Dating Two Dragons (84 page)

As I scrolled through the profiles on Come Play, the one-night stand app, a devilish face caught my eye. He was handsome in a rugged, outdoorsy way. His beard was dark and looked soft to touch; I could only imagine how good that would feel tickling my thighs. Amber eyes burned from under a pair of thick dark eyebrows, luring me in. And I was one willing fishy.

Scanning through his profile, I found that his name was Walker Lewis and he was in a local motorcycle club. We had a winner! Between the brooding smolder and his enthusiasm for motorcycles, I knew I had to have him. The element of mystery and the air of danger radiating from his profile picture intrigued me. I wanted to know more.

I pushed the interested button and set my phone down. Having spent so much time waiting by the phone for Stephen I’d be damned if I’d it for anyone else.

I ventured into my tiny cottage kitchen to pour myself a glass of pinot noir to help get myself in the mood. What would it be like to have sex with another man? Stephen and I had been together since high school and he was my first and only. Eight years was a long time to be with one person at that age, and I kind of regretted not venturing out to enjoy being single while I was in college. Now, at twenty-six, all my friends were getting engaged or married; two even had babies while I had been trapped in a loveless cycle of lies and emotional abuse.

Would this Walker guy be gentle? Awkward? Mind blowing? I hadn’t had an orgasm without a vibrator – or with another person – in so long I had no idea what that would even be like. The erotic possibilities were endless and really exciting.

I looked around my little two-bedroom cottage. I was so excited to get the place, especially for the price. The sunset shone through the sliding glass door and sparkled off a crystal cut vase I bought as a housewarming gift to myself. The pink light warmed the shabby state of the living space and made my new digs feel like home. Sure, it needed some TLC, but it was only a mile from the beach, charming, and Stephen had no idea where I was.

As I thumbed through paint swatches, my phone buzzed. My nerves went on high alert as I swiped in the unlock code.
There he is. And he’s interested.
I was nearly vibrating I was so excited.

I opened the app to find a message from Walker,

Meet me at Joker’s. 9pm. Wear a skirt.

Joker’s? The biker bar? Oh, lord was he a Wraith? Joker’s was the headquarters of the Santa Monica chapter of The Wraiths, a motorcycle club suspected of gun running and more than a few missing people. As far as I knew they didn’t have any charges or suspicions of violence against women. Put a check in the plus column, I guess.

I glanced at the clock, 7:30. A small thrill of fear ran up my spine. But coupled with that came a sense of simply not giving a shit anymore. Maybe I had been smacked upside the head with stupidity, or maybe I was tired of playing it safe. This guy was hot as hell, properly dangerous, and was only going to be a one shot deal.

I weighed out my chances and the potential scenarios for a minute. While the obvious choice would be to decline and not walk right into the wolf’s den, there was still a chance things could go well and I might have a good time. After spending my entire adult life being cautious, I was going to take a chance and be bold. I needed this.

I scrolled through my phone and dialed Crystal, my best friend. While I was willing to indulge my wild side, with The Wraiths not being Boy Scouts I would feel more comfortable if someone knew where I was going to be.

“Hey, Lyla! What’s up?” Crystal’s cheery voice floated into my ear.

“Hey, girl. So I got on Come Play like you suggested –“

“Ooo!” Crystal interrupted, “Bag yourself a hottie yet?”

“Actually, yeah I did. I’m meeting him tonight around nine, which brings me to why I’m calling. He wants me to meet him at Joker’s and I want someone to know my last known whereabouts.” I was only half joking in my delivery.

“Joker’s? Are you crazy?” Crystal’s voice went a little high pitched.

“I might be, but getting with a biker has kind of been a fantasy of mine for a while. It’s just one night. Isn’t that what that app is supposed to be for?”

“Well, yeah,” I heard Crystal sigh. Silence followed as she worked out her thoughts. “I don’t love the idea, but I guess you have to get some things out of your system. Can you just make sure your friend tracker is turned on for me?”

