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Despite the urge to yank up my pants and run, I think of Hobo living outside. He needs this life, and I want him to be a part of mine.
Finishing up, I walk back to where Hobo stands. He’s frowning fiercely as if my urine has defiled his personal playground.
“What are you doing?” he mutters, searching for reasons to push me away.
“I had to pee.”
“Really or are you showing off?”
“Who would fake pee?” I ask after grabbing my purse. “Is that a trick local women pull on you?”
Hobo narrows his eyes, still trying to find fault where there is none. Finally, his expression flips to amused.
“You shouldn’t use those woods,” he says and gestures for me to follow him. “It’s full of snakes and spiders.”
Gasping horrified, I check myself for bugs. Hobo runs his fingers over my hair and down my back. I smile at how he gives my ass a light tap.
“You’re fine this time. Next time, go behind a rock in the open.”
Grinning, I replay the words “next time” in my head as we walk. I’m so gaga over his affection that I don’t notice how we aren’t walking back toward the shop.
“Where are we going?” I finally ask.
“One of my hogs is stashed nearby.” When I don’t reply, he chuckles. “I have six motorcycles that I keep around the Valley, so I’m never too far from a ride if necessary.”
“Oh.”
I still somehow miss the part where we’ll ride a motorcycle back to my shop. My thoughts are more focused on the way his strong body moves ahead of me.
Walking for a few more minutes, Hobo and I don’t say anything. Over the last few weeks, I’ve imagined so many questions to ask him. Now, though, his relaxed mood infects me.
Hobo’s motorcycle isn’t well hidden. The large, metal beast rests under a blue tarp. I think to ask if he’s worried about thieves. My brain jumps ahead of my question and remembers how he’s a member of a biker gang in a small town. The locals probably know to avoid his motorcycles. Who in their right mind would want to piss off a man like Hobo?
Well, I guess I would since I hesitate when he gestures for me to climb on. I nearly ask if it’s safe.
Many years ago, when I was around twenty-one, I went on a date with a chef at another restaurant. He’d been heavily pushing his “bad boy” reputation to draw attention to himself. He acted like a rock star, wearing leather, riding motorcycles, and making incredibly pretentious food he referred to as his “art.”
I’d felt special when he asked me out. I was seriously stupid at that age. The guy asked out everyone.
Still, as we headed out on our date, he wanted me to ride his motorcycle. I looked at him and saw a handsome man with similar interests. I pictured us married, two cute kids, a successful restaurant empire, and the very best glossy Christmas cards.
Then, I looked at his motorcycle and saw myself as a stain on the asphalt. I told him no. He ditched me. We only spoke in passing after that.
I’d been proud of myself for putting my safety before a guy and a farfetched dream.
Right now, I have to make the same choice.
On one hand is my safety. On the other hand is a man I can’t imagine agreeing to pose for a glossy Christmas card. I do think we’d make super cute kids. Yet, Hobo wouldn’t be around for them. The Valley is his true love. No way can I ever compete.There is no future for us.
However, we have a present, and I’m not ready for it to end. That’s why I climb on behind him and soak in the earthy scent of a man who I can still feel on my lips.
Though I might end up as a stain on the asphalt, I’ll be holding on to Hobo until my final moments.
The motorcycle sounds painfully loud. I tighten my hold on Hobo’s waist, gripping his white T-shirt. Hiding my face against his back, I force my brain to remove all the scary parts of this adventure—the roaring motorcycle, speed, and falling to my death. Instead, I only focus on the feel of Hobo’s powerful body, all hard muscle and hot skin.
The walk from the shop took a half hour, but the trip back is too quick. I don’t release Hobo when I feel the motorcycle idling. I want to go wherever he’s headed.
Hobo clearly doesn’t want the same thing, so I force myself to let him go. Steading myself next to the motorcycle, I notice he’s frowning. His dark expression is why I don’t ask when I’ll see him again. He can so easily disappear from my life. Do I have it in me to track him down?
