Motorbiking

An Envelope Collection Vignette

Copyright © 2016 Michelle Abbott

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author, except for reviewers who may quote parts of the book for review purposes.

Cover design by Michelle Abbott

TOBY

I hear the rumble of his motorbike before I see him. I check my watch. He’s late today. Not that I’ve been stalking him. Well, only for a week, and today is the day that I pluck up the courage to talk to him. He pulls up outside the coffee shop. I’m getting a stiffy just looking at his long legs draped over his powerful bike. His honey coloured hair is short these days. Back when we were at school he had thick curls and I used to love tangling my fingers in his hair. He strides into the coffee shop. I wait for a minute and then follow behind him. He places his order for a caramel latte. Good choice, I order the same. He pulls out his credit card. His hands are much bigger than they used to be back when he was eight. He still has beautiful long fingers and I can’t help noticing that his fingernails are short and neat. I sneak a sideways glance at him. I wonder how many boyfriends he’s had over the years. I wonder if he’s dating seriously now and I selfishly hope he isn’t.

I’ve never quite got over Daniel Grey. Crush, infatuation, call it what you want but he rocked my world when I was a kid. He was the only other gay kid I knew at school. Looking at him now he wouldn’t so much rock my world, he’d shake it to death. He’s grown up, and out. About two hundred pound of solid muscle, I’m guessing, plus an eyebrow piercing and arms covered with colourful ink, and that’s just the parts that I can see. I can’t think about the parts of him I can’t see, not here in the queue, I’ll save that for fantasy fodder for when I’m alone.

He takes a seat over by the window. There’s an empty table next to his. I will the barista to hurry with my drink so I can grab the empty table before someone else does. When my coffee arrives I almost spill it in my hurry to get to the vacant table. I plonk myself down and glance at him. Shall I be subtle? Or just outright ask him out? It’s not like we’re strangers. Okay, it has been fourteen years since we last saw each other. Fourteen years since he left school suddenly. But still, we’re far from strangers. I’m over thinking this. He’s opened a book. “What are you reading?”

His gaze darts to me, and then returns to his page. “A thriller.”

A smile spreads across my lips. “And there was me thinking you might be reading a gay romance.”

“What?”

He has a scowl on his face, which is actually kind of cute on him. Perhaps he doesn’t recognise me, I guess I have changed a little over the years. I hold out my hand, although really I’d much rather rest it on his thigh. “I’m Toby, remember me?”

He ignores my hand. “No.”

“We were in the same class at Merton Primary school.”

His gaze returns to his book. “Never heard of it.”

I’d know Daniel Grey anywhere, I’d never forget his face. Besides, I just feel it. I can feel it’s him. “Let’s try again. I’m Toby,” I hold out my hand once more, “and you are?”

“Leaving.”

He stands, knocks back his drink and strides out of the shop, leaving me wondering what the hell just happened.

DANIEL

FUCK! I shouldn’t have drunk that coffee so fast, it was way too hot and it’s burnt my throat but I had to get out of there. I pull on my helmet and get on my bike. Of all the people to bump into, it had to be Tobias Sparks. He’s a lot taller, but he still has that slim build and those puppy dog eyes of his. He’s even more beautiful than I remember. Damn him. I kick the throttle on my bike. Nothing. I try again. Zilch. Fuck. It’s not petrol because the tank is half full. I try again, and again, nothing.

“Can I help?”

I stare into Toby’s baby blue eyes. No, no, no, this isn’t happening. “Fucking start,” I shout at my bike. I try again to get the engine going. Gripping the handlebars I let my shoulders slump and close my eyes. I’m trapped.

“My car is parked around the corner if you need a lift.”

I climb off my bike and make a call to my boss. “My bike won’t start; I’m not going to get back this afternoon.”

“I’ve got no one to cover for you. Get public transport. Get a cab if you have to. I’ll see you in thirty minutes.” He hangs up without giving me chance to reply.

“By the look on your face I take it your boss wasn’t very understanding. I can give you a lift to work.”

Why the hell is he still here? The universe hates me today. I glare at him. “I’ll get a bus.”

He grimaces. “Err...bus strike.”

“What?”

He slips his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. He shrugs and his t-shirt rides up, giving me a glimpse of his flat stomach.  “No buses running, there’s a strike.”

It’s official, the universe hates me. “Thanks for your offer, but I’ll get a cab.”

I hear the sound of him sucking air through his teeth. He always used to do that at school when he was about to give me some bad news.

“You’ll have a long wait for a cab. They’ll be in demand what with the buses not running.”

I watch his lips as he speaks and a memory enters my mind of his soft lips pressed against mine. I couldn’t get enough of him back then. We would sneak behind the toilets in the playground for a forbidden kiss. We weren’t sneaky enough though because someone saw us and reported us to the headmaster and our parents were called in. Everything went to shit after that, at least it did for me.

