He weaves in and out of the traffic, and I close my eyes, submerging myself completely. I never understood the fascination with motorbikes. I was always told of the dangers of them, but all of a sudden, I understood. I understood the need for speed, and it wasn’t just about going fast, shit, that was more than exhilarating, it was about the whole experience. Feeling the frame beneath you, knowing that one wrong move could be the end of everything, and yet here I was on the back of a motorbike with a man I barely even knew, yet I felt I could trust with everything. I felt the throb of the engine beneath my legs,the movement of Clay’s stomach with every turn and pull of the throttle. I open my eyes and watch as the world zooms by around me, fully immersed and starkly aware of every centimetre of my journey.This is peace.
Clay pulls up outside a coffee shop and turns off the engine. I unwrap my arms from around him, almost instantly feeling the loss of connection. I lean back, holding on to the bars behind the pillion as he climbs off his bike and removes his helmet, observing me tentatively as he helps me remove mine. I feel myself grinning as I take a deep breath.
“Alright?” he asks, leaning in and brushing the hair that’s now stuck to my face.
“Fuck yes,” I say, a little more loudly than I’d anticipated, the thrum of the engine making me deaf to my own volume. I rub my face, embarrassed by my little display of excitement. He raises an eyebrow at me, and that gorgeous smirk is back.
“Sorry.” I shake my head, feeling my cheeks redden.
“Never apologise. I love a woman who has a mouth to match my own.” He winks, making me blush further.
My mother hated my foul language. It always resulted in her washing my mouth out with soap.
“I see why you like it,” I say quickly, changing the subject as I nod to the bike.
“She’s kept me sane on many occasions.”
He runs his hands over the chrome, and he looks lost in thought for a few moments before looking back up to me.
“Anyway, I thought you’d want to try out a different coffee place, somewhere a little less—”
“Local,” I interrupt.
“Yeah. I didn’t want to risk you running into her, this was a coffee ‘date’.” He uses air quotes, giving me a wink. “I wanted you to be able to relax, away from your drama for a while.”
I nod, words failing me that he’d actually think about that and consider my feelings. No one has ever put me first. It almost feels alien to me.
He takes my hand, leading me into this quaint little coffee shop. It’s not modern like the ones nearer home that I’m used to, but old fashioned with tablecloths and sugar cubes.
“I’ll grab a table,” I say, making my way over to a little reading corner. There’s a fire crackling away nearby, giving off a cosy vibe. I sit down in the plush leather seats as I look over the book collection. I slide out one of the MC romance novels—Grizzby Nicola Jane—and smile to myself. I flip it over, taking a look at the blurb as Clay makes his way over to me.
“I got you a flat white. That okay?” He places the coffee on the table, lowering into the seat opposite me.
“Sure.” I bring the coffee to my lips and blow on it gently.
“What’s that?” He nods to the book in my hand. I feel my cheeks flush again and rush to pop it back on the shelf.
“Oh, nothing. I was just taking a look,” I rush out, wrapping my hands around the mug. “So, tell me a little about my knight in leathers then.”
“Not much to tell.”
“Well, you have to give me something. You seem to know a lot about my disastrous life.” I take a sip of my coffee, savouring the taste.
“My name’s Clay,” he laughs, sarcastically. I roll my eyes. “No, seriously, what do you want to know?”
“How long have you been part of The Broken Iron Demons MC?”
“A couple years. I joined after I left the Marines.” That definitely explains the muscular physique.
“How come you left the Marines?” I ask and automatically kick myself when his expression changes to one of turmoil. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry,” I blurt out.
He takes a sip of his coffee, leaning back into the chair. “It’s a long story, but we saw a lot of shit out there. It was time to leave before I lost myself.” He runs his hands through his jet-black hair.
“I get that.” I stare into my coffee, realising I know exactly how it feels to lose yourself.
“You’ll get there,” he says, reaching over the table and placing his hand over mine. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“You realise how stalkerish that makes you sound, right?” I laugh nervously.
