Bad Ride (Men of Valor MC)

I’m sure he noticed but didn’t specifically say that my blouse had two buttons missing and my skirt had a greasy boot print on the hem. I took the seat across from him in the floral wingback chairs my mother picked out in the living room we never use, listened to his lecture on putting us at risk by spending time with criminals. How I’d not thought it through, how we could both lose our jobs if we were associating with felons.

It all felt very Andy Griffith scripted, but I was too tired and distracted by the distinct feeling of Chewy’s cum dripping out of me. My panties were M.I.A. so I sat there listening to my dad chastise me, knowing I’d just taken the walk of shame commando style. He reiterated that he needed to be able to trust me. He has an educational conference tonight that will keep him overnight and he wants to be sure he can count on me to make good decisions while he’s gone.

There’s not enough Earl Gray tea in the world to make this all go away.

I gave most of my classes busy work through the day, staring out the window or grading the tests and essays from earlier in the week. When the final bell rung for the day, instead of spending a couple more hours on lesson plans and one-on-one student help, I packed up my purse, knowing at some point I had to stop by Chewy’s garage and both pay him for the work on my car as well as retrieve my backpack which I’d skated out without retrieving last night.

And, for whatever crazy reason, after my dad reading me the manifesto on staying away from Chewy—or anyone from the club for that matter—I want to come clean. I’ll tell my dad what happened, that I left something there at the garage, and also that I need to settle things with Chewy.

It’s not a conversation a want to have with my father but I also don’t want to lie. That’s never been in my wheelhouse before and steering away from my own core values, as uncomfortable as the conversation may be, would hurt my soul and it’s already pretty achy.

I know he’s here at the high school because he stopped by my classroom at lunch, letting me know he was working out of one of the conference rooms here today, and I had to believe it had something to do with keeping an eye on me.

I take the last few steps toward the door where I know he’s been throughout the day, a figure moving behind the white blinds, and I lean in, listening as I hear his voice. He’s on edge and I’m sure it’s because of me until I crouch down and hold my breath.

“I’ll be there by eight. I’ll be in my van, the parts will follow me in a yellow box truck. Two guys driving. You follow directions, black duffel bag, everyone walks away happy.”

I don’t know any educational conference where you organize rendezvous with a box van and a duffel bag.

“No, I haven’t gotten the new guy on board yet, he was a no-show last night, but I will. I have something he wants now, so he’ll come along. I just need a little more time. It’s all falling into place. I knew what he wanted, arranged for it to be dangled in front of him. He took the bait hard and now I’m just reeling him in.”

A chill traces down my spine as I scoot back against the solid cinder block wall and sidestep back around the corner into the hall.

Each breath takes effort as my dad’s words swim around in my head. I must be reading too much into it. I’m tired, I’m stressed, I’m sad.

No, not sad. My heart feels like it’s breaking and that makes me mad. How could I feel so much for someone I barely know? One quick wham bam and I’m pining away for the bad boy from the other side of the tracks?

Besides, he knows where I work, he could have sent flowers or an edible arrangement for goodness’ sake. Maybe just dropped off my backpack with a note, saying it’s not me, it’s him.

Fuck. This is getting messy.

I head toward the back hallway and into the parking lot. Looking at my mustang, I’m reminded of who I’ve tried to be my whole life for my father. Conservative, quiet, obedient, a hard worker.

He about lost his nut when I drove home in the car for spring break my junior year away at college. I’d saved for it since I was fourteen and started babysitting, dog sitting, fish sitting, then working at the local hair salon sweeping up and washing towels.

It was my visible statement of rebellion and it was in my name so he had no power and it fed me in a way I’d not experienced before.