indeterminable. There was no way to know if he liked that or not. “You’re coming in from Austin, right? From the college? You graduate?”
“I did. Liberal arts. English and Philosophy.”
“English, huh?”
Here was a test. Would he fall into the trap that everyone did? Would he accuse her of wanting to be a teacher—and so be like every other person who has ever asked someone about an English degree?
“So you're going to be a writer?”
June smiled. Not bad. “Something like that.”
She honestly didn't know what she wanted to be; mostly, she just knew she wanted enough money to never have to rely on her parents again. An English degree might have been a bad choice for that, but she went to college to learn, not to train for a job that would have to train her anyway.
June had a business idea. It involved hiring football players thoroughly shaking all English majors until they changed their field of study.
“So what’s it like?” she asked, hoping to change the subject permanently. “Being in a motorcycle club?”
“We’re not, you know...” he made a gesture. “People make up things about bikers. We’re not as bad as they make us out.”
“No rape parties? No murder raids?”
She was half-joking, half-serious. Her parents had told her any number of frightening stories. Their conventional wisdom would have told her that even the biggest lies have some truth to them, but those nuggets of truth were often small. Truth nuggets like bikers sometimes had “parties,” like any other human alive.
“Rape parties? Goddamn, no.” He let out a soft laugh. “Shit, no. I mean...there’s drugs, right? We don’t really abide much by the laws of the land. But we’ve got morality, still. We just don’t need the man crashing in to our scene.”
June nodded. That was about what she expected. Boys playing with their toys at too old an age.
“But what is it like being a biker? I mean, what’s your life like? The lifestyle? What should I, you know, what should I expect?”
“You really want to know?”
“I asked. So yes, I do.”
“It’s...” he shook his head as he flipped open the gas tank on his bike. “You know, if you had asked me twenty-four hours ago, I would have said it’s the best thing in the world. No rules but our own. No law but our own. We look after each other. We protect one another. We ride and we die, and nobody gets between us. But today...”
“Today is worse. Because for whatever reason you’re pulling me into your life.”
He waved a hand down the road. “You can leave at any time, babe.”
She ignored his deflection. “But it is worse today. Why?”
A troupe of bikers approached on the right side of the four-way intersection. Wrecking Crew, in fact. One of them recognized Ram and raised a fist to him. Ram saluted back.
“Kiss me,” he said.
Her hair spun as she turned back to him, nearly flying in his face. “What?”
“You’re gonna be my old lady, right? Well, crash course. You’ve got to do what I say, when I say it, when we’re in the presence of my brothers. So, kiss me.”
She hesitated.
“You want your car fixed or not?”
The reason for her hesitation wasn’t that Ram was attractive. In fact, that was the opposite of her hesitation—it was that he was too attractive, and he was just the sort of man that June didn’t need to be mixed up with.
If they kissed, if they really kissed, that would make this entire situation suddenly very risky in a way that made June uncomfortable. She was already heavily attracted to Ram—in the biological way, the primitive way, the sense of preternatural knowing of how strong and protective he is, what a good mate he would be in some hunter-gatherer fashion.
But June wasn’t a cave woman. Love hadn’t been in her life for a little while now, not since Simon, and if love popped its crazy head around again she wanted to be sure that it entered the way she wanted it to.
Ram waited, expectant. He put a hand
“I did. Liberal arts. English and Philosophy.”
“English, huh?”
Here was a test. Would he fall into the trap that everyone did? Would he accuse her of wanting to be a teacher—and so be like every other person who has ever asked someone about an English degree?
“So you're going to be a writer?”
June smiled. Not bad. “Something like that.”
She honestly didn't know what she wanted to be; mostly, she just knew she wanted enough money to never have to rely on her parents again. An English degree might have been a bad choice for that, but she went to college to learn, not to train for a job that would have to train her anyway.
June had a business idea. It involved hiring football players thoroughly shaking all English majors until they changed their field of study.
“So what’s it like?” she asked, hoping to change the subject permanently. “Being in a motorcycle club?”
“We’re not, you know...” he made a gesture. “People make up things about bikers. We’re not as bad as they make us out.”
“No rape parties? No murder raids?”
She was half-joking, half-serious. Her parents had told her any number of frightening stories. Their conventional wisdom would have told her that even the biggest lies have some truth to them, but those nuggets of truth were often small. Truth nuggets like bikers sometimes had “parties,” like any other human alive.
“Rape parties? Goddamn, no.” He let out a soft laugh. “Shit, no. I mean...there’s drugs, right? We don’t really abide much by the laws of the land. But we’ve got morality, still. We just don’t need the man crashing in to our scene.”
June nodded. That was about what she expected. Boys playing with their toys at too old an age.
“But what is it like being a biker? I mean, what’s your life like? The lifestyle? What should I, you know, what should I expect?”
“You really want to know?”
“I asked. So yes, I do.”
“It’s...” he shook his head as he flipped open the gas tank on his bike. “You know, if you had asked me twenty-four hours ago, I would have said it’s the best thing in the world. No rules but our own. No law but our own. We look after each other. We protect one another. We ride and we die, and nobody gets between us. But today...”
“Today is worse. Because for whatever reason you’re pulling me into your life.”
He waved a hand down the road. “You can leave at any time, babe.”
She ignored his deflection. “But it is worse today. Why?”
A troupe of bikers approached on the right side of the four-way intersection. Wrecking Crew, in fact. One of them recognized Ram and raised a fist to him. Ram saluted back.
“Kiss me,” he said.
Her hair spun as she turned back to him, nearly flying in his face. “What?”
“You’re gonna be my old lady, right? Well, crash course. You’ve got to do what I say, when I say it, when we’re in the presence of my brothers. So, kiss me.”
She hesitated.
“You want your car fixed or not?”
The reason for her hesitation wasn’t that Ram was attractive. In fact, that was the opposite of her hesitation—it was that he was too attractive, and he was just the sort of man that June didn’t need to be mixed up with.
If they kissed, if they really kissed, that would make this entire situation suddenly very risky in a way that made June uncomfortable. She was already heavily attracted to Ram—in the biological way, the primitive way, the sense of preternatural knowing of how strong and protective he is, what a good mate he would be in some hunter-gatherer fashion.
But June wasn’t a cave woman. Love hadn’t been in her life for a little while now, not since Simon, and if love popped its crazy head around again she wanted to be sure that it entered the way she wanted it to.
Ram waited, expectant. He put a hand
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