Page 25 of My Wild Biker

"I have to. My next rotation starts Monday in Millbrook. I can't just not show up."

"I know." I take her hand, lacing our fingers together. "So we have tonight. Tomorrow morning. Then you drive to Millbrook and we figure out what happens next."

"What if nothing happens next? What if tomorrow you realize this was just three days and you're fine with it ending?"

I turn to look at her directly. "Is that what you think is going to happen?"

"I don't know. I've never done this before. Wanted someone this fast. It doesn't make sense."

"No. It doesn't." I bring her hand up and kiss her knuckles. "But I'm here anyway."

She leans her head on my shoulder and we sit there quiet. Eventually she says, "I'm hungry."

"Me too. Want to get dinner?"

"Where?"

"There's a diner about twenty minutes out that does steaks. Best in three counties."

"You're always telling me about the best food places."

"That's because I've eaten in a lot of places and I know which ones are worth it." I stand and pull her up with me. "Come on. Let's go eat and not think about Sunday for a few hours."

The diner is exactly what I described. Small, family-owned, been here forty years. We order steaks and talk about everything except tomorrow. She tells me about towns she's worked in, about disasters and successes, about the people she's met. I tell her about contacts across six states, about the intelligence network I've built, about the satisfaction of preventing problems before they become wars.

Around seven we head back to my place because her rental feels too temporary and my place at least feels like neutral ground.

Inside I pull beers from the fridge and we end up on the couch. She fits against my side like she was made for the space and we sit there drinking and talking while the sun goes down outside.

"Can I ask you something?" she says.

"Anything."

"Last night you said Perry died alone. That it shook you. What did you mean?"

I'm quiet for a moment, figuring out how to answer. "Perry was a good brother. Solid, dependable, quiet. Did his job, didn't complain. But he lived alone, didn't have anyone waiting for him to come home. When Marrow killed him, he'd been dead two hours before anyone noticed he didn't show for his shift." I pause. "Made me realize I've spent twenty-five years building a life just like his. Always moving, never staying, no one waiting. And one day I'll die and it might take hours for anyone to notice."

Her hand finds mine. "You have the club. They'd notice."

"Yeah. Eventually. But there's a difference between having brothers who'd notice you're gone and having someone who's waiting for you specifically to come home." I look at her. "Before you I didn't think I wanted that. Thought freedom and movement were enough. Now I'm not so sure."

"Is that what I am? Someone waiting?"

"I don't know. Maybe." I squeeze her hand. "But I know the idea of you leaving tomorrow and me not knowing when I'll see you again sits wrong."

She's quiet for a long time. Then she says, "My next rotation is four weeks. Then I'm supposed to circle back to Bloomfield for follow-up. Six weeks from now."

"Six weeks is a long time."

"Yeah. It is."

We sit with that. Six weeks. Might as well be six years the way it feels right now.

Around eight she shifts to straddle my lap, facing me, and the beer bottle in my hand goes somewhere I don't track because her mouth is on mine and her hands are in my hair.

This kiss is different than the others. Slower. More deliberate. Like we're both trying to memorize it.

I slide my hands under her shirt and she arches into the touch. When I pull her shirt over her head she doesn't hesitate, just reaches back and unhooks her bra. I cup her breasts and lower my head to take one nipple into my mouth.