Biker X Bookgirl

Riley

I hate finishing a book but not for the reasons you’d think. I hate it because of the tireless task of searching for the next book to read.

I’ve read every book that sits on the shelves at home. Old outdated books that I've read cover to cover but now I have access to the entire library and the longest TBR (that’s To Be Read) in the world.

I comb through the shelves and find a dozen books that are on my TBR, but which one should I choose to read?

All the covers are gorgeous and the titles are enticing. Looking at the back and reading the summaries isn’t helping either. They’re all good books.

I’ve read so many books since finishing uni. I graduated, but I have no idea what to do next. I just studied literature, partly from interest, partly because that’s what was expected of me.

But now how will I survive getting a job? Which job? Will I be any good? How do I even find it? It’s not like I can just go to the ‘lost and found’ and pick one up.

Life without school feels like being thrown into the deep end without knowing how to swim. The school gave me structure and a way to escape into classes and studies. Now, I’m floundering.

Having to make decisions... too much for me. Hence I’m on a nice long gap year.

I continue my search for the perfect book and a book on the top shelf in the steamy romance section, catches my eye.

I reach up for it persuading my already short skirt to ride up higher showing more of my meaty thighs.

I grab it and quickly look around making sure no one saw that. I fix the damn skirt but it doesn’t cover nearly as much as I wish it did. At least I have my grey oversized jersey. Big and baggy, anything to hide my blob of a body.

My mom doesn’t get it. I don’t mean this badly I love my mom but, I’m adopted and they’re an old couple well in their seventies. They just don’t get modern beauty standards and all that.

Any tips from my mom are things like rinsing myself with cold water after showering to tighten my skin.

I need a lot more than just tightening, Mom... huff.

To put it bluntly, I’m overweight. Not one of those overweight girls who get the benefit of curves. I’m that awful in-between weight where my waist is as wide as a barrel, and twice as hard to fit into jeans.

I fidget with my sleeves pulling them down knowing I should just take whichever book is in my hands and go.

I walk to the librarian at the main desk, who has become a friendly face during this gap year. “Hi, Miss Pembroke.” I smile politely and she stamps my book.

“Little Riley, odd that you’re only borrowing one book today?” She smiles warmly. Miss Pembroke has that nice motherly quality that made me warm up to her instantly.

She’s a dark-skinned beauty, plump in all the right ways that give her gorgeous curves. For a woman in her forties, she slays.

“I’ll come back tomorrow. These social media recommendations just filled my TBR and confused me.” I giggle feeling better in her presence as she writes on my library card.

“I was very busy reorganizing, otherwise I’d have come to help you choose, sweetie.” She says softly like she’s talking to an eight-year-old instead of a twenty-four-year-old woman, but that’s Miss Pembroke, so sweet she drips honey and I gladly lap it up.

“No worries, I’ll come by tomorrow and we can have tea together again, as I try to choose another book.” I beam enjoying her tenderness.

“You do that, dear. And I’ll be waiting for you,” She smiles warmly and hands me the book.

I walk out of the library but instead of the warmth of that interaction lingering and making its way to my core, it stays on the surface and fades with every step.

I don’t like being alone. Contrary to popular belief. Even though I went through most of high school and all of college without friends, doesn’t mean I liked it.

I drag my feet a few steps across the road to my apartment building. I’ve only gone to and fro since uni—just this distance of about twenty feet.

I sit down on the steps of my apartment building. My sanctuary in this gap year. I sit here for hours watching the cars and passers by, wondering where they’re all going and why I’m standing still.

I sigh and open the book knowing that soon I’ll be lost in another world once I start reading.

Just for a moment...

Cruz

The sun dips below the horizon and the streetlights flicker on. This is by far my best time of day. Twilight. Between the everyday people going home and the nightlife thumping and crowding the streets. At a time when there are no shadows, the city feels dull, lonely and free.

The streets are mine as I ride my Honda 07 CBR600RR revving the engine with wild abandon. I own the streets doing tricks and switching lanes as I please.

I’ve been doing wheelies since I was nineteen, I learned switchback drifts, jedi knight and Superman, all those tricks where you feel the thrill of almost dying as you sit on the handlebars and spin on one wheel, stunts that make you feel alive.

But lately, all I want is acceleration. Riding my motorcycl as far and as fast as I damn well please. Anything to feel my heart race and my blood pump through my veins, anything but the stagnant state I’m constantly suffering.

I’m Cruz. I changed my name because it fits my life. Riding is my vibe, and that’s what I do best.

