Page 57 of Forty

“Make me cum,” I pant. “Forty, please.”

“You want to cum?” he murmurs between long licks.

“Yes!” I have to, or I’m going to explode. “Please!”

Forty stops, stands, and grabs my chin. “I want the truth. All of it. This isn’t just sex.” He kisses me lightly, firmly on the lips. I can taste myself. “And until you’re ready, I want to go find a Rebel Raider and beat the shit out of him until he talks. You’re comin’ with. I can’t trust you here alone. You move my shit around.” Then he slaps my ass, slides open the shower door, and hops out.

“You got about two minutes of hot water left,” he calls over his shoulder as he heads into the other room. “And we’re leaving in eight minutes whether you’re ready or not.”

Joke’s on him. I finish myself off in thirty seconds flat, and I’m ready to go a minute early, hair pulled back into the world’s poofiest, messiest bun.

It was easy. My steps are light. I’m fizzling with happiness.

Whatever this is, it’s more than sex. And I’m comin’ with him.

As he walks down the hallway to the stairs, I fall into step beside him. As soon as we hit the commons, everyone does a double take and stares with contempt in their eyes. Heavy Ruth purposefully turns his back and stalks out of the room.

Guess my scarlet A is bright and shiny this morning. They can think what they want. I don’t care.

Forty’s by my side.

I’m right where I want to be.

* * *

Five hours later,I have changed my mind. I haven’t done any long runs on a motorcycle since I was a teenager, and after several hundred miles doubling back and forth all over the tri-county area, my inner thighs are burning and my ass is numb.

Apparently, we’re looking for something. Or someone. Forty won’t say. Club business. We’ve been to honkytonk bars, tattoo parlors, package goods, the Elk Lodge, the Moose Lodge, the Optimist Club, the Oddfellows, both gun ranges, three community ponds, and two public fishing piers.

We’re definitely looking for a man.

Forty tells me to stay by the bike, and while I hang out in the parking lot, he pokes around, talks to whoever he finds. I’m kind of impressed. Forty was never very gregarious, but he’s bullshitting with all types.

Around one, my stomach starts growling audibly, and Forty pulls into Duck’s Diner on Gracy Avenue. Duck’s has been around forever. It’s a Petty’s Mill institution. The décor has never been updated—plastic booths and no A/C—and neither has the menu. You can get a real cherry soda where they add the syrup.

I don’t wait for Forty to mess around with his bike. I’m getting a little sick of him barking at me to stay like a dog and ignoring me otherwise. I know he’s aware it’s me riding bitch with my arms wrapped around him. He has to adjust his dick at each stop.

I drop my helmet on the seat, and bound inside, leaving him to catch up. The wooden screen door slams with a satisfying thud. Nothing smells as good as Duck’s. The counter is polished wood, so old it has that mellow shine and the lemon scent from Grandma’s house.

The place is packed, but no one bothers to look up. I nip back to the bathroom, do my business, and glare at my hair in the cloudy mirror. A helmet and seventy mile per hour winds have not improved the situation. At least my cheeks are pink. I pat my curls ‘cause there’s nothing else to be done and shake out the Steel Bones T-shirt I borrowed, trying to dry the sweat under my boobs.

It’s a hot day for spring, inching towards eighty-five degrees. I can’t wait for summer in the country. Summer in the city isn’t the same. No real cherry soda. No swimming at the lake. No tubing down the river.

Forty and I used to do all that. We’d be outside every minute we could, and by July, I’d have hundreds of freckles, and he’d have every tan line you can imagine. Socks. Hat band. Short sleeve and tank top.

I want to do that again. Maybe I can convince Forty to take a break after lunch. Go to the bend in the river where we tied up the rope swing. See if it’s still there.

First, though, I’m getting a Rueben with extra meat. Forty better be paying. I think my purse is in my car. Which is in the shop. Or did I leave my purse at home?

I rush back to the dining area, smiling, imagining how cold the river will be, and how wonderful it’ll feel to sun ourselves naked on the bank after taking a dip. I can see it, feel it, and—

Forty’s standing in the entrance, talking to a woman. Trying to smile at her. I think that’s what this is. Kind of looks like a raccoon baring his teeth.

Her hand is on his arm. She’s animated. She kisses his cheek. His hand presses briefly to the small of her back to steady her. She’s wearing six-inch heels. In Duck’s Diner.

She’s tall. Blond. Wearing a perfectly-tailored, navy blue business suit. And coral lipstick.

Now she’s introducing Forty to the guy she’s with. He’s short and thin with a collared shirt and a sweaty hairline. His handshake is quick and floppy.

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