I get a picture in my head of me riding on the back of his motorcycle, my hands wrapped firmly around his pelvic muscles, feeling him down, down, even further down than expected.
I imagine us pulling over to rest, to talk under a starry sky. I know the image isn’t realistic. I know that kind of a thing is probably only in movies. Still, imagining us tearing up the dirt roads, and waking up with bristles in our hair is sort of weirdly romantic.
I quickly try and forget I ever thought of the idea.
We stumble out of the bar, laughing and smoking. I’ll get him to quit soon enough, but right now, we’re celebrating.
Looking at Rowan in this light makes me think that he’s not a bad guy at all. He’s just a little misunderstood. He acts a certain way, but that doesn’t mean he’s an asshole, right?
Eventually, we drunkenly find our way home.
There’s an awkward silence where we don’t know what to say or do. He finally motions at his place and cocks his head. “Want to come in and have a drink?” he asks.
“Why not?” I find myself saying, as if reading the words from a script.
I walk behind him, adjusting my dress. What I keep telling myself is: I don’t want to fuck this guy. I don’t want to wake up in his bed. I don’t want to wake up with his strong arms around my waist, hands between my thighs, feeling his cock grow against my wetness.
I don’t… oh, fuck. Who am I kidding? All of that is exactly what I want right now, and I’m drunk enough to make a bad decision turn into reality.
Just as Rowan gets to the door, we hear something bump inside, followed by a loud crash of something breaking.
Rowan motions for me to back up and stay silent. He checks his pants, maybe for his gun, but he has nothing except his bare hands.
Another bump and we both hear someone say, “Shit, Clive. Be careful, you fucking idiot.”
“I can’t fucking see in this place,” Clive says. “He’s not here. We’ll have to come back.”
We hear the footsteps come toward the front door. The look in Rowan’s eyes tells me I need to get out of there.
Rowan jumps the porch and ducks off to the side. I try running, but the door is open before I’m even a foot away.
“Well, well, well,” Clive says. He’s got a similar look to the guys at the bar we were just at, only they sport different patches and different tattoos.
I gasp.
“What do we have here? A lady friend? Hey sweetheart, can you tell me where we can find Rowan?” he asks.
I gulp down hard, and close my eyes tight to see if I’m dreaming. The realization that this is real life hits me right in the face.
I can barely even breathe. My pulse quickens and I’m paralyzed with fear. They have guns. Multiple guns. And they look ready to use them.
Clive points a pistol right at me and walks forward. He places the cold barrel against my chest, right in between my breasts. He pushes down a little, staring at my cleavage.
“Hey, Glen. Take a look here. She’s shivering like a baby,” he says.
Tears fall from my eyes, and I’m shaking drastically now.
“Please don’t hurt me,” I whisper.
“Maybe she could use some warming up,” he snickers, stepping even closer to me.
Both men surround me. Glen positions himself behind me and touches the back zipper of my dress. “You cold, girl?”
“Please. Let me go home. I just want to go home,” I tell them.
My eyes search for Rowan. He’s nowhere to be found.
“We’ll let you go home on one condition,” he says. “Get on your knees, first.”