Biker's Virgin

"Why? You're single, what's the problem?"

"Do you remember Ron?" I asked.

"Ron," he paused, "Veronica? Your ex?" I nodded. I wished he wouldn't call her that, though. It was true, but I was hoping I could change that. "I thought it was over. You told me that broke it off with her. When was that? Last year?"

"We went out Saturday," I said.

"Are you serious? Why the hell would you do that?"

"My sister set us up. I didn't know it was going to be Ron; she didn't know it was going to be me."

"But it's over, right? You're not going back down that road?"

"It was a good road," I said, lightly.

"You can't go into the league with a girlfriend – that shit doesn’t work. With all the girls around, she'll be jealous as hell. Drive you crazy."

"Have you ever met a girl you would stop sleeping around for, Don?"

"Nope. And, I hope I never do. Did you take a couple knocks in the head over in Afghanistan? What happened to you? Don't tell me you're in love with that girl."

"I was when I left."

"Even if it seems like it, Rome, she isn’t the only one."

"I’m not trying to step on your toes," I joked.

"No need to worry about that, either. There's plenty to go around," he said.

We were different in a few ways, but this was the one thing I one hundred percent couldn't relate to. Even before Ron and I had gotten together, hanging out with a bunch of different girls really wasn't my thing. I didn't know how he did it. More was good for him, but I was more than happy with just one. When you find the right one, you don't need to keep looking, I thought.

I had found mine, but we were in a weird place right now. This place where it was like I had lost her, but I had her at the same time. We had breached that first barrier and talked to each other again after the time apart. It was obvious we had things to clear up between us, and I was counting on seeing her again so we could talk.

I didn't tell Don that because he didn't get it. He'd just encourage me that pussy was all the same, and if you fucked the girl from behind, you could pretend you were with anyone you wanted.

I left after one more beer; sandy blonde waitress wouldn't get off for another half hour, and Don decided to wait for her so they could leave together.

That shit was so foreign to me. I hadn't tried to pick a girl up since before Ron and I had gotten together. Even with her, I had had to flirt and get her to like me, but it had been sort of easy. We had been on the same campus every day, not this shit, picking up strangers in bars. If anything, good for him for not going home alone tonight. I knew I was. Maybe this next girl would be the one who locked him down, but I wasn't holding my breath.

I texted Tiffany when I got to my car. She got back to me right away. I went home first, but I was heading out immediately. I had a delivery to make. Meeting people when you were still at school was easy. You kind of had this pool of people that you saw all the time that you could take your pick from; it hadn't been hard shooting my shot with Ron.

Things were different now. I had to try. I knew what I wanted, but I understood her pushback. I had to let her come to me. I had to make it safe again.

Her new place wasn't that far from where her old one had been, same area in town, close to school. She lived two floors up in 3C. I put the box down and walked away. She was probably home. If I tried her door, she would probably open it up. It was tempting, but I had to take a step back and let her do what she needed to do. I walked out of her building and drove home. She'd see it tomorrow morning.

Chapter Twelve

Veronica

I put my purse over my shoulder, looking through it to make sure I had thrown the list of books I needed to get in there. The cheapest one on the list was a cool $200. I only had to purchase two, the others I could short l

oan from the library, but textbook costs were no joke. Education costs, in general, were no joke but hey, it was supposed to be an investment, right?

Right.

I had half a mind to buy the books, copy my reading material, then return then to the bookstore when I was done. I walked out the door of my apartment, still rifling through my purse. I stopped when my foot kicked something hard. I looked down, slipping my purse strap back up onto my shoulder. I frowned picking up the box in front of me, looking for a name or apartment number, something that would tell me it wasn't put in front of my door by accident.

There was nothing on it. It wasn't taped up or anything the way boxes came in the mail. I could just lift the lid and see whether there was anything inside it. I mean, it had been on my doorstep, chances were it was for me.