Page 17 of Rigid

Oddly, I respected him.

After riding to Chula Vista for tacos, we raced through the sparse traffic on the freeway. The sound of the exhaust, the speed, the laughter, and the friendly goofing around proved to be too much. With each passing mile, I was slowly melting into a puddle of lust.

We excited the highway, and rolled to a stop at the traffic light.

“We’re headed home, brother,” Cholo shouted over the sound of his exhaust. “Lex is exhausted.”

“Right on,” Smoke said. “Your turn is one block up, right?”

Cholo checked the light and gave a nod.

Smoke revved his exhaust. “On green.”

Cholo shook his head. “Damn it, Smoke.”

Lex looked at me and grinned. “They do this all the time.”

“No guts, no glory, motherfucker,” Smoke taunted.

Cholo checked the light and then glanced at Smoke. “On green, asshole.”

Lex clutched Cholo’s waist like her life depended on it.

“Hold on,” Smoke said over his shoulder. “Tight.”

I wrapped my arms around his waist and sank my thumbs between the inside of his jeans and his hips. “Okay.”

I watched as the cross-traffic light turned to yellow, and held my breath. The sound of the exhaust bellowed behind us in a deafening tone. When the light flashed from red to green, Smoke released the clutch.

We launched forward like we’d been rear-ended by a truck.

The back tire screeched, the front tire raised up, and we shot ahead of Cholo’s bike by a few feet. Smoke leaned forward, pressing his chest onto the gas tank, and I followed, flattening my boobs against his back.

The exhilaration was something I hadn’t ever felt.

He shifted gears, and Cholo caught up to us. After shifting again, Cholo passed us by a few feet. I took a quick look over Smoke’s shoulder, and noticed we were going over 100 miles an hour.

My heart shot to my throat.

I glanced up. The light ahead turned to red. Both motorcycles, as if pre-programmed, decelerated, braked, and eventually came to a stop.

Smoke cocked his head to the side. “Lucky prick.”

“Fuck you, Smoke.” Cholo said. “My shit’s faster. I outweigh you by thirty at least, and we’re riding two up. That old sled is junk.”

Smoke glared at him. “Two up?”

Cholo grinned. “Yeah. Me, Lex, and the baby.”

The light changed to green.

“See ya, fat ass,” Smoke shouted.

Lex waved, and they turned to the left. Without speaking, Smoke and I rode for a few miles through town. I enjoyed the relaxing ride just as much as the racing, but in a different way. For me, the motorcycle provided three things.

It was a mode of transportation, something very exciting, and it could also be very relaxing.

During our ride, I got lost in the smell of the ocean breeze, the low drone of the exhaust, and the feeling of having my arms wrapped around his waist. And then, he pulled into my driveway.