CULVER: A Motorcycle Club Romance Novel (7 page)

~
13
~

We took our time on the drive home, much less eager to get back to
Missoula than we had been to get to Vegas. We took goofy pictures in small
towns, pulled over to admire scenic areas, and tried our hardest to get one of
those pictures where we all jump into the air at the same time. It never quite
worked; inevitably, one of us would be on the ground when the shutter flashed.
It didn’t matter; we had fun.

I mostly managed to put Boon out of my mind, but I will admit to having
some steamy daydreams, especially when we’d be joined on the highway by a biker
or gang of bikers. I found myself looking for the “Cold Steel” patch on passing
leather jackets, but I never saw one.

Of course you’re not going
to see one, dummy. They’re headed back to L.A.,
I thought to myself,
reprimanding myself for being overly hopeful. And what was I hoping for,
anyway? That Boon would have convinced his entire gang to move to Missoula?
That he would just leave them, run away to start a life with me in Montana?
Introduce himself to my parents, get a decent job, lead a boring life, for my
sake?
As if,
I thought,
you’re not that special, Samantha.

No matter how much we talked about dreading going back, I know that Becky
and Alicia shared the same warm feeling I did when we started seeing the
landscape that told us we were close to home. It had been a wild week, and we
were tired of travelling, wanted to sleep in our own beds, hug our parents, see
our friends.

That didn’t mean it was easy to hug Becky and Alicia goodbye when they
dropped me off in front of my house. That trip really
had
changed us; but it brought us even closer together than we’d
been before. Even though we’d probably see each other every day all summer, and
then all the time while we were in school, having them around constantly had
become normal to me, and I missed them the moment they pulled away.

That feeling was fleeting though, as I ran up the steps to hug my mother
and father. It was the longest I’d ever been away from them, and I felt like
we’d been away forever. They wanted to hear everything, see pictures, the whole
thing: I told everything that I could tell without getting in trouble over
dinner that night, and went to sleep happy and full of memories and happiness.

The next morning, though, I felt like I was hungover from the whole trip.
I felt lazy, and listless, a little heartbroken. Mom and Dad tried to get me up
and out, to go to a movie or a jog around the track, but really all I wanted to
do was lie in bed, stare at the ceiling, and think. Let everything settle.

Think about how I was suddenly a different person: a sexual person, with
a lifetime ahead of me of adventure and experiments. Think about how much I
missed the smell of Boon on my skin. Think about how he’d vanished, without a
word, in the hotel. Think about everything and nothing all at once.

I missed him. I didn’t miss him. I missed him more than I could say, I
didn’t care if he died in a train wreck tomorrow. He was good news, he was bad
news. He was the one, he was just another guy. He was special, he was lucky. He
was bad news, he was good news. Over and over, my brain and heart flipped the
coin, sometimes landing on love, sometimes landing on lust.

It was a fun time, you
learned something about yourself, you don’t need him anymore, you know what you
want. Someday, you will forget him.

He was special, you felt
something deeper than just lust, he had those eyes that made you want to open
up. You will never forget him, always want him.

I was up all night that night, pacing my room, watching Netflix, trying
to fall asleep. I wished I had some pot, which, I’d learned, was a great
sleep-aide. I hated myself for wishing that, because I knew it was wrong, and
that Mom and Dad didn’t raise me to be this way. They didn’t raise a stoner,
for one, and they certainly didn’t raise a little sex-kitten who would get all
bent over shape over a big dick attached to deep, blue eyes. Deep, deep,
deep
blue eyes…

When I woke up the next day, I was almost surprised because I couldn’t
remember falling asleep in the first place. I groaned, my head pounding from
lack of sleep and a night of too-much-thinking.

“Samantha? You up yet?” I heard my mother call from downstairs. Rolling
over, I looked at the clock. It was nearly noon. And yet I felt like I hadn’t
slept at all.

“Yeah, Mom, I’ll be down in a minute,” I yelled back, then rolled over
again. I couldn’t live like this. I wanted to just go back to sleep, lose my
mind in dreams, not worry about anything ever again. But, I knew that I had to
get up, be myself, be happy, move on.
This
is not a rehearsal,
I thought to myself, another one of Becky’s
bumper-sticker-mottos.

I took a deep breath and jumped out of bed, then quickly did some
jumping-jacks and ran in place for about a minute. I figured the best way to
shake off my doldrums was to literally shake them off, and in a few minutes I
was feeling (pretty much) good-as-new.

I bounced down the stairs, knowing that breakfast was long over and that
I’d have to prepare something for myself.

“Well, there she is, our little sleepyhead,” Dad said when I almost ran
into him rounding the corner to the kitchen.

“Hi, Dad!” I said, pushing past him, food the only thing on my mind. I’d
barely eaten anything the day before, too wrapped up in my thoughts, and was
starving. I immediately pulled the peanut butter out of the cupboard and
grabbed two slices of bread from the fridge. PB&J was my go-to snack.

“Don’t fill up, now, we’re grilling this afternoon!” Dad said from the
hall as he watched me spread the peanut butter over the bread.
Perfect,
I thought,
a day relaxing by the pool and eating hamburgers with my parents.
Exactly what I need!

“Don’t worry, I can eat four meals in four hours. You know that,” I said,
taking a huge bite out of my sandwich. Dad laughed. My insatiable appetite was
a running joke in our family: I was always so involved in cheerleading and
sports that I could eat way more than my relatively small frame showed. I was
always hungry.

“This is true, my dear,” Dad said, shaking his head as he watched me
finish the sandwich in five huge bites. “Man, I don’t know where you put it
all.”

