Page 77 of Devil’s Disciples

The motorcycle we’d taken was a Suzuki hyperbike. Capable of going from zero to sixty in two seconds, it quickly became a favorite of mine when I wanted to put a smile on my face. As it seated two people fairly comfortably, it was an easy choice for the night’s ride.

“It was easy,” I said. “Kept me from shuffling a bunch of shit around.”

“If you’re keeping the girl, you need to get a bagger.”

My belief had always been that riding wasn’t a team sport. Having a bagger was an invitation for someone to hop on back. In the past, the thought of it made me cringe.

“Hate to spend the money,” I said.

“Depends on how comfortable you want her to be.”

“I really don’t think she gives a shit. She went on and on about how much she loved it. I could have put a p-pad on the fender of the hardtail and she would have been thrilled.”

“First ride?”

“Yep.”

“Always a cool feeling to bust a chick’s cherry.” He pushed his coffee cup to the side and rested his forearms on the edge of the table. “How do you think the fellas are going to take it if this chick ends up being your ol’ lady?”

Hearing him say it caused me to tense. Not from my thoughts regarding the club’s reaction, but from my own resistance to accept that I’d ever be in a conventional relationship.

I shook my head. “She won’t.”

He widened his eyes a little. “You’re one hundred percent certain this is nothing but a fling?”

I wasn’t. But the thought of it being otherwise troubled me. I looked away. “I don’t know.”

“You know. You just won’t say.”

I looked at him. “Since fucking when are you a mind reader?”

He locked eyes with me and then smirked. “You might be able to manipulate most motherfuckers by giving them your crazy-eyed looks and talking slick. I’m not one of ‘em, Bake. I know you, remember? The rest of the fellas will probably say something like, shit, Baker won’t ever have an ol’ lady, I know him too well. I call bullshit. I hate the thought of being tied down. I can’t stand the smell of diapers. Don’t care much for having to answer to anyone but me, either. Mary’s dirty-fisted kids marching around my house putting fingerprints on the walls made my butthole pucker. But you know what? When I fell in love with that gal, it had nothing to do with what I thought I wanted out of life. It just fucking happened. And, it all started with a piece of pussy that knocked me on my ass.”

“I’m not going to bullshit you. I’m enjoying her company. But. But. But.” I looked him in the eyes. “I’m not planning on falling in love.”

He shook his head and grinned. “A man never plans to.”

I gazed beyond him, into the living room. “I’m not going to.”

“Might not have a choice.”

I shifted my eyes to him. “I’m in control.”

He spit out a laugh. “The pussy’s in control.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Poking your dick in this chick has got you feeling like you’re fucking a high school cheerleader that does Kegel exercises while she sits in an algebra class she don’t quite understand. She’s got a dynamite little pussy so tight it causes you to bust a nut that makes your head spin. That’s what you said, right?”

“Something like that.”

“Guess what?” He cocked an eyebrow.

I cocked mine. “What?”

“If anybody else was fucking her it wouldn’t feel like that. Her twat fits you. It’s not as much her twat’s composure that makes you come like a faucet as it is the chick that’s carrying it around. You feel the way you feel when you fuck her because of who she is, not what she’s packing in the gap between her thighs.”

I felt like I was sitting across the table from Doctor Phil. I wasn’t prepared to give his advice as much consideration as I wanted to, so I simply agreed with him. Kind of.