Not my business.
Spying a bit of dust that’s dared to land on my bike, I take out my rag once again.
Another rumble of tyres on gravel makes me look up. As I do, I see that it’s Devon Starr. His car is newer, posher and what somehow doesn’t surprise me, flashy. When he gets out, he’s wearing khaki shorts and an open-necked shirt. He walks over to me, eyeing my bike, then the location he’s chosen.
Without a ‘thanks for coming’ he’s all business from the get-go. “Can you park your bike over there?”
I glance at the ground, then at the space he’s pointing out. “Sure.” It’s only a few feet away, so I paddle walk my bike over, kick down the stand, and dismount it again.
As I do, I notice the young girl watching me with something now akin to horror on her face. She takes a step toward Devon, her eyes wide. “Is this him?”
“What?” Devon follows the direction of his eyes, then barks a laugh. “No, pet. This isn’t who you’re posing with. This is just the bike’s owner.”
The look of relief on her face is almost comical, making me chuckle as I realise, she mistook me for a male model. Well, I suppose that I could be, were it a May/September romance. Fuck it, I could be this little thing’s grandfather, maybe even able to add a great before that.
Devon glances at the expensive watch on his wrist, and frowns. “Where the fuck is he?” he mumbles. He taps the device as if it could be showing the wrong time.
I take out my pack of cigarettes, tap one out, then spying the older woman glaring at me, walk over to the guardrail to light it up. The smell from the cloud of smoke surrounding me reminds me of Smoker. Days like this, we’d often take off and ride to nowhere in particular. Of course, he’d have probably been on his third or fourth cigarette by now—one at least smoked while he was riding, the wind taking more of the nicotine than he drew into his lungs. For a moment, I stare out at the view, lost in my memories. I miss the old bugger. Tapping my fist against the railing, I mentally ask, why, Smoker, why? Our time was cut short too soon.
Spitting gravel pulls me out of my head. Turning, I examine the new arrival who’s just getting out of a Honda Civic. It’s a young guy, not much older than the girl. He’s wearing jeans and a shirt that’s flapping open, allowing a sculptured chest to show, suggesting he works out but has only managed baby muscles so far. My expert eyes tell me he’ll need a few more years under his belt before his body matures. Still, perhaps it’s the look the women go for.
Devon walks over to meet him, his gesticulations suggest he’s berating him for being late, then he turns and waves toward the girl. “Come on, let’s get started.”
Thank fuck.
Devon sets a camera up on a tripod, then positions the girl and the kid to stand next to my bike. Instantly they do. I see the kid’s hand reach out toward the handlebars.
“Don’t touch the fuckin’ bike,” I growl, in my best sergeant-at-arms voice. I swear the kid jumps back at least a foot.
The photographer turns to me and glares. When I raise my eyebrow, he turns back. I place myself with my back up against the trunk of a tree, one leg bent with my instep against the bark. I’m near enough to see if anyone so much as breathes in my bike’s direction. It’s then I notice the older woman again. She’s staring as avidly as me, but not on the same bearing. No, her eyes are fixed on the girl, and specifically the arm the young guy has just placed around her.
Her reaction is as fast, and much the same as mine, when the boy’s hand strays too close to the girl’s tit.
“Mom!” the girl admonishes. “You’re embarrassing me.”
Devon raises his eyes to the sky as if asking for divine intervention. He turns, spares a disdainful look at both me and the woman, then brings his attention back to the models. “Turn to face each other, lean in as though you’re going to kiss.” He casts another glance in who I know now is the girl’s mother’s direction. “But don’t let your lips touch. Close your eyes, Alicia, lift your face, that’s right, give a little smile, purse your lips as though you’re really anticipating this. No, Owen, don’t close your eyes. Put a little heat in them.”
While keeping a close eye on what they’re doing, I move until I’m standing next to the girl’s mother.
“Name’s Grumbler.” I tip an imaginary hat as she glances toward me.
Just as quickly, she looks back to the scene playing out in front of us. “Mary,” she offers. Then confides, “I hate this.”
I kind of got that impression. “Your girl do this often?” She frowns. I nod to the pair. “Model.”
“First time,” she admits. “I tried to dissuade her, but Devon Starr there was most persuasive. Apparently, she was just the type he was looking for. He turned her head. Wasn’t much I could do about it, except come along to make sure it was all above board and that she was safe.”
The actions of a good mother in my eyes. But I frown a little. “Starr approached me much the same way. Well, not that he wanted me, but my bike.”
“Hey, Grumbler.” Devon’s walking across the gravel, making a beckoning gesture with his hand. “Lend Owen your vest thing for a moment, will you?”
What. The. Fuck? I go completely still. “My vest thing?”
“Yeah, this.” His finger reaches
