5 Bikers for Valentines

“I told you to close your eyes,” she said. “I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

“Great. You’re stripping in my room after coming in without my permission.”

“I own this house and I’ll do whatever I want in any room I wish,” she said.

“Holy hell, I hope that doesn’t mean you’ve had sex in here.”

I didn’t get a response, and it made me feel disgusting.

“You’ve had sex in here, haven’t you?” I asked.

“Okay. Open your eyes,” my mother said.

“Answer my question.”

“Open your eyes and I will.” I took my arm off my eyes and sighed. It was another sleazy outfit for her to pick up her trashy men with. This time, she was in daisy duke shorts with some laced up bike boots and a leather halter top that left nothing to the damn imagination. She pulled out a white jean coat and threw it over her shoulder, then gave me a turn that made me want to vomit.

“You got a bra for that thing?” I asked.

“Nope. It looks hot, right?” she asked.

“Not even sort of,” I said.

“Then yes, I’ve had sex in your room.”

“What the fuck?” I asked.

“You don’t like the outfit. So, I’ll make you believe I’ve had sex in here.”

“Seriously, Mom. I’m not kidding. Have you had sex on my fucking bed?” I asked.

“Do you like the outfit?”

“I hate it. I can’t stand it.”

“Then I’ve had sex on your bed and on your dresser,” she said.

My mother was an insolent child. But I knew if I didn’t start playing nice she would be in here longer. I was irritated as hell that this was what I was waking up to, but I had no choice. I was under my mother’s roof until Lindy and I heard back from the damn realtor on that building.

“Ready for the next one?” my mother asked with a grin.

I played nice and let her circulate through her outfits. Four turned into seven, and I was ready to throw in the towel after my mother had been modeling for an hour. I was hungry, I was still exhausted from the night before, and I needed coffee.

Bad.

“Well, that’s all the outfits. If you want to come downstairs, I’ve got coffee made,” my mother said.

“You’ve had coffee made for an hour, and you didn’t bring any with you?” I asked.

“If I brought it to you, then you’d stay in your room. Come get it. I want to talk to my daughter.”

Oh, fuck. She was in one of those moods.

“Give me ten minutes,” I said.

“You’ve got seven!”

My mother slammed the door behind her, and I fell back onto my bed. I had just seen every inch of my mother’s body first thing that morning, and now she wanted to do some kind of fucking mother-daughter bonding bullshit. The last time she was in one of these moods, she ended up wanting me to set her up with a guy at the bar. A guy that had been talking me up and had asked me for my number.