Page 3 of Tank

“Bingo.” Her shoulders slump a little at this before she brightens. “Hey! So we’re both in the same boat! Wrongly accused! This could make a good story.”

She pulls a notepad and pen out of that amazing cleavage of hers and starts mumbling to herself, taking notes.

“Tyson? You’re up,” Sergeant Davies steps up to my cage and unlocks it, looking over at the blonde next door. “Back again, huh, Mira?” He smiles at the bombshell still muttering to herself.

She looks up at him before grinning, “Yeah. You know how it goes.” Her eyes flick to me standing outside my cell. “Good luck Biker Man!”

“You too, Writer Lady.”

Mira

“Well, there’s all your paperwork, and now you’re free to go.” Officer Robbie says, pushing all my belongings across the desk.

“Thanks, Officer Robbie.” I reply, dropping my ladybird ballet flats on the floor and stuffing my feet into them.

“You know you really should call me Officer Graham, Mira.”

“Why? You were Robbie when we went to school with each other, and let’s face it, I see you more now than I ever did at school.” I shrug.

“Yeah, maybe you should think about your life choices,” He replies, his pale blonde brow raised.

“It’s all in the name of research, good sir.”

He shakes his head at me as I hook my handbag over my arm, spin on my cute little flats and flounce out of the station, coming to a stop on the steps when the first drop of rain hits me. Looking up at the threatening sky, I let out a sigh. Of course I’d get kinda arrested and then have to walk home in the rain in my best dress. The one that goes a little see through when it’s wet. On the day that I had to wear “laundry panties”. The ones with busted elastic. The ones my thick thighs have to keep up.

I let out a growl and shake my fist in the air, a deep voice interrupting my silent cursing.

“What are you doing?”

I don’t even turn toward the voice. I know it’s the big, sexy, wrongly accused biker. I committed that voice to memory to call upon during private times.

“I’m cursing the weather gods.”

“Why?”

“Because I have to walk home in this weather and my dress is a little see-through when it gets wet and I have bad underpants on.”

“Um. Right. Is there anyone you can call?”

“Nope. They’re all dead. I didn’t do it.”

He inhales sharply before coughing. “Wow. OK. Do you want a ride?”

I whip around to stare at him. “Like on your bike? You bet your sweet fanny I do!” I shuffle around in excitement, looking for said bike, seeing nothing but a blacked out SUV

His lips tip up when I turn to him with a frown. “Sorry babe, my brother is picking me up. Come on, let’s get you home before the rain really comes in and we get an eyeful.”

“It’s probably two eyes full, but alright. I guess.”

He gestures for me to go first and I approve. Not many men these days have such manners, so it’s nice to find the giant, blonde biker does. His dark blonde hair is shaved around the sides and the longer top length is pulled back into a small ponytail thing. Not hipster, more utilitarian to keep it out of the way. He also has super kind eyes and hands the size of boxing gloves. I bet he could do loads of damage with those things. He opens the door to the SUV for me and I climb in the back before he pulls his bulk into the front passenger seat.

“Writer Lady, Judge. Judge, Writer Lady,”

“Hi Bald Biker Man,” I wave to our driver, give him my address and settle back into the nice leather seats.

I watch as the town whizzes by the window, content to think through the upcoming scenes in the book I’m writing. It doesn’t take much for me to fall into my own world, lines of dialogue running through my mind.

“Yo, Writer Lady, this your place?”

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