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“I don’t want to have sex,” I mumble.
Coco’s green eyes study me. “You’re never getting over that, huh?”
“No, why should I?”
“Because it happened a long time ago. You know it wasn’t your fault. Why are you punishing yourself?”
“It’s not that. I have hang-ups.”
Coco shakes her head, making her “The Rachel” haircut bounce and gaining the attention of more men. “I think if Hunter found love and had a kid, you’d have settled down already. But you think she can’t be happy after what happened, so you don’t get to be happy, either.”
Scowling at Coco, I hate when she makes life seem so uncomplicated. As if I can flip a switch and be different despite it taking me many years to smother my wild ways and become meek.
It’s not like she could flip a switch and be less dramatic. If she could, Coco would have gotten married long ago. Probably more than once. But she wears people out with her constant mood swings and neediness.
On the drive to my clinic, I struggle to dismiss Coco’s words. Have I really kept my life from moving forward out of guilt? If Hunter showed up tomorrow with a husband, would I suddenly feel okay with dating? If she had a kid, would I think I was worthy of motherhood?
Work keeps me busy all afternoon, yet I keep wondering about my sister’s happiness intertwined with mine. Hunter has a good life. She likes working part-time as a dealer at the casino. Hunter has hobbies, friends, and a place of her own. No one looking at her life would think she was struggling with anything.
By the time I finish up work for the day, I’m fully convinced Coco is wrong. I haven’t found a man because I’m afraid to be touched. My hang-ups are so ingrained into my psyche, I’ll likely never get over them. However, I should most definitely work with my psychiatrist on why I haven’t embraced motherhood yet.
After checking on the cats remaining at the clinic overnight, I notice police cars across the street. Pudding Paws is located on the sketchier side of Banta City. The homeless and junkies aren’t allowed up north, instead getting swept down here.
The clinic’s never had any issues, thanks to a sticker on its front window. Even the most desperate criminals don’t mess with Backcountry Kings–aligned businesses.
Despite our protection, crime often happens nearby. A liquor store, dispensary, and pawn shop are located across the street. All three draw criminals and police response. Currently, the three cruisers are parked haphazardly in front of the liquor store. I notice two young men cuffed and sitting on the curb.
The scaredy-cat part of me wants to hide inside the clinic until the situation is over. The smarter part of my brain ignores the flashing red lights and realizes I’m safer leaving now than after the police are gone.
As I lock up the clinic, Coco starts telling a story about her neighbor’s wild sex life. I’m fighting an eye roll when she goes silent behind me. Despite knowing the police are right across the road, I get worried when Coco breaks off in such an unnatural way. I assume we’re about to be robbed.
Turning to look over my shoulder, I follow her gaze toward the end of our parking lot. My breath hitches in my throat, leaving me lightheaded. I almost feel as if I’m imagining the two people walking toward us. The past comes crashing into my present. Dread rises in my stomach, burning hot in my chest. I even get the urge to run.
Then, just as quickly, I’m flushed with heat in reaction to the man’s smile.
Unable to stop myself, I blurt out, “Walla Walla?”
His friendly smile widens, leaving me reeling with an emotion I haven’t felt in years—lust.
“You remember,” replies the gorgeous biker as he and Goose stop a few feet away. “Even after all this time.”
Of course, I remember Walla Walla. He was my teenage crush. I first spotted him when I was sixteen during a trip to McMurdo Valley while visiting my father for the summer. I hadn’t known what to do with the feelings the sexy biker spawned inside me.
The next year, I returned to Canary Basin and immediately found reasons to drive to McMurdo Valley. I had to know more about the sex god I saw riding by on a motorcycle. No one has ever looked anywhere near as handsome as Martin “Walla Walla” Carter. After I saw him again, I knew he was my dream man.
I started asking around to learn everything I could. People weren’t particularly surprised by my lustful interest. The locals seemed accustomed to women becoming sloppy excited over the bikers. The Steel Berserkers Motorcycle Club was full of good-looking men and one fetchingly butch, redheaded woman.
Though I haven’t seen Walla Walla in over a decade, he remains flawless. He’s at least six-four with wide, muscled shoulders and a breathtakingly brawny chest. His blond locks are long and thick. His mane is currently windblown after spending time on his motorcycle. His tawny skin shines nearly as bright as his brilliant blue eyes.
As a teenager, I dreamed of attending one of the Steel Berserkers Motorcycle Club’s weekly parties thrown at their clubhouse—the Pigsty—as soon as I turned eighteen. I had heard wild tales about what happened there.
During the last summer I visited my father, I nearly spoke to Walla Walla. He was leaning against his motorcycle on the side of the road near the ice cream shop I was at with my sister. Hunter was goofing around on her phone. She knew all about my crush on the biker, so she didn’t blink an eye when I got up and walked toward him.
Once outside, I studied Walla Walla only a few yards away. His long, golden hair shined in the summer sun. He wore a white tank top, revealing his bronze skin and inked flesh. I wanted so badly to say something to him. Just to have him notice me.
But I chickened out. I was a rowdy teenager when it came to riding fast or play fighting with the ranch hands. But when faced with such a beautiful, desirable man, I felt inexperienced and pathetic. I was nothing more than a rich girl who dressed like a tomboy and hadn’t gotten the hang of her new curvy body.
I promised myself I would be better put together in a few days when the next Pigsty party was scheduled. With a little more prep work, I’d walk right up to Walla Walla and win him over. In my hottest fantasies, we had wild, passionate sex until I couldn’t walk right. In my silliest dreams, he’d fall head over booted heels over me and never want another woman again.
