Biker's Virgin

“You’re smart for a drug-addled idiot.”

Brent groaned and threw his hands in the air. “That was high-quality pot,” he complained. “The best there is.”

“I wish I could muster up the strength to care,” I said, collapsing onto his sofa.

“Geez…it was something fun we could have done together,” he said, sitting down next to me and reaching for his beer.

“You expect me to light up with you?” I asked.

“Why not?”

“What part of ‘new start’ do you not understand?”

Brent rolled his eyes. “It’s not like you were a drug addict or anything.”

“You don’t have to be,” I said. “Doing drugs leads to bad decision making, and I’m not about to waste away my life. I want to do something important. I want to be someone important.”

“You’re such a choir boy,” he said sarcastically.

I turned to him without humor in my eyes. “You wanna fuck up your life, go ahead. But don’t involve me, okay? And don’t you ever bring drugs to my apartment again.”

He sighed. “Fine.” He nodded. “We’re even.”

“Excuse me?” I asked incredulously. “How are we even?”

“I used you as a drug mule, and you flushed down my pot,” Brent said, with a shrug. “Even.”

I almost laughed. “Fucking idiot.”

He laughed and punched me lightly on the arm. “We’re cool.”

I pushed down my annoyance and nodded. “We’re cool.”

“Good,” he said, clapping his hands together. “How about a beer? You still drink, don’t you?”

I smirked. “I still drink.”

As he was getting me a beer from the fridge, I noticed a small suitcase in the corner next to the couch. I realized that there was also a woman’s coat by the door and a couple of books on the table that definitely didn’t belong to Brent.

“Have you shacked up with a girl?” I asked. “I thought you and Carly broke up?”

“Fuck yeah, that break up is definitely sticking. She was fucking crazy,” Brent said.

I looked through the pile of books on the table, and then I held up one with a title that read Business in the Modern World.

“Then who does this belong to?” I asked. “Because you’re definitely not smart enough to be reading something like this.”

“Hey, I’m not going to pretend like I am smart enough for shit like that,” Brent said. “And even if I was, I’d be bored sick. Nah, it’s no one special…just Megan.”

“Megan?”

“My little sister,” Brent replied.

“Oh. I thought she lived in Virginia.”

“She was studying there,” he replied. “But she moved into town a couple of days ago and needed a place to crash.”

“Oh.” I nodded.