Page 2 of Filthy and Dirty with the Bikers

Literally, I mean every word.

If we were holding a rope to survive, we’d argue about the best way to grip. Then, we’d probably argue about how we were arguing. It’s a famous move of ours. The fight overhowwe’re fighting. You’d be surprised at how fast that escalates.

Last night was a classic. I got the stupid idea in my head that I could talk to him about my emotions. He felt threatened, got defensive, and let me know that my needs create a massive burden on his life. We ended things with me crying and him dismissing me to get some sleep. At least last night it didn’t turn physical. Those nights are the worst, and I do my best to shove them into the little box in my psyche where all the things I wish never happened go.

I guess that makes me delusional.

Maybe I like it. I must. Why else would I continue with this loop of crazy? Things go well, I think I trust him, I open up, he shuts me down, he gets physical, he twists it back on me, I believe him, and we start the cycle all over again. Sometimes things are good for a long time before they’re bad again, and sometimes, I really do believe I deserve his anger. I’m not easy to love.

I blow out a heavy breath, twist off the shower, and step out into the bathroom, wrapping a cotton towel around myself before sliding my hand against the fogged mirror. I’m not sure I even know who this girl is anymore. I know she used to love picking wildflowers in the rain, riding horses, and reading tarot cards for people in town. I haven’t done those things in years. I blame the relationship for that, but I’m not sure it’s anyone’s fault but my own.

Tyler’s voice echoes down the hallway, forcing my stomach to turn. I’m a little surprised that he was gone this morning when I woke up. It’s Sunday. He’s usually sat in front of the television with whatever football game is on.

“Molly, you back here?” His heavy footsteps weigh the wood boards as he moves. “That asshole is outside waiting for you. Something about a goddamn feather. I’m not inviting him in.”

The‘asshole’he’s referring to is my brother’s buddy, Rhett. He lived in Alaska until two years ago when he relocated here to Whiskey Falls to escape some gambling debts his parents left behind when they passed. No one here knows his story but me. I think that’s why he stops by sometimes. I’m a part of the past for him. A piece he didn’t have to let go of.

I nod toward Tyler and tug on a pair of sweatpants and an oversized hoodie I keep hung in the back of the closet. It’s not odd that he isn’t inviting Rhett inside. Since the two of them met, they’ve been like ammonia and bleach. I don’t fully understand why they don’t get along, but they don’t. Maybe Tyler can sense that Rhett makes my blood pressure go up. It’s nothing sexual, but it’s been happening since I met him all those years ago. My palms would get sweaty, my heart rate would rocket, and I’d become a flustered mess with my words.

I’m sure some people would say that was a schoolgirl crush, but I know it wasn’t anything like that. Rhett is off limits. First, because he’s so much older than me. Second, he’s my brother’s friend, and though I don’t think my brother wouldn’t be weird with it at all,I would be.Third, Rhett is a biker, and I’m not the carefree and wild type. I mean, I’m sure there are moments of thrill in sitting on the back of a motorcycle, feeling the wind in your hair and the vibration between your legs, but there’s also a thrill in jumping off a cliff and you won’t catch me doing that either.

“Make it fast,” Tyler grumbles under his breath as he heads toward the coffee pot. I want to snap back and remind him that he doesn’t control who I talk to or for how long I talk to them. I’d also like to know where he was this morning, but that won’t go over well, and I don’t have the energy to fight again today.

So instead of starting shit, I roll my eyes, slide into my boots, and tuck my hands into the pocket of my hoodie as I step outside into the frigid cold.

Rhett stands with one hand tucked into the pocket of his jeans. “Hey, trouble. How are ya?”

Trouble.I love that he calls me trouble. It makes me feel so edgy and dangerous when we both know I’m neither.

“Not bad. How about you?” I glance down at the ground before meeting his gaze again. He’s changed so much. He used to be this skinny, nerdy type of dude. But since he relocated up here in the mountains, he’s been playing the part. He wears flannel and work boots, and his arms are covered in dark black ink. His hands are worn from working outside and his shoulders are broader too.

I probably shouldn’t notice these things. This is probably why Tyler hates me seeing Rhett. What’s wrong with me? No wonder we fight all the time. I’m jerking off to fantasy books and noticing another man’s shoulders.

That doesn’t stop me from going in for a hug, though. Smiling, I reach toward Rhett, closing my eyes as the scent of cedar and bike exhaust surrounds me. He’s not riding today, probably because of the weather, but I’m guessing he’s been working back at the shop.

“Pretty good. I was out at the library doing some work on the new addition today and I found this black feather I thought you’d like.” He raises it up toward the sunlight and moves it back and forth between his fingers, catching the light in the barbs.“You see how it’s sort of got this blue iridescent thing going on? I think it’s a raven.”

My heart warms again. Pretty soon, I’m going to have to take this hoodie off for Rhett. In the years Tyler and I have been together, he hasn’t once given me a feather. In fact, he’s usually reminding me of how dirty and illegal it is to collect them.

I say, if the most illegal thing I ever do is collect bird feathers, then I can call my life a win. It’s not like I’m plucking them off the bird’s body. I pick one up if it falls in my path. I suppose I don’t have to take it home, wash it off, and thoughtfully display it on my bookshelf, but I believe that every feather comes with a message and a challenge all rolled into one.

First, I have to identify what kind of bird dropped the feather, then what that particular bird means spiritually. It’s a whole thing, and the fact that Rhett remembered and came all the way up here to bring me one makes my heart smile.

He drags his hand down over his beard and hands the feather toward me. “I read that it means you’re being protected.”

“Well,” I laugh, “youare.Youfound it.”

He glances at me with a coy smile. “That’s not how this game works. The feathers are all for you.”

“Well,” I pull my hands into my sleeves, “it’s actually foryou. You’re the one who found it.”

“So, if I drop it here and you find it, then the message is for you?”

I grin widely. “Yeah, something like that.”

He nods and releases the feather at my feet with a grin. “Oh look, it’s a raven feather. I hear that means you’re protected.”

I can’t help but laugh as I bend down to pick it up. “Oh damn. That’s crazy! It’s like it was meant to be.” Smiling feels so damn good, even better than the orgasm I had earlier. I bet thatmeans something is seriously wrong with me. Most everyone on Earth would prefer an orgasm to a smile,right?

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