Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition Elizabeth Knox (cheapest way to read ebooks .txt) 📖

he’s learned how to give a woman indescribable pleasure. I almost feel guilty. I feel like I’m taking more than I’m giving, but it seems to make him happy, so I lay back and enjoy.

I feel like a newly addicted addict, wondering how I’ll survive without my next fix. How will I ever go back to my day-to-day existence after this incredible weekend? Is this what most married women enjoy? Is this what they come home to each night? A man who treats them like this? I think not. I know they don’t, and that makes me appreciate this time all the more. It’s special, and I don’t need time or distance to realize that fact. I’m fully aware of it as I’m experiencing it.

It hurts my heart knowing there is no future for us. How can there be? Even if we can work out the long-distance thing—he’s a biker, a one-percenter, a man who couldn’t possibly want to be tied down in a conventional relationship. No, there’s nothing conventional about the biker he’s become.

So where does that leave us?

10

Sara

Monday . . .

We finally drag ourselves out of bed, and Irish talks me into coming back to his place. I don’t want this incredible weekend to end, and my flight doesn’t leave until 4 p.m., so I agree.

On the ride back to Irish’s house, he rides us through town, and parks in the diagonal street parking, backing the bike to the curb.

We climb off, and I look up at the storefront.

Cosmic Comics.

I smile, and slug him in the arm. Back in high school I’d turned him on to my love of anime. I was always trying to draw it, and he just liked the superheroes. This was one of my favorite places to come.

He grins at me and jerks his chin to the door. “Looks like the place is still here. Want to go inside?”

“You really have to ask?”

We pull off our helmets, and go in. A small bell tinkles above our heads. I glance around at the crowded space. Rows of comic books run the length all the way to the back of the store where games are kept. On the wall to the left and behind the glass cases, are collectibles of all kinds.

Except for the face behind the counter, it’s exactly how I remember.

We spend the next hour roaming through the place. I eventually find myself up near the counter looking at a display, and spot Irish consumed with some book in an aisle halfway back in the store.

I lean over the counter to whisper, “Can I borrow a sticky note off that pad and a pen, please?”

The employee passes the items over, and I sneak out the door, scribble my note, and stick it to Tim’s bike. I slip back inside and join him, peering over his shoulder. “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

He looks over and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Check out the art in this one.”

He shows me a book of anime, the illustrations indeed impressive.

His eyes flick over my head to the clock on the wall.

“Shit, I need to get back to the house.”

“Why?”

“Just something I’ve got to do. I need to be back by 3:30 p.m. You mind?”

“Not at all. Let’s go.”

We head out the front door, and we’re barely to the bike when Tim grabs the note and reads it.

Sorry for the damage.

“What the fuck?” He walks circles around his motorcycle, his eyes moving all over it. I step back, trying to hold in my laughter, but finally can’t, and a snort escapes me.

Tim looks up and immediately realizes it was me. “You little—”

I double over, hysterically laughing.

“Oh, I remember now, the little jokester is still in you, huh?”

I catch my breath, arc a brow, and point at him. “Well, I remember the time you put mashed potatoes from someone’s lunch-tray in my Oreos. They were disgusting.”

He starts following me around the bike, but I keep a couple of steps ahead of him.

“Oh, little Miss Innocent, huh? You got me back good though, didn’t you?

I cock my head, pretending not to recall as I quickly back step. “Hmm . . . what did I do again?”

He makes a grab for me, and his big hands land on my hips, pulling me against him. “You super-glued the mechanism from inside one of those musical greeting cards to my locker door. Every time I opened the damn thing, it played MC Hammer’s “U Can’t Touch This.”

“Now that was hilarious.”

He shakes his head, but his eyes are lit with laughter. “I’m gonna get you back for this, babe. When you least expect it.” He drops his mouth to mine for a kiss that ends too soon. “Come on. I’ve got to haul ass home.”

We climb on the bike and race across town. When we pull in the drive and climb off, he quickly unlocks the door and holds it open for me. We move through to the front entry, and he pauses, pointing to the parlor.

“I’ll just be a minute.” Then he disappears out the front door. I move to the window to watch, curious to see what all the urgency is about. He jogs over toward the mailbox. Then stops, and looks toward the neighbor’s house, and starts dancing around, playing air guitar and being silly.

I move out onto the porch to watch and see a little girl in the neighbor’s window laughing and dancing with him.

He stops when a school bus comes, and a young boy gets off and goes inside the house.

Tim points at the little girl, and then takes a bow.

The little girl waves goodbye to him, and then runs off from the window.

He comes back inside, and I look at him, smiling, my eyes getting dewy. Then I throw my arms around him and kiss him.

He finally lifts his head to peer at me curiously. “What was that for?”

“Just for being you.”

He pulls his chin back. “Really?”

“I saw what you did, making that little girl laugh.