What surprised me was that it didn’t scream Biker! Not that I would know what that was, just that it didn’t look rough and tumble and lived in and mostly filthy like the Chaos Compound. Just lived in. It wasn’t tidy but it was relatively clean and the kitchen was clearly used but immaculate. The furniture in the living room had been chosen for comfort only, wide seats, slouchy cushions, lots of throws and toss pillows, all inviting you to take a load off.

Although it didn’t scream Biker! it was decorated in “The Biker Experience”. A framed black and white picture of what Tabby told me was Sturgis, South Dakota circa some other time when there were ox and horses in the dirt streets. A framed, greasy motorcycle sprocket that Tabby told me was from Tack’s first bike. Jumbled frames holding pictures of Tack’s kids as well as men I knew or had seen (in other words, members of Chaos) and others I didn’t know. All of them wearing tees or leather jackets or leather vests with their arms slung around each other’s shoulders. All of them wearing shit-eating grins. All of them hairy, rough poster boys for the biker lifestyle. Some of pictures had Tack in them at varying ages from teenager to who he was today. And rounding out the décor were a number of motorcycle rally posters.

Tack carried my bag to his bedroom with Tabby and I following (Tabby talking). I found it had a big bed, two nightstands but only one that had a lamp, no alarm clock. A dresser across the room from the bed, tall, six drawers. There were two big windows covered in beige curtains. Tacked to the wall above the bed was a huge, slightly tattered American flag. And there were more picture frames filled with snapshots but not on the walls, on the dresser. Rounding out the look of Tack’s room were jeans, t-shirts, socks, belts, boxer briefs and boots in a tangle on the floor.

The night at Tack’s was exhausting because Tabby and Rush were there. I found teenagers had a lot of energy. And they were noisy.

I discovered the last part of this when we showed and there was music coming up from the basement where Rush had his room. It was metal and it was loud.

Clearly in her element and entirely comfortable, Tabby assumed the “woman of the house” role and claimed me immediately. She showed me around, gave me the lay of the land in the kitchen, got me a drink and gabbed animatedly to me the whole time. It was like she’d been deserted on an island , hadn’t seen another human being in ten years and was beside herself with joy that she finally had more than a coconut to talk to.

That day, Tack called and sent Rush out with a grocery list I prepared so all the fixin’s were available to make dinner for Tack and his kids. This I did to the stylings of Led Zeppelin. No, strike that. This I did with a continual loop of their song “Rock and Roll”. It was a kickass song but the twelfth time, I had to admit, I was over it.

Fortunately, Tack was too and I knew this when he stalked to the open door to the basement and shouted down the stairs, “Either you move to the next track or your fuckin’ stereo is sailing over the deck!”

“Black Dog” immediately came on.

This was such a relief that I smiled at Tabby. She burst out laughing.

And I thought that was nice. Not Tack shouting threats of stereo mutilation but the whole thing. Cooking with Tabby jabbering to me. The comfortable, lived-in house with spectacular views and a fantastic kitchen. The way they had about them that firmly said a family lived there.

Yes. I decided I was liking this roller coaster.

I made spaghetti with my homemade meatballs, garlic bread and Caesar salad with homemade dressing. I followed this with pistachio/chocolate parfaits made in some of Tack’s tumblers with pistachio and chocolate pudding (instant, I didn’t have the time to make homemade and further, I didn’t know how to make homemade pudding) and Cool Whip sprinkled with pistachio nuts. The meal wasn’t as good as Tack’s food but Tack and his kids hoovered through it. It also packed close to the same calorie and fat wallop so I figured I did all right.

We ate all of this in front of Tack’s huge, flat screen TV in the living room where I was treated to a marathon of Storage Wars. Seeing as I didn’t watch TV, I’d never heard of this program. But by the second episode I was hooked. I declared that I thought Brandi and Jarrod were “adorable” together which for some reason he didn’t explain made Rush laugh so hard I thought he would bust a gut. Rush might find that funny but I decided I was going to start dressing like Brandi. She always looked the shit. I also shared that Dave was my favorite “character” to which Tabby told me with grave seriousness, “But, Tyra, he’s the bad guy.”

I thought he was the guy who knew what he was doing and I liked his grin but what did I know?

Since the kids stayed up late, Tack and I went to bed before them. This I found uncomfortable and what made it more uncomfortable was Tack doing it like he often took women to bed with his kids around. Not to mention his kids acting like this was nothing out of the ordinary. Further, I found myself in the unusual mood of not being in the mood with Tack.

Kids, I discovered, were a wet blanket.

But when we hit his room, Tack made no moves on me.

He just said, “You get the bathroom first, babe. I gotta tell Rush something.”

He took off and I rooted through my bag. I was wearing a sky blue shelf-bra cami and a pair of mocha, drawstring, pajama short-shorts with sky-blue and grass green swirls on them, sitting cross-legged on his unmade bed when he returned.

It was then I found Tack’s nighttime routine included taking off his clothes and dropping them on the floor. Considering the thick layer of clothes on the floor, this wasn’t a surprise.

It was also then I found, when he climbed into bed with me, turned out the one lamp then tucked me in his side, Tack wasn’t in the mood either.

And last, I found that in his bed, we had different sides. Not that we had sides, as such, since, in our limited experience, we slept cuddled together. But in my bed I was on the right. In his, he positioned me on his left.

I lay cozied up to him in the dark for a while before he spoke.