“Earth to Danny.”

I meet his eyes, and scowl. “My name isn’t Danny.”

Little lines form at the corners of his eyes as he grins. “Okay, mystery man, I’ll play along if you let me give you a lift.”

I gaze longingly at my bike. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Work to go to?”

“I’m self-employed.”

Dammit, now I’m curious. This isn’t good. “What do you do?”

“I’m a writer.” He shrugs, as if it’s nothing special. He always was the intelligent one.

“Do you write books?”

He gazes down at his feet. “I do, but my main income is from writing articles for newspapers and magazines.”

Try as I might I can’t keep the smile off my face. “That’s pretty cool.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What do you do? Apart from looking fuckable on a bike.”

My muscles stiffen. I glare at him. “I’m not gay. If you hit on me while we’re in your car you’re going to get a smack in the mouth.”

He grins. “Oh good, I take it you’re accepting my offer of a lift.”

“I don’t have a choice,” I grumble.

He’s walking too close to me, way too close. I take a sideways step away from him. He pulls a set of keys from his pocket and opens the door of a silver car. As I get in, I notice his back seats are littered with magazines and notebooks and his ashtray is overflowing with sweet wrappers. He always was messy. It was one of the things I liked about him, he was carefree. My stuff was always ordered and tidy. Still is. He turns the key in the ignition and unlike my bike, his car starts first time. I’m going to put my heap of shit bike up for sale when I get home. He glances across at me. “So where are we heading?”

“Tune In, it’s a music shop on Preston Street.”

He nods. “Cool. You always did like music.” He pulls out into the traffic. “Do you play an instrument?”

I stare at the road and avoid looking at him. “Guitar, a little.”

“Awesome, I’d love to hear you play.”

I reach to turn on his radio, mostly to avoid further conversation. It doesn’t matter if he thinks I’m rude, in fact it would be a good thing. I close my eyes and lose myself in the music.

“Is this it, Danny?”

My eyes flick open and I see we are approaching Tune In. “Yes, this is it.”

He laughs and I glare at him. What the fuck is he laughing at?

He turns his sparkling eyes to me and punches me gently on the arm. “I knew it.” He sits up straighter in his seat. “I knew it was you. Why are you pretending to be someone else?”

My breath pauses. I answered to Danny didn’t I? Shit. I reach for the door handle. “Thanks for the lift.”

As I’m closing the door he leans across the seat. “If you leave your bike keys with me I’ll get someone to look at it for you.”

I shake my head. “It’s fine. I’ll take a look at it later.”

“Okay. What time do you finish? I’ll come pick you up.”

I frown at him. “No need for that.”

“Well how else will you get home? Bus strike, remember.”

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my keys. “Fine. Get someone to look at my bike.”

His fingers brush against mine as he takes the keys from my hand. Electricity crawls across my skin. Snatching my hand away, I head into the shop, deliberately not looking back at him.

If I thought work would distract me from thinking of him, it hasn’t. I’ve been sitting here for forty five minutes and not a single customer. I pick up one of the guitars and start playing to amuse myself. I remember when I first met him. I was sat next to him in class, trying to sneakily copy his work. He noticed and slid his book over towards me. That wasn’t the only thing he noticed. He knew I was gay and he knew I liked him, I don’t know how but he knew. I shake my head. Focus on the chords. Forget him. Hmm fat chance. His eyes, his lips, his smile, his kind heart, I fell in love with him right then. It was the best time of my life, until someone saw us.

I put down the guitar. No point in playing as I can’t focus. I sit down beside the cash register. The last time I saw him we were sitting in the headmaster’s office with our parents. My dad had a face like thunder; you could almost see the black cloud above his head. My mum just looked awkward. I recall the headmaster saying that our behaviour wasn’t appropriate in school. Toby’s parents were relaxed. Just kids experimenting they said, not a big deal. My mum assured the head that it wouldn’t happen again. My dad didn’t say a damn word. He didn’t need to because his posture and his face spoke loud and clear. When we got home he found his voice. Told me how disgusted he was, how I wasn’t “normal” and that he didn’t want a son who was a fucking Nancy. Told me if I didn’t start behaving like a man he was disowning me. A man, I was eight for fuck sake. They took me out of Merton and enrolled me at a different school. Dad didn’t speak to me for a month, but he left porno mags on my bed, trying to encourage me I guess. I was just a kid and I wanted to be loved so I started being the son he wanted me to be. I pretended to be interested in girls, started supporting my dad’s football team and going to matches with him, began working out. I huff out a breath. I’ve worked damn hard to create this persona, I won’t let Toby wreck everything.

The bell above the door jingles and in he strolls, wearing a leather jacket and carrying a crash helmet and looking as sexy as fuck. I push those thoughts from my mind and frown. “Did you ride my bike here?”