I slow my engine down to a low yet satisfying purr as a group of bikers pass by me riding together. The camaraderie that comes with riding as a brotherhood is like that. It’s so sickeningly... amazing.

They’re the Road Rangers Brotherhood, a sick name for a hell of a motorcycle gang. They’re not one of those out-law gangs that steal and collect protection money. They’re a law-abiding gang.

They’re rough, tattooed men but their president toes the line keeping them law-abiding despite their rough edges. I see him riding point. Roster once a deadly gang leader now he’s a pillar of the community taking lost f*ckers like me and giving us a brotherhood and a place in the city.

He does more good than those damn cops. All they do is flash their badges and give people hell I know they target me for no good. The Road Rangers, look after the community and just ride together owning the roads and living life to the fullest.

I wish...

I rev my engine and accelerate passed them. I don’t need their brotherhood rubbed in my face.

I’m a tough kind of guy. Hardened. I speed through the streets with my helmet on and my green visor over my face, tattoos creeping up my neck and peaking from my leather jacket.

My broken nose and scars on my brow covered by my dark wavy hair aren’t the only scars on my body.

My body’s been through its share of wrecking and each scar weighs down on me, each like carrying a brick. 2,190 brcks laying on my skin.

Only the speed of my Iron Horse Honda can take the weight off when I’m over 100 mph.

The road screeches out before me hailing me forward to ride and find some meaning in this shithole called life and the black, hard asphalt meets the tires of my bike with a screech, numbing everything else.

Just for a moment...

After a while, I ride to a screeching stop by the library and park my Iron Horse there. There’s a little diner around the corner that serves the sweetest fluffiest pancakes ever.

One needs a touch of sweetness on those days when you wake up and remember all the sh*t in your life.

It would be nice to have a mom on days like this. Mine died when I was too young to know what it was like to just have your mom soothe and comfort you.

She could’ve made pancakes and we would’ve talked. Heck, it would be nice to have anyone to talk to.

I wish I had given Raf, my friend and roommate, a chance. But our dynamic works better this way.

We chill with beers every so often and he stays out of my hair, more importantly, he doesn’t ask me questions.

He’s there for me just because we’re buddies.

It’s nice to have a buddy. I just wish I had something more, someone who went deeper.

In my rush to the diner, I suddenly stop when a beautiful sight catches my eye. A young woman huddled on the steps of the building just across the street.

Damn, she’s stunning. Her chestnut locks cascade in beautiful waves, framing her delicate features as she concentrates on the pages of the book clutched in her hands.

My gaze traces the gentle curve of her jawline, the subtle arch of her brows, and finally settles on her captivating brown eyes, lost in the pages of her book.

Her oversized jersey, like a shield of armour, drapes over her figure, but it only enhances her allure, making me yearn to unravel the layers and discover what lies beneath.

Yet, despite the loose fabric, her shapely thighs are on full display, drawing my attention like a magnet. I find myself entranced by the soft curves and the way they seem to invite my touch, a tantalizing temptation I’m struggling to resist.

The only woman to get this purr outta me was my Honda. She’s almost as beautiful as my Iron Horse.

I want to approach her, but how? Last time I saw something this beautiful I grabbed it by the handlebars and made her scream as I rode her hard and fast... probably not the right approach for this one.

My eyes travel back up to her face and I look into her eyes seeing that she looks... lonely, sad even. Something about that stirs my heart and before I know It I’m making my way towards her.

Riley

I’m trying to focus on the world of the billionaire in an arranged marriage with a stunning country girl.

I wish I was a stunning country girl. I wish I was anything like these fiery b*d*ss female leads I read about constantly. I’m nothing like them, they have the one thing I wish I had, confidence.

Lost in the pages of my book hoping the billionaire claims the country girl, I barely registered the roar of a motorcycle until it came to a stop nearby.

I glance up, curiosity piqued, and my breathing hitches. A tall, muscular man dismounted, his presence almost magnetic.

His leather jacket clings to his lean frame, and his jeans are worn and frayed showing patches of his skin.

Tattoos weave intricate patterns up his forearms, disappearing under the sleeves of his black leather, while scars mark his hands, each telling a silent story that I want to know but he’s hidden behind that black helmet.

I look back down at my book and chastise myself for staring. He’s like a bad boy right out of a romance novel and I know I’m reading too much and it’s making me delulu.

I focus on the world slowly slipping back into the country home where the billionaire is struggling to feed the pigs and they end up falling in the mud together and kissing. I wish life was that easy

The hairs on the back of my neck stand and I suddenly feel self-conscious. I pull my jersey lower making sure my stomach is covered, but that’s not it. I look up and his helmet is off. He has long black hair reaching his shoulders and a short stubbly beard.