I smiled, grateful for her concern. “I will. Crys, I’m nervous. What if I suck in bed? What if he takes one look at me and decides he doesn’t like me?”

“Whoa! Settle down there, horsey. You’re over thinking this. It’s a fuck him and go situation, so don’t worry about it. Be safe and have fun.”

I nodded as she spoke. Crystal was right; this was all about having a good time.

“And maybe pick up that roofie detection paper on the way?” Crystal suggested.

I barked a nervous laugh. “I’ll be fine. Good looking out, though. I’ve got to go and get ready. I’ll call you in the morning.”

Crystal and I said our goodbyes and I went to my room to get ready. While I was nervous as hell, I couldn’t ignore the undercurrent of excitement pulsing through me.

Chapter 2

I turned the key and shut off my car. I fiddled with my key ring as I stared at the spotlight lit wooden sign and the building in front of me. On the outside, Joker’s looked like any old school tavern with its rural charm and cedar siding, but the crowd of bikes parked out front told a very different story. There had been speculation that the Wraith’s used Joker’s a cover business to launder their gun money and keep the cops off their backs. Then again, there was also the rumor that they had the police chief and a few high-ranking officers in their back pocket. I wasn’t sure which was true if either were, but it wasn’t my responsibility to care.

It felt a bit dramatic to even think, but I had a mission to complete so I have to get over the nerves. I took a deep breath and stepped out of my Beetle. As soon as my black pumps hit the pavement the feeling of guilt started gnawing at me. I suddenly felt like I was doing something wrong, like I was cheating on Stephen, which was nuts; the restraining order I had out should be enough to tell me that. I supposed eight years of conditioning and abuse to my emotions was enough to render me unsure.

I straightened up, faked confidence the best I could, and with Walker’s image in the forefront of my brain, I strutted my way up to the front door. With a steeling breath I entered and hoped this wouldn’t blow up in my face.

Time seemed to slow as I took my first step inside. Three worn pool tables took up most of the space in the small, wood-paneled bar, and all three had a crowd of guys in denim and leather hanging around them. The smell of cigarette smoke lingered heavily in the air, while thick clouds of it hung around the hanging light fixtures.

I glanced around the room, looking for a man that resembled Walker’s photo when an awful thought hit me: the guy could have used a dummy picture. There wasn’t a man that looked anything like the profile I engaged earlier that night. In fact, most of the men in the place were heavily bearded, gray, old enough to be my dad, and generally all had impressive beer guts. Oh no, what if I’ve been duped?

I checked my watch again. At five to nine I was a little bit early, but no more than any other punctual person.

I swallowed hard as I walked toward the heavy wood counter. One by one each pair of eyes in the bar noticed me as I crossed the scuffed pine floor. I tried to keep my posture straight and not show how intimidated I really was, but I not only wanted to shrink away, I wanted to bolt like a scared bunny. The looks I was getting ran the gamut from curiosity to lecherous to downright hungry.

Sliding onto a bar stool I scanned the selection of beers on tap. The bartender, a sour looking blonde with very enhanced breasts framed by a cut up Black Flag t-shirt, approached removing a drink stirrer from her mouth. “What can I get you, honey?” I was surprised, her face looked about thirty, but her voice was scratchy and sounded much older.

I peeked behind her again at the taps. “Uh, Guinness please.”

With a nod she popped her chewed up straw back in between her teeth and poured me my drink. I spied a nicotine patch on her shoulder, shining in the dim light next to a blown out lily tattoo.

“I’ve never seen you in here before, sweetheart.” The bartender commented as she handed me my beer. She tossed a tattered Coors Light coaster down in front of me.

“No. This is my first time coming in. I’m supposed to be meeting somebody.” I replied nervously.

“Yeah, me!” a voice boomed from behind me.

“No she’s not, Paul. She’s meeting me!” A tall, gangly man – he had to be about six feet - with a full sleeve of patriotic tattoos throws his arm around my shoulder.

“Like hell she is, Vinnie. Back off she’s mine!” A short, pudgy man with a bald spot elbowed the skinny man away from me. I flashed the bartender a look of mortification. She chuckled and shrugged. I was on my own.