“Well, talking burns a lot of calories,” I said playfully. That was the
other running joke in my family: my 5-miles-per-hour mouth.

“Okay, well, I’m going to fire up the grill in an hour or so. Do you want
to invite Becky and Alicia over, or have you had enough girl time for one
summer?” I thought about it for a moment, and decided that I wanted today to be
just about my family.

I did miss Becky and Alicia already, and knew, from their texts, that
they were missing me, too, but I wanted to get back into things one step at a
time: Becky and Alicia would almost certainly want to talk about me losing my
virginity to Boon, and I wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. It was enough just
thinking
about it.

“I think I’ll just chill with you and Mom today,” I said, trying to push
thoughts of Boon away. Why couldn’t I just forget him, why did he have to keep
popping up, even when I was doing something as innocent as eating peanut butter
and jelly and talking to my Dad?

“Okay, well, I’m gonna fire up the grill in an hour or so,” Dad said,
moving away. I stood in the kitchen for a moment longer, listening to the clock
tick, trying to ground myself in the room.
This
is my kitchen. This is my life. This is where I live.

An hour later, I was lounging by the pool, smelling hamburgers on the
grill, not a care in the world. I had my phone with me, obviously, and was
lazily texting with Alicia about getting Thai food the next day. When my phone
buzzed, I expected a text from Alicia confirming that she would be at the
restaurant at two the next day.

Which is why I just about had a heart attack and nearly imploded my own
stomach when I saw that the text was from an unknown number, the same number
Boon had texted me from in Vegas, the same number that I still hadn’t had the
heart to save in my phone as his…

Tag, you’re it,
the text read. Attached was
a photo. With shaking fingers, I tapped the link. The photo that popped up made
my head spin. It was a photo of my house. The very house that I was currently
lounging behind.

How did he find me? Why did
he find me? What…
my mind was spinning.
He must be
joking,
I thought. Not only did I not know how he could have possibly found
my house, I also didn’t know whether or not the picture was real or just a
joke, a picture taken from Google Maps or something.

My heart pounded in my throat as I sent back the only text I could think
of:
???

The seconds seemed to pass like months as I waited for a response. When
my phone buzzed again, I jumped out of the chair like I’d been bit by a snake.

“Woah nelly, what’s wrong with you? Someone post a picture of their
engagement ring?” Mom said, watching me as I shook in my flip-flops.

“I…I…uh…hold on…” I said, my brain working at half capacity. Without
answering my parent’s puzzled looks, I rushed around the side of the house, not
even caring about how much I would be showing the neighbors in my bikini. I
didn’t take my eyes off my phone until I reached the front of my house. Then,
slowly, I lifted my gaze.

And there he was. In all his muscled, tattooed, masculine glory. Boon. On
his bike. Helmet in the crook of his arm, white teeth gleaming in the sun,
blonde hair bouncing rays of sunlight, a picture-perfect moment. My heart was
full. My jaw dropped. I giggled like a schoolgirl. I can’t ever remember being
happier in my entire life. I looked down at my phone.

Come and see,
the text read.

~
14
~

I remember the feel of the hot cement and street against my bare feet. I
remember the glare of the sun off Boon’s helmet. I remember the heat of his leather
jacket, the smell of his sweat, his stubble scratching my chin as we kissed. I
remember, I remember, I remember.

And I remember my parents’ shocked faces when I turned around and saw
they had followed me to meet Boon. I remember my mother’s bemused my look, my
father’s narrowed eyes and sneer. I remember my father suddenly disappearing
into the house as my mother laughed at me. I remember turning back to Boon,
apologizing.

“My parents…” I said.

“I don’t care, don’t apologize.”

“How did you find me?”

“I have my ways.”

We were locked in each other’s eyes, each other’s embrace. We were filled
with each other, in that moment. It was a perfect moment.

“What’s your last name, kid,” I suddenly heard from behind me. It was
Dad, I could tell that without needing to turn around. What made me turn around
was the sudden look of fear that came over Boon’s face. I tried to take
everything in at once. My mother running across the lawn, my father’s face
looking like pure hatred, the gun in his hand, the gun he was pointing at Boon.

“Dad! Stop! This is…” I said, throwing my hands up to protect Boon, who
was staring straight back at my father.

“What’s your fucking last name,” Dad repeated, using his Sheriff’s voice.
The voice that meant business. Serious, serious business.

End
of Part 1.

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Flip the page to start Part 2.

PART 2

~
15
~

Did they make you read Romeo and Juliet in high
school? They made us read it. I hated it. I thought it was stupid. I mean,
these two kids just suddenly fall head-over-heels in love? They barely know
each other! And then all that drama, all that pain, and they just wind up dead.
What kind of story is that?

I’m not here to tell you that “once you have real
love, Romeo and Juliet makes a lot more sense.” It doesn’t. It doesn’t make any
more sense to me now than it did in tenth grade English. That’s not how love
works. No one ever needs to wind up dead. If you’re in love and you wind up
dead, you weren’t doing it right. At least, I’m pretty sure of that. After
everything that’s happened though…I guess I could see myself winding up dead.

And “star-crossed lovers?” Sorry, but as easy as it
might seem to blame fate, I don’t believe anyone winds up where they are
because of things outside of their control. I mean, sure, oxytocin is a
powerful drug, and a lot of the time you feel like you’re being compelled to do
things, like you don’t have a choice, but you always have a choice.

I guess that’s one of the best things I learned from
all this. You always have a choice.

But there is one bit of Romeo and Juliet that makes
sense to me these days, on the rare occasion I think about it…

O, I am
fortune’s fool!