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I’ve got it under control, thank you very much.
But my hubris melted like a snow cone in August when he didn’t take my shit and didn’t take no for an answer.
Now, I’m riding behind him and I feel every rippling muscle under his leather vest. The wind on my face with his bare arms and shoulders covered in the ink that I know did not come from some fancy, uptown tattoo parlor with espresso makers and regular hours gives me an exhilaration I didn’t expect.
I take in the freedom of the speed and openness. In a car, the world sort of goes by without notice, but on the back of the bike, I notice everything. It’s like something inside of me is opening up and besides that, man, it’s just fun.
As we wheel down the highway and end up on the upside of town, Chewy slows, his left hand dropping down and cupping the back of my calf, sending a burst of excitement up my leg and all the way into my chest. He’s everything I never wanted and yet, I still got on the back of his bike instead of calling my father or my friend Alicia from high school to come pick me up.
Calling my father would not be first on my list. He’s done his job as a dad, technically speaking. But, anything sort of outside of what he views as his basic duties always seems to end up in a fight about how I don’t understand what it was like for him to raise me as a single father. How demanding and needy I was.
It’s true, I was demanding and needy, but I was a little kid without a mom and a dad that resented us both for trapping him. I pouted, threw tantrums, broke things, called child protective services on him when he wouldn’t get me a puppy for my twelfth birthday.
I was a pain in the ass for a long time and he never let me forget it.
After a decade of hearing him tell me how I basically ruined his life, I went the other direction and decided I needed no one and nothing. I went away to school, paying my way with odd jobs and student loans because I wouldn’t take his money and he didn’t offer.,
Then, ironically, in my last year of undergrad, he decided he wanted me back here. Said he missed me, he was sorry for how things were between us and wanted to see if we could repair what had been so long broken. I wanted to say no, tell him I had plans for grad school, but he has a way with guilt, and I was broke, so that’s how I ended up back here in Valor, teaching Ethics and History classes at the local high school in the district where he’s superintendent.
Nepotism is alive and well in the heartland of America.
My plan was to go on and get my Master’s in Applied Ethics and possibly go on to see about a law degree. Doing what’s right has always fascinated me and knowing what’s right is not always clear but trying to figure out how it all works for the world and looking at it from a global standpoint was going to be my focus.
Instead, here I am doing what I think is right and coming home when my father suddenly decided he wanted to clear his conscience.
My core tenses as Chewy eases the bike into a spot on the street. People are out in droves tonight. It’s perfect weather, thirsty Thursday, and I realize how hungry I am when the scent of luscious food drapes around me and I breathe it in along with Chewy’s masculine scent topped with a hint of gasoline and coffee.
He kicks down the stand and kills the motor, dismounting in a smooth, gazelle-like movement which seems odd for such a monolith of a man. He reaches down and unsnaps my helmet, taking my hands and helping me off the back of the bike, even smoothing my skirt down when I stand.
“This will be safe in here.” He slips my backpack off my shoulders and secures it inside a side sort of container on the bike then he takes my hand. “Come on.” He nods toward the entry way of The Tribute, a Michelin star wanna be restaurant here in Valor.
I pause on the sidewalk outside, looking from the sleek chrome entry to Chewy’s bare arms and dirty jeans, his knit cap with loose threads and my plain, knee length floral skirt and white blouse. I can’t help but compare us to the patrons dressed for some millionaire’s charity event as they slip in and out of a door held open by a man in a tuxedo.
“Here?” I ask as he tugs my hand. I feel the rough calluses on his palm and fingers but his hand is warm and he squeezes my fingers and the sensation makes me press my legs together under my skirt.