“This has all been flattering, guys really. But I think I may be in the wrong place. If you’ll excuse me…” I threw a ten-dollar bill down on the bar and slid off the stool. What a stupid decision to meet some random guy, at a notorious biker bar no less. I was such a dummy!

“Take it easy, fellas.” I looked up to find the owner of the voice and I was not disappointed. Standing a few paces in front of me was my sexy Come Play date. He was real and stood a head taller than Vinnie, who still seemed like he wanted to take me home to his mother, and my date could probably punt the hobbit that hit on me.

“I’m sorry if these guys were bothering you. You must be Lyla. I’m Walker.” He gestured to the stool I had just abandoned. “Take a seat.”

I stared in awe for a moment at the gorgeous man in front of me as I groped for my stool. Like a moth to torchlight, I was drawn into his amber eyes. I had never seen such a color before; they reminded me of single malt whisky. And they were about to get me just as drunk if I didn’t come to my senses.

“Hi,” I squeaked.
Real smooth
.

Walker simply smiled at me and waved at the bartender who looked just as enamored and flustered by Walker as I felt. “Two Johnnie Walker’s. Splash of water.” He ordered.

There was no wasted energy. Every word and movement was efficient and to the point. After several years of game playing, I liked what I saw.

The bartender placed the two highball glasses in front of us with two fingers each of really expensive top-shelf liquor. I took a sip and closed my eyes as I rolled the smoky liquid over my tongue. I reveled in the smooth burn as the whiskey slid all the way down and warmed my belly. It was strong and just what I needed. “Thank you. This is really good.” I took another swig, liquid courage and all.

Walker smirked at me and took a sip of his own drink. “A girl who enjoys a good whisky. I like it. Have you ever been to a tasting?”

I nodded as I finished my last sip. “Yeah. I went to Scotland a couple of years ago with my parents and we did a distillery tour. The idea is to taste and spit, like you would at a wine tasting, but not all of it makes it into the bucket. I had never seen my parents so tipsy.” I giggled a little. I had warmed up a little faster than I thought.

Walker slowly looked me over, his gaze lingering on my legs a little longer than was probably polite in a public setting. I had worn a skirt per his instructions. What he didn’t tell me to do was wear my black velvet fuck me pumps with it. I kind of made an executive decision on that wardrobe choice.

The way he looked at me, like a predator sizing up his prey, made my belly clench and lit my nerves up with the most exhilarating and delicious fear I had ever felt. It had been so long since a man had made me feel wanted in any capacity; I was going to bask in it and it made me feel sexy, dammit.

“Did you have to wear such a short skirt? You are getting a lot of attention, Miss Lyla.” Walker looked around the room and gave warning looks to all the buzzards eyeballing me.

“I followed your instructions. You said wear a skirt. Next time, be more specific.” The whisky made me sassy.

“You got me there.” He grazed his hand against the bare flesh of my thigh leaving ripples of goose bumps in his wake. Completely oblivious to our setting, he fingered the hem of the red fabric before slipping his fingers underneath. My breath hitched as his hands crept north to my hip and I felt like I should have stopped him, but I couldn’t seem to remember how.

“No underwear,” Walker remarked, “You naughty little girl.” He leaned in close, his eyes locked on mine. “I can’t wait to get this off you.” He purred.

I bit my lip as I felt myself blush. This was actually happening. I thought about pinching myself, but if I was in a dream I had no intention of waking until it was over. His fingers lingered on my thigh a little longer. I was disappointed when he noticed and removed them.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Walker?” an older man bellowed. We both turned to see a tall, well built man in his fifties wearing a handlebar mustache and black jeans standing just inside the doorway with his arms crossed and a hard face.

Walker got up and approached the new man in the bar. I shrank back so as not to be noticed. This was clearly club business judging by the unfolding tête à tête. Walker stepped to the side to reveal the president’s patch on the front of the older man’s jacket; that told me all I needed to know.