5 Bikers for Valentines

“Go on,” I said, my voice a little uneasy.

“Well, see – my father only has nine months to a year until his mind starts going. He'll be dead within two years, apparently,” he said. “And his last wish – his last requirement for me to receive my inheritance, actually, is –”

Malcolm hesitated as the GPS spoke up, telling us both that we were approaching our destination.

“You can park here,” I said. “My apartment is right over there.”

Malcolm pulled to the curb and stopped, shutting the engine off and started to get out of the car.

“No, you don't need to walk me in,” I said.

“I know I don't have to, but –”

“Seriously, no. You'll come back to find all your tires missing and your windows broken,” I said. “Just – trust me, okay?”

The real reason I didn't want Malcolm walking me in was my dad. I couldn't let Malcolm meet him. The humiliation of it would kill me, for sure. I stared down at my hands, hoping Malcolm would continue with what he was saying. But he fell silent, so I urged him along.

“So, anyway, what were you talking about before?” I asked. “About me helping you?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “That.”

I could tell he was nervous – which wasn't an emotion I'd commonly associate with him. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath before continuing.

“There's really no easy way to put it,” he said. “But, basically, my father's last request was for me to give him a grandchild. My inheritance, and my stake in the company, rests on my ability to do that.”

I raised my eyebrows, not sure I liked where this was going. I had an idea what he was going to ask me, and it was starting to freak me out a bit.

Malcolm rushed through the next part. “And while I'm not looking for a relationship or anything,” he said. “I am looking for someone to – well – have my child. As in a surrogate.”

“And you want me to be your surrogate?”

I wanted to laugh, but a white-hot bolt of anger rushed through me. Malcolm nodded, and before I could stop myself, I reached back and slapped him across the face. Hard.

“This entire night, you've been nice to me because you want to buy me?” I asked, almost screaming at him. “You've been nice to me because you thought you could buy my body like – like I'm some whore.”

“No, it's not like that at all,” he stammered. “You've got it all wrong, Casey.”

I opened the car door and stepped out into the street, slamming it behind me hard enough to rattle the glass in the window. Sirens sounded in the distance, and someone's stereo was so loud, the bass thumping so hard, it practically shook the ground beneath my feet.

I hurried toward my apartment building, but Malcolm was on my tail. He grabbed my arm, spinning me around to face him in the middle of the street. Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked at him and I had to fight back the urge to smack him again. “Damn you, Malcolm. I actually thought better of you,” I said. “I thought you saw me as more than just a piece of meat or some poor downtrodden girl you thought you could use. Maybe it's not the same thing as wanting to fuck me, but you still wanted to use me.”

“Casey, just listen to me,” he said, his voice earnest. “I think you're an amazing woman. Witty, smart, strong, and you don't take shit from anyone. Those are all traits I admire. And as I've gotten to know you tonight, I realized that I want to help you.”

“You want to use me –”

“I don't want to use you,” he said. “I just think this is one of those situations we can both benefit from. I'd pay you whatever you asked for. I'd give you anything, I'd make sure you lived a comfortable life. I'd take care of you.”

I pulled my arm free from his grasp. “I don't need anyone to take care of me, Malcolm,” I snapped. “I thought I made that abundantly clear tonight.”

“Fine. Just thought you could use the money,” he said.

His eyes were deep, unending pools of blue fire that burned straight through me. Seeing him looking at me, knowing that he'd put on this charade tonight in the hopes that I'd bear his kid for him, just so he could claim his damn trust fund or whatever – it did more than piss me off. It hurt me. It cut me straight to the bone.

The fact that it hurt me so bad was surprising. But – it did. This whole evening, I'd thought we had a connection. I thought that I'd misjudged him and that he was a good guy. I'd thought there was more to Malcolm than met the eye. I thought he liked me for who I was, not for what I could do for him.

Clearly, I was wrong on all counts.

“There's more to life than money,” I spat. “Not that I'd expect you to understand that.”