Page 11 of Goose

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Goose

Being in a motorcycle club made succeeding at a relationship a difficult task. Being in the Devil’s Disciples Motorcycle Club made doing so impossible.

I was a biker from head to toe, and always had been. From the time I was old enough to balance myself on a minibike, I’d been riding. In my early teens, while escaping the often-violent grasp of my alcoholic parents, I realized the feeling of freedom one could obtain on two wheels.

At that moment, I was hooked.

I later decided cars were for people who were satisfied with simplicity. Riding a motorcycle 365 days a year isn’t an easy task. If it was, everyone would do it. Only those who were willing to make sacrifices could claim to be a hard-core biker.

Although I was a hard-core biker, a criminal, and a professional thief, I wasn’t an asshole. I left that task to the club’s resident prick, Reno.

I knew how to treat a woman. I knew how not to treat a woman. I had a good understanding of what a woman wanted from a man. By any means of measure, I should make a good husband, boyfriend, or fuck buddy.

When it came to relationships, the problem wasn’t me.

It was the club.

Protecting the club, the club’s activities, and its members was my priority. Over everything. Part of that protection required hiding the club’s ongoing criminal activity. A woman’s natural curiosity caused late-night outings and weekend-long club ventures to become matters of contention. Lying was the only way to conceal the truth.

Based on experience, I knew that lying in a relationship was a one-way ticket to failure.

Simply giving a woman a ride on my motorcycle, however, wouldn’t require me to lie, be manipulative, or be deceitful.

So, that’s what I agreed to do.

A simple ride.

We’d ridden up Mission Boulevard, through La Jolla. I got on the 5 after going through Torrey Pines. Now exiting the freeway at Encinitas, we’d been on the road for over an hour.

If I hadn’t seen Ally get on the bike myself, I wouldn’t have known she was back there.

After taking the Encinitas Boulevard exit, I rolled to a stop at the light. The heat rising from the engine carried a hint of her perfume to my nose. A recollection of my daydream at the funeral brought a smile to my face.

“You’re a natural,” I said over my shoulder.

She pressed her chest against my back. “At what?”

“Riding.”

“All I’ve got to do is sit here.” She laughed, exhaling her warm breath against the side of my neck. “It’s not difficult.”

I winced and glanced to my side. She was close enough to kiss. I wanted to devour her but refrained from showing any emotion.

I couldn’t define it, but there was something about her that made me feel extremely comfortable in her presence. It could have been her bold attitude or quick wit. It might have been that her expressed interest allowed me to feel normal for the first time since Ghost died. Whatever the reason, I enjoyed being with her immensely.

“You’d be surprised how many can’t get the hang of it,” I assured her. “Nothing worse than getting someone back there that flops all over the place.”

She lowered her sunglasses with the tip of her finger. Her eyes gleamed with excitement. “So, you’re saying we can do this again?”

She was gorgeous, had a great sense of humor, and a magnetic personality. Denying myself the pleasure of being in her presence would be foolish on my part. But. She was like any other addictive substance. Moderation would be key. If I spent too much time with her, it wouldn’t end well for either of us, and I knew it.

“Sure.” I faced the road ahead. If I looked at her for much longer, I’d convince myself fucking her would be a good idea. It wasn’t. “If you want to, I’m sure we can figure something out.”

Her lips touched my ear. “I want to,” she breathed.

A tingling ran from my neck to my tailbone.

Unwilling to split traffic with an inexperienced rider on the back of my bike, I was wedged between two bumpers of the bumper to bumper late-afternoon traffic. At a very frustrating twenty-mile-an-hour speed, we inched our way toward the beach.

Ten minutes later, we came to a stop at the next traffic light. Despite being late fall, the heat from the asphalt and the motorcycle’s air-cooled engine made being stopped almost unbearable.

Her weight shifted against me. Having her in such proximity was wreaking havoc on my ability to resist. While trying to convince myself she had no idea what she was doing to me, I felt her breath against my ear.

“I’m so hot,” she whispered.

“It gets that way in stop-and-go traffic,” I muttered.

“It’s not the traffic,” she breathed.

My cock twitched.

The light turned green. I exhaled a long breath and released the clutch. With her, proceeding on a friendly level wasn’t going to be easy.

In fact, I feared it was going to be impossible.