watching the waitress set their drinks on the table. Her stomach rumbled as she looked at him, waiting for him to order.

He made direct eye contact with Keoni as he placed his order. “Ka’mana Wa’na Lei’ya, for me,” Throttle said.

“Everything on it?” the waitress asked.

“Hold the pickle,” he said, arching an eyebrow.

“And for you?” she asked Keoni.

“I’ll have the Big Naked Weenie, with a side of coleslaw, no fries please,” she said, keeping eye contact with him.

He liked her. A lot. But he wasn’t convinced she wasn’t a half-opened bag of crazy just yet. The low-cut blouse gave him a generous eyeful of what he’d held so dearly on Friday night. Lowering his head, he scratched at his eyebrow.

“Don’t worry, I’m normal,” she said. “Actually, probably too normal for an Easy Rider like you.”

“Everybody has a day job, Hot Stuff. Mine just happens to be at night in a biker bar. I make good money and have great customers and lively Friday nights,” he said. “Kinda curious about how you make money to pay for all them sexy clothes and high heels.”

“The old-fashioned way. I punch a clock in the second oldest profession,” she said, watching his face. “I’m a librarian.”

“Second oldest?” A librarian was the last thing he expected her to say. The idea of her with glasses perched on the end of her nose sitting behind a pile of books was turning him on. He picked up the bourbon and took a sip.

“The keepers of knowledge have existed in every culture from the recorders of stick figures on cave walls to the Mayans calculating the rotations of the sun to make calendars,” she said. “That knowledge, recorded later in books, was housed in buildings for those with the ability to understand language and words in many forms. We have always existed. Paid by the richest in the land and loosely formed governments to record history and keep the words safe.”

She watched his face to measure his non-verbal response to her nerdy side. Usually at this point, her date would call for the check and the evening would be over. Throttle, however, didn’t appear to be in any hurry to leave.

He asked, “How have you managed to stay single?”

“Easy. A shortage of decent men, unless I want to share some lady’s husband or fiancé,” she said, leaning forward. “I’m not hard up enough to be a pen pal with a felon for affection and refuse to consider the companionship of a woman.”

“I hear every woman has tried it at least once. Especially in college,” he said, attempting to gauge her reaction.

“I’ve heard as well,” she said. “If I am to be honest with you, I have been in one too many locker rooms after a sweaty Zumba class. You can always tell the woman lovers who sit around with their noses in the air, inhaling the smell of our sour cunnies as if it were a hot naked wiener sizzling on the grill on the Fourth of July.”

Throttle found himself laughing. She was refreshing. Honest. A dose of something new that he desperately needed. His heart was beating fast again.

“I take it you are single as well, or at least I hope,” she said. “I would feel mighty bad about Friday night if you belonged to someone. Do you belong to someone, Throttle?”

“Yes, I do,” he said, cocking his head as he watched her facial expression. She lowered her head at the same moment the food arrived.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “No disrespect to your lady. I was in survival mode and I guess thanks for meeting me for dinner to let me down easy.”

“Let you down?”

“You said you belong to someone,” she said with her eyes wide.

“I do,” he said, looking at the burger like he’d been looking at her. He didn’t know which one he wanted to eat first. “You.”

The smile that came across her face was so brilliant, so wide, that it made him smile back at her. Quietly they sat, saying nothing, yet speaking volumes only their hearts could hear. His fingers ran across the fine hairs of his chin as he looked at her order.

“That’s one big wiener,” he said.

“Yeah, it is,” she said picking it up, trying to figure out how to get the 9 inches of pure grilled beef into her mouth.

“Hot Stuff, I am trying my best to be gentlemanly, but you are pushing me real hard,” Throttle said.

“I just bet,” she said, her cheeks warming up.

Throttle tapped on the bun, running his finger across the buttery top. He stopped himself. It was getting too sexual. He’d had that in spades. The whole point of the date was to find out if she was something more than a Friday night ride.

“I came on this date, hoping to find … I dunno, different from the normal walk throughs at the bar. I can get a ride any Friday night. Hot Stuff, can you give me more?” he asked, waiting for an answer that would change his world.

“Depends on what your more entails,” she said. “Picket fence, two story home, and cranky cat I already have. A good job I already have. The question is, what are you willing to give me that is more than I currently possess?’

Throttle sat there, blinking as if he were the deer and she was the oncoming truck. He was frozen in place, lost in his head, ready to challenge her to bring him more than he had, yet he hadn’t been prepared to offer her anything other than himself.

Then, he began to laugh.

“I’m still waiting,” she said to him.

“I was so busy thinking of all the things I wanted from the next woman in my life that it never dawned on me that she would want to know what I was bringing to the table,” he said. “I can’t quantify it.”

“Let me help you throttle it down, Bar Owner,” she said. “You own the bar, correct? Then it means you have no criminal record or you wouldn’t be able to have the business and liquor license. Divorced? Kids? Baby Mama drama?”

“No kids. No felonies,” he said.

“Why are you single?”

“I just haven’t found the right woman who digs what I dig,” he said.

“Think of me as a shovel. I can’t help you dig if I don’t know what we are hunting for under the soil,” she said, still trying to figure out how to get the big wiener in her mouth without appearing vulgar. She gave up the attempt to be cute and wrapped her lips around the end of the big wiener and sank her teeth into the flesh. Throttle cringed focusing on what he needed to say next.

“I like weekends at the lake, fishing, grilling the fresh fish I just caught, and riding my bike to get out of the city,” he said, touching the bun. “Movies, dinner, time on the couch, and a hearty discussion on life, liberty, and the pursuit of bullshit we think makes us happy. I hate the mall, and shopping in general. I work most nights because I own a bar. I sleep late, stay up late, and every free chance I get I’m on my bike, or one of them, riding out.”

“Are you interested in selling the bar or is that how you plan to continue living once you get a few pups?” she wanted to know.

“Thinking of selling it,” he said.

“Well, now I have something to work with,” she said. After seeing Throttle cringe when she bit into the big wiener, Keoni switched tactics and used her fork to hack off the other tip of the wiener. Throttle approved with a smile. Chewing happily, she dabbed at the corners of her mouth with the napkin.

“I love weekends at the lake. I want to be a Lady Guardian and ride a bad ass black bike trimmed in hot pink accents. Truthfully, I can’t be your girl and get fucked every Friday night for your biker buddies in the middle of the floor. You working nights is an issue. I don’t want to see my man in passing as I’m going to work and he’s walking in the door smelling like musty pussy, sour cigarettes, and beer. You can’t have this and that, too.”

“Well, damn,” he said.

Keoni took another forkful of the wiener, smiling at him. “We can start a relation-blip and see where it heads, but I’m doubtful if we get far.”

“A relation-blip?” he asked.

“Yeah, we screw around for a few months until I start bitching about never seeing you – that kind of thing,” she said with smile.

“I’m hoping for more than a few months with you,” he said. “I don’t want to see our relations become a blip on your radar screen.”

She leaned back in the chair, mentally replaying the few words he’d spoken, picking up on the main topic. This she replied to. “So, we’re heading to the lake this weekend?”

Throttle started to laugh again. “I like you, Hot Stuff,” he said.

“I like you, too,” she said. “If it’s okay with you, I say let’s play together for a while, then decide if it is worth making life changes to accommodate the other. If not, we can have a good time, but I’m never coming back in your bar.”

“You damned right you aren’t,” he said, picking up the burger to take a large bite. No games. Sharp as a whip and a keeper of knowledge. Me, with a fucking librarian.

“I am definitely planning to check that out,” he said aloud with a chuckle.