Page 2 of My Wild Biker

I let go maybe too fast.

"Nice to meet you."

"Don't see why someone as pretty as you should drink alone." He says it easy, like stating weather. "You're welcome to the company if you want it."

I should say I'm fine. I came to observe, not participate.

His eyes are dark and steady on mine. Something in my body has already decided different than my brain was planning.

"Sure."

He brings his whiskey down and takes the stool next to mine, close enough I smell leather and exhaust and something woodsy underneath. Walt moves down the bar to help someone else, his expression saying he knows exactly what's happening.

Chuck takes a drink. "So… Capacity building."

"Community outreach. I help nonprofits with grant writing, volunteer management, and strategic planning. Whatever they need."

"Four-week rotations?"

"Twelve towns on a year-long cycle. Four weeks each town, then I move."

He considers that. "You like moving that much?"

"I like being useful. And I like not staying anywhere long enough for it to get complicated."

The corner of his mouth lifts. "I know that feeling."

Something in how he says it makes me curious. "Yeah?"

"Been doing intelligence work for the club twenty-five years. Go where I'm needed, track contacts, build networks, follow leads. Spent more time on the road than in Bloomfield most years."

"That’s why Walt knows you, but I haven't seen you around?"

"Been gone two weeks, got back Tuesday." He looks at me direct. "Shame I didn't get back sooner. Would've met you three weeks ago instead of three days before you leave."

The flirtation is obvious and I'm not offended. I'm twenty-eight and I know when a man is interested.

What surprises me is I'm interested back.

"When do you leave again?"

"Don't know yet. Depends what needs doing."

I drink my beer. "Sounds like neither of us stays put."

"Seems that way."

Quiet settles between us, not awkward but present.

"Can I ask what brought you to this work?" he says.

"Honestly?"

"Please."

"I spent eight years with someone who made all the decisions. Where we lived, what we ate, how we spent weekends. Nice guy, pleasant, but I disappeared so completely that when I left I had no idea what I actually wanted. So, I took a job that would force me to figure it out."

He watches me steady. "And? You figure it out?"