Ride Steady

That was when my eyes went to my shoulder and I saw the love bite he’d given me there. It was more than a hickey. There were indistinct purple teeth marks all around it.

 

And that was where Joker’s lips right then touched.

 

My stomach dropped and I locked my legs as his hand slid up to my ribs and he moved his lips to kiss my neck.

 

He let me go, moved away, and reached for his own toothbrush.

 

But I was brushing and staring at that mark.

 

My physical reaction was only partially due to Joker’s touch, liking it, the intimacy of it, the familiarity of it, and the beauty of watching him give it to me in the mirror.

 

Mostly, it was about that mark. About him kissing it. About him making it.

 

About me wearing it.

 

And having it, how I got it, what was said after, and later, the honest way Joker gave me what he had to give me early that morning, the apprehension I was feeling slid away.

 

Chaos were bikers. And being around them I’d learned that bikers were just like any people.

 

I was sure there were scarier clubs, more dangerous ones, ones that attracted that kind of guy. There were probably more casual ones, ones about riding on the weekends and having guys to hang out with, a different kind of brotherhood that wasn’t as important as family.

 

And then there was Chaos.

 

It had not been lost on me the men were tough, rough, and edgy. Even before Joker shared what he shared with me, I would not expect they sang in the choir at church on Sundays.

 

But Tack had picked Tyra.

 

And Hop had picked Lanie.

 

And Tabby had picked Shy.

 

They’d gotten married. They were making babies.

 

And they were devoted.

 

Not like Aaron was “devoted” to me.

 

They were devoted.

 

Truly.

 

Not to mention, Stacy was really nice and she was no one’s old lady, but the boys liked her hanging around and I knew why.

 

Because the guys were tough, rough, edgy, about family, and good to their souls. It might be a different definition of good that included vigilantism, which was arguably not the right thing.

 

But it was their thing.

 

So who was anyone to judge?

 

I couldn’t say I was happy that my biker and his friends who were now my friends were possibly in danger.

 

I could say that I knew down to my gut they not only could take care of themselves, they wouldn’t do anything stupid to put themselves in jeopardy. What was happening with this bad guy wasn’t about that. They weren’t about that. And they wouldn’t put their loved ones through that.

 

So I had to trust, and I’d spent a decade trusting the wrong man so I’d learned.

 

This time, I had it right. I knew that down to my gut too.

 

Feeling content in this, having sorted it out in my head, I quit brushing, spit, rinsed, and moved to my man. I shoved close, forcing him away from the counter, and went in.

 

He kissed the mark he gave me.

 

I kissed the mark he gave himself, touching my lips to the joker card.

 

Then I tipped my head back and whispered, “I’ll go pour the coffee.”

 

He kept brushing but his eyes, already warm at my touch, got soft.

 

I allowed myself time to take that in before I moved away to get my man and me some coffee.

 

*

 

At my first coffee break at work, I was no longer feeling content.

 

This was because we’d had a slow morning and Sharon, me, and the other cashiers had a chance to gab.

 

I’d shared I was seeing someone and was meeting his friends that night.

 

They were ecstatic for me (they all didn’t know everything about Aaron, but they all knew he was a jerk).

 

Then Sharon asked me what I was wearing.

 

And I instantly started to panic, because meeting your man’s friends did not say tube top or clingy T-shirt dress or tank with cool sequins.

 

Especially when one of them lived in assisted living!

 

And I had nothing postpregnancy weight that would do.

 

Not one thing.

 

So I had to form a plan, which I did.

 

And now I was in the break room with phone in hand and it was ringing in my ear.

 

“Yo, girlie, what’s shakin’?” Elvira asked in my ear as greeting.

 

“Panic stations!” I cried.

 

“Uh… what?”

 

“I’m meeting Joker’s friends tonight,” I told her on a rush. “Not, like, biker friends. Like, the woman who looked after him when he was a kid and his dad was off carousing and left him home alone without dinner. And when I say kid, I mean, he was eight.”

 

“Yikes,” she muttered.

 

“Also the guy who gave him a good man in his life, seeing as he didn’t have one, is going to be there too. And his family!”

 

“Lordy, Carissa, this shit’s big.” Elvira told me something I already knew.

 

“I know, and I have nothing to wear.”

 

“Uh-oh,” she mumbled, totally understanding me, as I knew she would since she was a girl.

 

“I’m at work but Tyra says you can get time off to shop,” I said leadingly (and hopefully).

 

“Right. Got it. I’m on it,” she replied immediately.

 

I blinked at my locker.

 

That was easy.

 

“Really?” I asked.

 

She didn’t answer. She just said, “Budget.”

 

“Um… well, I need shoes too.”

 

“Budget, girl,” she demanded.

 

Gosh, this hurt. It really hurt. Surprisingly, after months of money being so tight it was a wonder I could breathe, I had thousands of dollars in a savings account and my monthly expenses had decreased dramatically.

 

But it had been tight and anything could happen (like your car needing four new tires). I had a buffer now when it felt like I’d never have a buffer in my life. It was good to have. And I was terrified of drawing it down, definitely not doing it for new clothes.

 

Further, I hadn’t spent money on me for so long, focusing on Travis and his needs (as it should be), it felt strange to consider doing it.

 

Strange as in guilty.

 

“Carissa,” Elvira prompted impatiently.

 

“Okay, maybe two hundred, at most, all of it together.”

 

Eek!

 

“You need undies?” she asked.

 

I actually kinda did but I didn’t know how to ask Elvira to take care of that. Anyway, only Joker would see those, and unlike my nighties, he’d never mentioned my undies (which were, admittedly, not all that much to write home about) so I didn’t think they were a priority.

 

“You need undies,” she decided for me. “When you gotta be at their table?”