“Dinner was good, Red.”

“Thanks,” I whispered.

“And I get you. Dave from Storage Wars is the man.”

I smiled into the dark. Tack must have felt my cheek move on his shoulder because his arm gave me a squeeze.

We fell silent.

Then I started, “Um…”

Then I stopped.

“Yeah?”

“Nothing,” I whispered.

“Um… what?”

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“Nothing, Tack.”

“Start it, say it,” he ordered.

I sighed. Then I said it.

“The, uh… kids didn’t seem surprised you and I headed off to bed together.”

“They wouldn’t, seein’ as I called them and told them you were comin’ up to make dinner and you were spendin’ the night. Rush even went to get the food, darlin’.”

This was true.

“Is this a, uh, normal occurrence?”

“It ain’t normal. It also ain’t out of the ordinary.”

Damn.

Honesty was usually good except at times like these.

“Though, none of them made my kids dinner,” Tack continued then concluded, “Or sat around and watched TV with them.”

This was something but it didn’t make me feel a whole lot better.

Tack’s arm tightened and he pulled me on him and up so we were chest to chest and face to face in the dark.

“I ain’t no choirboy,” he said quietly.

“I know that,” I said quietly back.

I knew it but still, I didn’t like this aspect of it.

“Kids were younger, no way. Women up here only when they were at their Mom’s. They got older, way of the world.”

Hmm. I might disagree with that if they were my flesh and blood.

Tack continued, “That said, babe, none of those bitches got here on the back of my bike either.”

“Is this a significant distinction?” I enquired.

“Yep.”

“Do they understand that?”

“Yep.”

“Are you going to explain it to me seeing as I don’t?” I asked.

Tack’s chuckle rumbled all around me and through me which sounded and felt nice.

When he stopped chuckling, he explained.

“Some bikers have a code about who they put on the backs of their bikes and when. Rally, party, road trip, could be whoever you pick up. Your wheels are takin’ you home, for me, for Chaos, only the old lady. A woman comes up here, she has her own ride. That way, I’m done, she can go. You gotta wait for me to take you where you need to be. This means, unless I take you, you aren’t goin’ anywhere.”

I’m done, she can go.

There was a lot there to get angry about so I decided to avoid it.

All of it.

“I’m thinking, handsome, it might be good to end the biker lesson now seeing as this particular one might piss me off.”

“Not surprised, babe, but we had a good run.”

“Pardon?”

“Took you to work, brought you to my house, you cooked, we ate, we watched TV, all good. No fights. No backtalk. All day. But all good things come to an end.”

It was at this point I was glaring at him through the dark.

“I’m thinking now, handsome, it might be good for you to stop talking altogether seeing as everything you’re saying might piss me off.”

“Sound of it, babe, no ‘might’ about you getting pissed. You just are.”

At that, my glare became a stare because not only did he sound like he was amused, I could see the white flash of his smile in the dark.

But to confirm, I asked, “Are you amused?”

“Fuck yeah.

I sought further confirmation. “You’re amused that I’m pissed.”

His other arm stole around me and he gave me a squeeze on his repeated, “Fuck yeah.”

It was then, light dawned.

“You like it,” I said softly.

“Definitely.”

“You like me pissed off?”

“No. I like not knowin’ what to expect. I like that even though you say I scare you, you are not scared of me. The way you face off against me, you’re not scared. Not one fuckin’ bit. I like that you don’t hesitate to speak your mind. I like that you don’t hide your emotions. I like that when you get pissed, you just do and let it all hang out. You don’t store up that shit and let it explode all over the fuckin’ place when I least expect it. So, yeah. I like it. Definitely.”

How did he do that? Answer questions that had no good answers with a good answer.

“You’re still pissed,” Tack observed, clearly feeling my vibe.

“Well, yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because you have good answers to questions that have no good answers and that’s annoying.”

“Why is that annoying?”

“Because I’m a woman. We get annoyed at all sorts of things that make no sense.”

“Now who has a good answer to a question that doesn’t have a good answer?”

Argh!

Sharp as a freaking tack!

“Now you’re annoying because you’re too clever for my own good,” I informed him then I found myself on my back with Tack on top of me, his face so close to mine I could feel his goatee tickling my chin.

“She’s gettin’ it,” he muttered.

“Getting what?”

“Why we work.”

I felt my breath start to get heavy so I had to force out my, “And why’s that?”

“Because I ain’t stupid and you aren’t stupid either. Because I’m wild and, you let loose from that green tea, salad and no TV shit, so are you. Because people are scared of me but you aren’t. We’re on equal footing, Red. No one has the upper hand.” His lips moved so they were touching mine when he finished, “’Cept you’re a damn sight prettier than me.”

Oh God, he was making me melt at the same time he was turning me on.

“You’re hot,” I told him, my hands sliding up the sleek skin and hard muscle of his back.

“Pleased you think so,” he replied, his hand sliding up the skin of my side.

“No, everyone would think so. Even a nun. She’d pray for your immortal soul but, if pressed, she would have to admit you’re good-looking because it’s a sin to lie.”

His hand stopped at my side and his thumb swept out, grazing the curve of my breast causing a delectable shiver to glide over my skin when he ordered, “Stop bein’ cute, baby. You’re makin’ me hard and I can’t fuck you when the kids are awake.”

My hands slid back down his back, down, down until my fingers curved in his hard ass as I breathed, “You can’t?”