Biker's Virgin

Was it possible to fall in love with a voice? I wondered. There were moments when I really felt that you could. She hadn’t brought up meeting me, and I realized that it was because she was scared I might misconstrue the request. The only reason I was hesitating at this point was because I needed to figure out what I wanted and how badly I wanted it.

“He brought a girl home last night,” Megan said, cutting through my thoughts.

“What?”

“He brought a girl home last night,” she repeated.

“Who did?”

“Brent did,” Megan replied. “Did you just zone out on me?”

“Uh…no.”

“You did!” she said, in a lightly accusing tone.

“Sorry.”

She laughed. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” I said, a little too quickly.

How could I explain to her that she was what was on my mind? How could I explain to her that her laugh made me feel warm inside or that her voice made me think of music and starlight or that her little silences and short pauses felt like an eternity because I hung on her every word?

“Come on,” she coaxed. “Tell me.”

“I was just—”

I was spared from having to answer when I heard a distinct thudding on my front door.

“What’s that noise?” Megan asked.

“Someone’s at my door,” I said, walking over. Then I looked through my peephole and raised my eyebrows. “You’ll never guess who’s standing outside my door.”

“Beyoncé?” Megan asked. “And if it is, I’m coming over immediately.”

“Brent.”

“My brother?” Megan said. “Ugh…how boring.”

I rolled my eyes as Brent kept thudding at my door. “He’s not patient, is he?” I asked, lowering my voice a little so that he wouldn’t be able to hear me.

“Patience has never been one of his stronger virtues.”

“That implies that he has some virtue.”

“Hey, dickwad!” Brent screamed. “Open the fucking door.”

“You’d better go,” Megan said. “We’ll talk later.”

Before I could protest that, she had already hung up. Annoyed at having my conversation with Megan cut short, I opened the door with a frown on my face.

“It’s about fucking time,” Brent said, breezing past me and going straight for the sofa. “What took you so long?”

“I was talking to someone.”

“Yeah, I thought I heard you talking; who was it?” Brent asked. “And do you got any beer?”

“Nice English,” I couldn’t help but say.