He smiles that easy smile of his. “No. A breakdown truck has dropped your bike off outside. It should run just fine now.”

I reach for my wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

He puts his helmet down and shrugs. “We’ll sort that out later.” He picks up one of the guitars and begins to strum. I cringe. He’s forming the chords all wrong and playing out of tune. It sounds bloody awful.

“Try this.” I stand behind him and move his fingers to form a chord. “Try strumming it now.” He’s so close. I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of him. He leans in, his back pressed to my chest. I should move but I don’t want to, so instead I show him a few more chords. I gaze down at his neck and feel a strong urge to kiss his skin. Instead I force myself to move away. “I have to close up the shop.”

“Can you give me a lift home?” He holds up his crash helmet. “Don’t tell me no because I bought the helmet and jacket especially for the occasion.” He twirls like he’s on a bloody catwalk.

I stare at him. “Are you telling me you bought them today, just for a ride home?”

He grins. “It’s illegal to ride a bike without a helmet.” Like that answers everything. He pulls the helmet onto his head and lifts the visor. “Do they suit me?”

Way too much. My stomach tightens. “I’ll give you a ride home and pay you back for the bike repair. After that we’re done.”

I lock up the shop and climb onto my bike. It starts first time. I glance at Toby, who is standing on the kerb looking adorable. “Hop on.”

The moment he’s sat behind me he slides his arms around my waist and presses his chest into my back. I let him because I don’t want him to fall off, at least that’s what I tell myself. He shouts out directions and in no time we are outside a two story house.  He puts his lips to my ear, which makes me shiver, in a good way. “I live on the second floor. Come inside and we can sort out payment for your bike.”

Inside his flat, he points to his sofa. “Sit down and I’ll fix us a coffee.” He disappears to the kitchen.

I don’t sit because I don’t intend staying. I can’t stay. I frown as I notice two guitars over in the corner, an acoustic and an electric. “Does your boyfriend play?” I ask, as he comes back into the room.

“They’re mine, and I don’t have a boyfriend at the moment.”

He picks up the acoustic and starts to play a song from one of my favourite bands. I watch his fingers as they move expertly across the strings. “I thought you couldn’t play, in the shop you...”

“I might have been pretending.” He has the decency to blush. “But admit it, you enjoyed helping me.” He breaks into a grin.

The bastard. I reach into my pocket and pull out my wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

His blue eyes lock with mine. “Do you remember when we were kids, we said we were going to live together when we were grown-ups and get a huge chocolate cake to celebrate our first anniversary.”

I laugh at the memory. “Yeah, I think we were going to decorate it with chocolate buttons.”

He disappears back into the kitchen and reappears a moment later carrying a huge chocolate cake. He cocks his head to the side and gives me crooked grin. “It’s not our anniversary, but it could be the start of something.”

I clutch my wallet. I need to get out of here. “How much do I owe you?”

He puts the cake down on a table behind him and cuts a slice. “How much do you have?”

I count my notes. “Fifty quid.”

He sucks air through his teeth. “That’s not enough.”

I slide my wallet into my pocket and back away towards the door. “Fine, I’ll go to a cash machine. How much do I need?”

He slips off his jacket and I can’t help but notice how his grey t-shirt clings to his body. He’s not big, but he’s toned. “You could go to a cash machine, or,” he tugs off his t-shirt to reveal a flat stomach and perfectly formed abs, “you can pay me in kind.”

I bite my tongue to distract myself. “I don’t date men.”

“I’m not asking for a date.”

“I don’t fuck men.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Do you fuck women?”

I want to lie but my mouth seems to have a mind of its own. “No.”

“You asexual?”

I shake my head.

He leans back against the table. “You can leave if you want, I’m not keeping you prisoner, but you’re not a little boy anymore. You can’t live your life for someone else and expect to be happy.” He gives me a sad smile. “And you deserve to be happy, but,” he grins, “if you want to stay in the closet, I’ve got a nice big one in my bedroom. I’ll put a mattress in there for you.”

I take a step towards him, and then another. I watch his eyes widen. “What I want,” standing toe to toe with him, I lean forward, “is a piece of this cake.” I take a big bite of the cake, then I dip my finger in the frosting and smear it across his nose. I lick the chocolate from my lips. It’s delicious. Running my fingers through his hair, I cup the back of his head. “Be careful what you wish for.” I press my lips against his.

Michelle Abbott lives in the UK and hates describing herself in 3rd person. She's a self-published author of new adult romance, and likes to write about heroes who begin as the underdog and are protective of their girl. She's an avid reader of romance, is addicted to coffee and loves wine and chocolate, so yeah, not the most healthy eating and drinking habits :-) She spends way too much time on-line when she should be writing. She collects teddy bears and occasionally knits a couple of rows on a sweater she started years ago, which she may eventually finish in time to wear for her funeral :-)

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