Page 3 of Booked Solid

Chapter Two

Wyatt

October 16th…

Thankfully, her taste is similar to mine, which means the music from the greatest decade is filling the rental car I acquired. Since we’d both planned to fly, neither of us had vehicles in the lot as our final destinations were on the other side of our respective flights. Seeing as how we were scheduled to leave late last night, we decided to book two rooms at a nearby hotel, then get an early start this morning. “The eighties rock!” She exclaims as the first notes of Hysteria from Def Leppard come through the speakers.

I’d concur, but I’m too busy singing to it. Which she apparently takes as agreement anyway as she raises my hand, high fives it, then sets it back down. On her knee. My voice falters, squeaking like it hasn’t done since I hit puberty, then regroups, finishing the lyric before trying to speak. “So, uh—” Smooth, King, “—how did you make the list?”

“I didn’t,” she mutters, adding, “Ogden Ashton did.” My confusion as I throw a quick peek at her must show because she explains, “I am Ashton Ogden. What are the odds, huh?”

“I don’t know,” I answer, though I’m betting her question was rhetorical. “But they were clearly in my favor.”

“Apparently, I have to appeal it, showing numerous forms of identification to prove I am who I say I am.” She rolls her eyes at the red tape, something I completely sympathize with. It’s one of the reasons I decided not to reup when my time was coming to a close. I’d answered to one person or another for so long, which I know I’d signed up for, but I had been itching for a change. The uniforms, the routines, that had once felt so comfortable becoming suffocating. It wasn’t a decision I’d come to lightly, yet I knew it needed to be made.

I was no longer happy. No longer content with the status quo. I wanted roots. A house. An actual address. None of which I’d had since losing my grandparents. I also wanted a place to store my bike. A garage to repair them for others, to custom make them.

I didn’t know how I was going to accomplish it, only that it wasn’t by doing what I’d done for twenty years. Since the age of eighteen when I’d enlisted, my life had not been my own. Now, it is.

That same gut instinct that told me to join, that kept me safe for two decades when others weren’t so lucky, that let me know it was time to take another path, is what led me to meeting Ashton.

Call it fate. Destiny. Happenstance. Serendipity. Or just plain luck. Whatever it is, I can’t deny that it was right.

**Ashton**

A few hours in to our drive, I think to inquire, “Where were you headed to?” I feel so guilty for disrupting his travel plans, even though I didn’t ask as he offered. Whether it was out of pity or he truly wanted to help, I don’t know, but here we are. Together for the foreseeable future, giving us the chance to get to know each other. I’m dang sure going to take advantage of that.

Wyatt is the most interesting man I’ve met in…forever. If this trip is the only chance I get with him, I intend to savor every second of it. And here I thought the initial trip was meant to be my adventure.

It had nothing on the man next to me.

When he doesn’t answer, I’m worried it was too personal? “My last deployment was an extended one overseas. I hated the thought of my bike just sitting there, so a friend of mine offered to keep it. Start it here and there to make sure it was healthy while being stored. Now that I’m out,” my heart flutters at the dangers he must’ve faced, relief swamping me that he no longer will, “I’m ready to get Lola back.” He talks so affectionally about the machine that I can’t help but be jealous. Doesn’t make it any easier that he straddles her, his thighs gripping her sides as…

Am I too young to get hot flashes? “After that?” I prod, wanting to hear him talk more even if it’ll make me overheat. Do not jump the man, Ash. Remain where you are.

He shrugs. “Open ended. Other than my carry on,” we’d grabbed my luggage prior to leaving and the single duffle bag slung over his shoulder was all he had, “all my stuff is in a storage unit by his place. Easier that way.”

“You hoping to find a spot near him?” Don’t ask where that is. That’d definitely be too personal. Although, it does matter as I don’t want him to go out of his way while helping me. Loophole for the win.

“Not sure,” he states. “I know he wants me to. Said there’s a location that’d be perfect for my shop.” That, of course, demands more questions and he tells me all about Hog Wyld, a play on his name. His dream. He wants to provide repairs for bikers as well as the opportunity to do custom builds. “What about you?” I explain about winning the trip, having no problem traveling to get here, but not being able to say the same about leaving a week later. “Hence you not knowing until that moment of the name debacle.” Can you hear somebody swoon? That’s the only reason I can think of that has him looking at me so curiously as he asks, “What?”

Since we’re going to be trapped together – hello, close proximity plot! – for a bit, there’s no use trying to hide my weirdness. It’s bound to come out and I’d rather it be when I choose. “Hence, debacle.” I shrug. “I like a smart man.”

“Is that so?” I confirm that it is and he promptly declares, “E equals MC squared. Paul Revere never actually shouted that the British were coming. Captain Morgan really existed. In the 1800s, ketchup was originally marketed as a cure for indigestion by John Cook, a physician from Ohio. Edison may have patented the light bulb, but he didn’t invent it. A British astronomer and chemist did four decades prior.” When he takes a breath, I encourage him to keep going, finding this fascinating. Thankfully, he does. “Washington never had wooden teeth.”

“So, what you’re saying is those were false teeth?” I wait to see if my pun lands. It does, his laughter filling the car.

“Former President Zachary Taylor died from an overdose of cherries shortly after a Fourth of July party.”

“Well, that’s the pits.” Again, he gets it and finds it amusing. I give an abbreviated version of a curtesy, seeing as I’m sitting down, and confess, “That’s pretty much all I’ve got. I’m not punderful.”

“That’s okay,” he assures me. “You are wonderful, so you’ve got that going for you.” When he winks at me, I realize that while he isn’t a threat to me physically, he is emotionally. Instead of heeding the warning signs and taking the detour, I push the metaphorical pedal to the metal and eagerly greet my fate.

Seeing that darkness has fallen and he’s been going strong for quite a few hours, I let him know, “I’m going to see if I can find us a place to crash for the night.”

Chapter Three

Wyatt

---