Page 81 of Misadventures of a Biker

“Well.” She sipped her sake until it was gone. “He’s a drug dealer. Kind of.”

“A pharmaceutical rep?”

“No.” She raised her glass. “A drug dealer.”

I eagerly poured it until it overflowed. “A pharmacist?”

She shook her head. “Drug. Dealer.”

“A fucking drug dealer?” I whispered. “Like, drugs?”

“Kind of.”

“What does that mean?”

“He sells CBD oil.”

Disappointment washed over me. I scoffed. “CBD is legal. Everywhere. All fifty states.”

“But it’s still drugs.”

I picked up a piece of sashimi with my fingers. “So is Tylenol.”

“Well, he’s originally from San Diego, and he’s kind of a hippy. He’s got long hair, he doesn’t always shave, and he—”

“Does he stink?”

“What?”

I bit the sashimi in half. “Stink. Does he smell like poop?”

She laughed. “No. He’s—”

“Does he wear clean clothes?”

“He’s a businessman,” she said, clearly defending him. “He dresses nicely. In his own way but nicely.”

“Does he have a big dick?”

She coughed out of surprise and leaned forward. “It’s as thick as my wrist,” she whispered. “I compared them one night.”

“Devin’s is the size of a fucking cucumber.” I poked the other half of the sashimi in my mouth. “One of the big ones. Every time he fucks me, it’s like the first time all over again.”

“Oh my God,” she said. “That’s exactly how it is with Forrest.”

I laughed. “His name is Forrest?”

“Stop it. I like it. Forrest Cambridge.”

I nearly choked on my sashimi. “That’s like an oxymoron. First name hillbilly, last name wealth.”

She crossed her arms. “I like it.”

I grabbed another piece of sashimi. “Tell me about the beads.”

“We met at the bar and immediately hit it off. His hair is kind of long, almost to his shoulders. It’s all one length, and he wears it back—”

“Beads,” I said, rolling my hand in a circular motion. “We can come back to all this.”