“Ready?” the biker asked.
“Yeah,” I reluctantly said. You need help, I scolded myself. You have now put yourself in a bad situation.
He handed me a hot pink helmet with the words ‘Old Lady’ written in silver.
“Let’s get this lid on you and see where the coast leads us.” He put his own helmet on and straddled the bike. “Climb on.” He grinned.
There was no way out. I didn’t know how to tell him I changed my mind.
Feeling as though I had no choice, I slid behind him. “My name is Caitlyn. What
can I call you?”
“My bros call me Bulldog, but you can call me Marcus.”
Panic filled me as I realized I was doing this. He was probably in a motorcycle gang and had a girlfriend who wore tight leather. Girlfriend, I thought and immediately felt terrified. “Will your old lady mind that I am wearing her hat?”
Marcus threw his head back and laughed. “There is no one to worry about,
babe. The hat was given to me as a joke. It will protect you. Lucky you chose to
wear jeans and sexy boots today.”
Before I could question what he meant, he revved the engine and cried,
“Hang on.”
I rested my hands carefully on his waist. When he jerked forward, I held tighter. I was on the back of a dangerous vehicle, pressed close to a complete stranger, and I felt surprisingly alive as we rode North. The ride was exhilarating. I had become completely confident in my rash decision until he turned off Coast Highway. My stomach churned as he pulled onto a side street and into a residential area.
I considered jumping off the back of the bike. The risk of getting injured and
not being able to fight off an attack stopped me. Who was I kidding? He was solid muscle. Nothing could save me.
A garage opened, and he drove into it. He turned off the machine and got off.
“I need to feed my dogs. Come in and have a drink. It won’t take long,” he
explained.
“I don’t drink.”
“Water, babe. You will get messed up if you don’t hydrate.” He reached over
and unhooked the helmet.
I pulled it off, and he reached out to me. I jerked away.
“Easy, girl. Your hair is sticking up.” He gently smoothed the offending pieces down.
Inside his home, we were greeted by four Chihuahuas of mixed breeds. The small animals yipped at me. He scooped them up, affectionately kissed them, and doled out treats.
“Yeah. Yeah. I’m home to feed you. You act like you are starving,” he gently
scolded them.
He dished out their food and then turned back to me. “Sorry for the detour. I
need to keep my girls happy.”
“You live alone?”
He laughed. “Those four are enough.”
He reached into the fridge, pulled out a bottle, and offered it to me. An image
of Christopher forcing me to drink the same brand washed over me. “Can I just
have tap water?”
“Okay.” He raised his eyebrows at me and opened a cabinet with dozens of
cups. “Lady’s choice.”
We sat at the table drinking our water. “So, do you go around picking up strangers often?”
“No.” I started to lie about my reason for asking today. “I thought my ex…”