His eyes, onyx eyes, meet mine. They’re soft and muted feeling like dark inky pools and the waters are rough drowning all who dare to look in for more than a few seconds. My heart pounds, and a nervous flutter in my stomach. I quickly looked back at my book, but the words had become a blur.

He seemed to be heading towards the diner down the street but had stopped, and is now staring at me. I can sense him coming closer, the space between us shrinking.

Why is he coming over here? We have bikers in this town but none of them are dangerous not that I’ve even spoken to one.

I dare to peek up again. He is standing just a few feet away now, looking both lost and focused at the same time. His eyes lock onto mine, and I feel a jolt of electricity.

“Hi,” he says, his voice rough but not unkind.

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “Hi.”

He hesitates, then gives me a small, almost shy smile that softens his rough exterior. “You live here?”

I nod, trying to steady my racing heart. “Yeah. Just up there,” I say, gesturing vaguely towards my apartment.

He glances around, taking in the surroundings before his eyes settle back on me. “Nice spot. Peaceful.”

I feel a strange urge to ask about his tattoos and scars, to know the stories behind them, but I hold back. Instead, I manage a small smile. “I’m Riley.”

“Cruz,” he replies, his smile widening a fraction. “Riley is a pretty normal name for a girl as stunning as you.”

Stunning me? I’m sure he’s just being polite, like commenting on the weather.

For a moment, we just looked at each other, the air between us charged with an unspoken connection.

My initial nervousness began to fade, replaced by a growing curiosity about this enigmatic biker who had unexpectedly crossed my path.

“Why is a pretty thing like you sitting here? It’s peaceful but I see you in the library or a cozy cafe. Not the steps of your apartment,” my mind stopped listening after he said pretty. Throwing such words around is casual for others but not for me.

“Umm...” he chuckles at my hesitation but I continue. “Trying to find my place...” He stops and looks me in the eye. I lean back nervously.

“It’s tough finding a place to fit in, I know that all too well,” he says looking off at the roads.

“I get that. Sometimes I feel like I don’t belong anywhere.”

He slowly lowers himself to the steps like he’s starved for human interaction and just wants someone to talk to and maybe I am too.

“Where do you want to belong?” he asks.

“Honestly, I’m not sure. I’m too afraid to belong somewhere permanent. I like how my life was a few months ago.” I say closing the book in my hands wondering how I’m spilling my guts to some biker.

“Where was your life a few months ago?” He asks looking genuinely interested.

“I was in university. Learning just feels like the world is bright and I could go anywhere and do anything.” I say looking down at my hands clasped nervously on my lap.

“I know where I wanna be,” his voice sounds rougher.

“Where is that?”

“The Road Rangers,” he whispers his words like a prayer sent from his lips straight up to heaven till I feel like an intruder to listen to that.

“I’m guessing that’s the Motorcycle Club. Why don’t you just join? There’s no age limit, you know,”

“Well, I...” he stammers.

I smile and shake my head. “You need to remember belonging is what we need, and if you feel you should be there... you gotta try.”

“I like your perspective on things. Makes me think differently.” He looks at me with a kind of intensity that makes me feel seen, really seen, for the first time in a long while.

Just as I’m about to respond, the roar of motorcycles fills the air. Cruz’s expression changes, a mix of surprise and something else I can’t quite place. He turns to look down the street, and I follow his gaze.

A group of bikers, leather-clad and formidable, round the corner and head our way. The Road Rangers. They move as a unit, powerful and intimidating, and I feel a shiver of apprehension run down my spine.

Cruz stands up, his posture tensing. “That’s them,” he mutters, almost to himself.

My curiosity piques, as I watch the bikers pull up in front of us. The president, a grizzled man in his late forties with a presence that screams authority, steps off his bike and approaches Cruz.

“Cruz,” he says, his voice gravelly and commanding. “We need to talk, the members are in and it’s voting day.”

Cruz glances at me, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and urgency. “I-I have to go,” he says softly, and then follows the man to the side, out of earshot.

I watch them, my heart pounding. What could they be talking about? Why does Cruz seem so on edge?

As I sit there, clutching my book, I can’t shake the feeling that this is the beginning of something big, something that could change everything. For the first time in a long while, I feel a spark of excitement, a pull towards the unknown.

The last thing I see before they disappear around the corner is Cruz glancing back at me, a silent promise in his eyes.

I don’t know what lies ahead, but I have a feeling that whatever it is, it’s going to be worth it.