The Biker's Rules

Date = 5 September

About 2 years after COVID.

Right now, I, Melaena Blackburn, am 19 years old. Nineteen and three months to be exact.

Place = San Francisco (Uncle John’s house)

Obviously, the setting of The San Francisco Boys — WILL BE IN SAN FRANCISCO.

POV - Melaena

It’s all in the eyes. Or so they say.

And they have a point.

Green eyes fly into my mind — brilliant green like summer apples covered in dew. Eyes with the ability to haunt my dreams. Day or night.

He moves his fingers under the lace of her panties, yanking them off. Moving slowly he kisses his way up her thigh, turning his head so his breath tickles her. She lets out a deep moan, moving her hips in anticipation.

I imagine my fingers combing through that silky raven-black hair … his mouth on me.

He moves in, tongue lashing against her clit while his hands move under her hips pulling her into his face. She lets out a cry of pleasure, while he licks and sucks, moving his fingers into her wet ….

“Urgh!” I groan and close my eyes. Every single frickin time it’s the same. I can’t even read a trashy book without thinking of him. It’s not easy hating someone.

I press my legs together to dissolve the aching itch that forms between them as I throw the stupid book on the ground. Kiara peeps out of the closet.

“Melaena!” She’s using my full name for effect. “Stop reading yourself into a climax!” A pair of jeans hit me in the face before I can react.

“You’d better get packing! We’re leaving early in the morning,” she shouts excitedly, pulling clothes from the shelves and throwing them on the bed. I stare at the heap thinking that she’s the one who needs to pack.

Kiara is a fashion-obsessed individual, unlike me. I will wear anything I like without considering who designed it or how much it costs.

She stops and looks at me, her eyes filled with mock.

“Please tell me you’re not sex dreaming about HIM again.” She picks up the book and peers at the cover picture.

“I’m not,” I lie in a snotty tone, knowing it will push a button.

“We’ve been on a year-long trip around the fucking world so you can get him out of your system,” she chastises. Swearing for real … she must be on a roll.

But she’s right. This past year, Kiara and I have been backpacking throughout Europe — a gap year we called it.

The purpose of it all was to clear my head … for me to decide what I wanted to do with my Donald Ducked life. So we traveled from one holiday home — belonging to one of my brothers — to the next … so I could clear my head and decide what I wanted.

But mostly I needed to get away from HIM.

It was a great year. My brothers dropped in whenever possible. Even Uncle John and Axel joined us thrice — for Christmas, Kiara’s 19th birthday, and again for mine.

But not him.

So tonight I’m going to see him face-to-face again for the first time in twelve months.

And my head is still a mess, so much that I haven’t decided what I want to do with my life — but that’s my own stupidity, and I’m not sharing it with the others — so I randomly picked an art major.

“And the first day back, he’s haunting your mind again,” Kiara continues her charade. I just snort and pull my knees up to my chest.

Crap.

But … this time she’s wrong. He’s been haunting me the whole time.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get him out of my system … I hate him too much for that.”

She peers from the cupboard again with her war-face expression and growls out a snort.

She’s a realist who doesn’t believe in the nitty-gritty stuff like soulmates … love … or even hate, for that matter. She dates good-looking blokes mostly for sex. A modern-day woman who takes what she needs and gives what she wants … her words, not mine.

I, on the other hand, dream about …. well, let’s just say I dream about something different, something special, the sort of storybook love where two people’s eyes meet and BAM — true love forever. Like a Romeo and Juliet kind of thing — skipping death, of course. Okay … let’s rather say I dreamed about it … in the past …

Cause I’ve learned that real life is no fairy tale. Nope, real life is a frickin horror story. Where Romeo leaves poor Juliet in the tomb to go fuck a slutty brunette on the side. And as if that’s not enough, he’ll move on to the next brown-haired bimbo right the next day. And the next and the next.

The universe is cruel and mischievous, that’s for sure. Why else would it give me those eyes meet — BAM — part, just to let fate intervene and twist it into a screwed-up ball of claustrophobic frustration?

Yep, the perverted universe likes jokes, especially when it comes to love. No wonder people are getting more and more skeptical to risk their hearts … the living happily-ever-after dream is all just a warped cliché.

I would know — because of all the boys in the world, fate set me up to have my BAM moment with HIM! And it happened more than once — I had TWO BAMs!

TWO. Two moments. With the same boy.

And they were really, really good BAMs.

Until they were not.

The first one, at least, didn’t immediately turn into a disaster … it started with one. I was 9 (yeah, it kicked off young) and our principal decided to introduce us to cross-country running. The whole school was to participate. And the field they laid out for us was very close to the proclaimed and mysterious haunted house.

A house with a legend. It says a monster from hell guards the place — ripping anyone who dares to trespass on the property into shreds.

Real people actually died in that place.