Page 24 of Dirty

Sandy offered to throw a small party for me at the strip club, but going to a place like that scared me.

While I watched the female lead in the show screw her fictitious ex-husband for the tenth time I wondered if a one-night stand with Josh was even possible.

I cradled my phone in my hand and toyed with the idea. After a moment, the faint rumble of a Harley’s exhaust sent a chill down my spine. I listened intently as the motorcycle sped up, slowed down, and speed up again. My thoughts quickly changed from a fling with my abusive ex to Cholo.

The sound grew louder. I paused the T.V. and walked to the door. I twisted the lock, pulled it open, and peered up the street.

Nothing.

I smiled at the thought of someone enjoying a ride, and quickly came to miss the freedom of riding on the back of Cholo’s bike. It was difficult to explain, but riding was unlike anything I’d ever done. Understanding why the men who chose to ride did so made me view them differently.

Instead of seeing them as thugs and criminals, I looked at them as people who simply sought solace out of something strangely close to flying.

The sound of the motorcycle’s exhaust went from being distant to being close in an instant. I looked up, realizing I had all but floated into a daydream. Over the crest of the hill a motorcycle emerged, and upon recognizing the rider, I flushed with emotion.

His bare arms were stretched out and up to reach his high handlebars. The sleeves of his white tee shirt did little to conceal his massive arms, and I enjoyed every moment of watching him flaring biceps as he approached.

He rolled into the driveway, flipped off the engine, and grinned.

As he pulled off his helmet I walked toward him. “Hey, stranger.”

He smeared his palms along the top of his cleanly shaven head. “How’s it going?”

“Was just chilling to some T.V., and I heard a bike. Came out hoping it was you.”

He pulled on his hat, stepped off the bike, and stepped right in front of me. I felt small, and suddenly felt shy.

His hand slowly reached for my face.

My heart raced.

He lifted my chin slightly and looked me over. I inhaled a choppy shallow breath and hoped he didn’t notice. Consciously, I held it deep in my lungs as he inspected me.

While his eyes searched my face, I admired his handsome looks and the muscularity of his upper body. He’d shaved since I’d seen him last, and no longer had his growth of beard. While I tried to envision him with the facial hair again, he nodded lightly and lowered his hand.

I turned my head to the side, exhaled, and then looked at him. “What?”

“Just looking you over. All the bruises are gone, aren’t they?”

I grinned pridefully. “Yeah.”

“How are you doing?”

I twisted my hair with my finger. “Good.”

His eyes narrowed. “Really,” he said. “Are you--”

“I’m doing just fine,” I said. “Really. I migrated from paralysis to analysis. Now I’m doing great.”

“What does that mean?”

“Instead of letting the thing suffocate me, I dissected everything. When I did, I realized I did nothing wrong. It wasn’t my fault. It was just something that happened.”

“You believe that?”

“Uh huh.”

He grinned. “Good.”