I was ready for my date with Paige. As I rode through town on my bike, I kept thinking about that one question she was going to ask. I knew what I was going to ask her, but there were a ton of questions she could throw out there that I didn’t want to answer. Like what happened with my mother, or why I moved to Brookings. She could ask more about my father or ask me what sort of plans I had for the future.
Those types of questions opened up cans of worms I didn’t want to deal with, and in any other scenario, I would just lie. For some reason, it didn’t feel right to lie to Paige like that. Deep down, I didn’t want to.
I rode into the hotel parking lot and pulled out my phone. I wanted to let her know I was here while still keeping boundaries. If she switched hotels just because I followed her to one, then it meant she was taking precautions to keep herself safe. That meant she was definitely in this city alone, and I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable or feel as if she had any reason to fear me.
After all, I was hoping she’d come home with me tonight.
I sat there and waited on my bike as I pulled out a second helmet. When she came outside, I had to take in a deep breath. The jeans she wore fit her curves in all the right ways, but it was her top that took me by surprise. It was form-fitting this time, showing off her voluptuous tits and her slim waist. Her hair was piled high on her head, and she had earrings dangling from her ears that accentuated her neck.
I wanted to sink my teeth into her neck.
She looked radiant, and my cock was already growing to life against my bike as she approached.
“It really is a nice bike,” she said.
“She’s treated me well, so I treat her well.”
“She?”
“I call her Onyx,” I said.
“You named your bike?” she asked as she took the helmet from me.
“I did,” I said, grinning.
“Well, that’s a first, too. I’ve never been on a bike, and I’ve never known someone to name their bike.”
“Then you haven’t met someone who treats their bike with any amount of respect,” I said.
She slipped the helmet onto her head, and I helped her onto the back of the bike. I was waiting for her to slip her hands around my waist so we could take off, but instead, I only felt her shifting around.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. Isn’t there something I should hang on to so, you know, I don’t go flying off the bike?”
I chuckled. “You really haven’t ever ridden on a motorcycle before, have you?”
“Nope.”
I smirked as I turned my head around to look at her puzzled expression. “You hang onto me.”
“Seriously?” she asked.
“Yep. You slip your arms around my waist and hang onto me.”
“There’s gotta be handlebars somewhere,” she said.
“You can risk flying off, or you can hold onto me. Your choice.”
“Now I see why you wanted to pick me up on this thing.”
“It has its perks,” I said. “You ready?”
Her arms slipped around my waist, and my leg jumped against my bike. Her short arms held me close as her chest pressed into my back. I could feel her tits through my jacket as she scooted toward me just an inch.
The feeling of her body next to mine had my mind whirling with images of her, our clothes discarded next to my bed, her sounds filling the corners of my cabin, her body writhing against mine as I pounded her slick, juicy pussy.
“Aren’t we going to go to dinner?” Paige asked.
“Yep. Just making sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. I’m clinging to a stranger on the back of a motorcycle, but I’m good.”
“You’re safe with me, I promise.”
I flipped up the kickstand and eased us onto the road. Her grip tightened around me automatically. I stayed in the right hand lane and took it slow. I made sure to take the long way to the restaurant so she could really get a feel for the bike. If she turned down my invitation to go back to my place, I had another idea in mind.
But it required her feeling safe on the bike.
We pulled up to the restaurant just shy of eight o’clock. She unraveled from me and took off the bike helmet. Somehow, she seemed more beautiful than when I’d picked her up. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled with something like excitement. I stored the helmets away before I offered her my hand, and she slipped her small one into mine easily before we made our way into the restaurant.
The feeling of her skin against mine prickled the hairs on my arm.
We sat down at our table, and Paige ordered a glass of wine. I decided to get myself a beer. Then the two of us settled into our seats. We looked at each other for a little while, just staring and smiling. The silence that hung between us was comfortable. It was unlike any other silence I’d ever experienced with someone.
“How was work today?” Paige asked.
“It was what it was. I got off a bit early today, which was nice. They’ve been working us hard.”
“An uptick in business?” she asked.
“Yep. More housing for Brookings means more clearing of trees.”
“I’m sure the environmental activists love that.”
“Are you one of them?” I asked.
“Nah. My passions are elsewhere.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Is that your question?”
I hooked my eyes onto hers as my thoughts swirled in my brain at a thousand miles a second. I was hoping she’d forgotten about that agreement, but clearly, she had not.
“No, it’s not,” I said.
“I enjoy painting every now and then,” Paige said.
“You’re a painter.”
“No, I enjoy painting. Calling myself a painter suggests that it’s what I do for a living.”
“What do you do for a living?” I watched that same look of apprehension rise in her eyes, and I decided I would make this my question. “That is my question for the evening. What do you do for a living?”
It took her a long time to respond, and the longer the silence elongated, the more curious I became as to what her profession was.
“I research people,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
Our drinks were set in front of us on the table, and Paige quickly put in an order for an appetizer. I wasn’t paying attention to the food any longer. I was paying attention to her story.
“I was an art history major in college,” she said. “When I graduated, I quickly found that an art history major was essentially pointless unless I wanted to teach. Which I wasn’t about to do.”
“So how did you fall into researching people?” I asked.
“I was offered a job helping a company keep tabs on people. Basic profiles. It’s what debt collecting agencies do. They have people who gather information on those who owe others money.”
“So, you work for a debt collection agency?” I asked.
“I do, but I’m not the person that calls you on the phone telling you that you have a bill that’s been sent to collections. I’m the person holed up in an office tracking down basic information on you to pass on so those people on the phone can get in contact with you.”
“I can honestly say you’re the first person I’ve ever met that does something like that. If I had any debt, I’d be worried.”
“Be lucky you’re debt free. Doing this type of mindless work pays off my student loan debts, but once they’re paid down, I’m out of there.”
“So, you don’t enjoy it?”
“No, I still have a passion for my art that I can’t kick.”
“Ah, so you are a painter,” I said.
“An aspiring painter. I’m not making money with it yet, but maybe someday I will.”
“What do you enjoy painting?”
“I don’t have a particular motif or subject I enjoy painting more than others. I’m not solely a ‘naked person’ artist or a ‘fruit in the basket’ artist.”
“So, you don’t like drawing naked people? Damn. There go my plans for after dinner.”
The giggle that fell from Paige’s lips warmed my chest. It was nice to find a woman that had a passion for something. I could see the fire in her eyes as she continued to talk about her painting. She was describing her brushstroke technique and talked about color palettes and shit like that. Her entire face lit up with the subject, and it drew me in.
It made me passionate about something I had no fucking clue about.
She glanced up at me, her eyes serious. “Can I ask you something?”
“Is this your question for the evening?” I asked.
“Yes, actually,” she said.
I braced myself for what was coming just as our waitress appeared at our side.
“Do the two of you know what you want to eat?” she asked.
“Um, I do. Zach, are you ready?”
“By the time you’re done ordering, I will be,” I said.
We placed our orders, and the waitress departed.
“So,” Paige said. “My question is this: what prompted your move to the area when you were fourteen?”
Shit.
Of course she had to be asking this fucking question.