Reality Girl: Episode Two (Behind the Scenes #2) Read online

  REALITY GIRL II

  Jessica Hildreth

  DEDICATION

  As men and women on this earth, we’re all equal. Every one of us. A person’s appearance, sexual orientation, or religious preferences shouldn’t exclude them from being accepted.

  To everyone who has spent a single moment feeling like an outcast, this book was written for you.

  And, just so you know, you’re not an outcast, you’re just you.

  And you’re special.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This is book two of a six-book series. It can be enjoyed as a stand-alone, but for maximum pleasure, it should be read after book one.

  Oh, and if you’re repulsed or turned off by male-male sex scenes? You better toss this fucker in the trash before you get started.

  Yeah, I did that.

  And, it was fucking hot.

  COPYRIGHT

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, are coincidental.

  Reality Girl II 1st Edition Copyright © 2016 by Jessica Hildreth

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author or publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use the material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Cover design by Jessica Hildreth www.creativebookconcepts.wordpress.com

  CHAPTER ONE

  While sitting on the porch trying to collect my thoughts, the unmistakable sound of a motorcycle’s exhaust caught my attention. I glanced up the street, but didn’t see anything.

  Yet.

  Although the sound was loud when I initially noticed it, it grew even more so with each passing second.

  I suspected it might be Les, but found it odd that he wouldn’t be riding back in the SUV that had gone to pick him up. Still peering up the street toward the noise, I waited for any indication of exactly where the mayhem was coming from.

  The shrubbery beside the porch illuminated. I jumped to my feet and glanced to the left. A fast-approaching mass of chromed steel had just cleared the top of the hill a block away, and was speeding up the street at a rapid rate. The rumble from the exhaust cackled as it sped past me, then as soon as it was in front of Franky’s house, it locked up the rear brake.

  A maneuver comparable to what I would have expected from a Hollywood stunt man followed. Smoke bellowed from the rear tire, the motorcycle slid sideways, and then spun around 180 degrees. Now once again facing me, the rider accelerated through the tailspin and shot directly toward the driveway.

  The motorcycle, a black Harley-Davidson that was covered from top to bottom in glistening chrome, lurched into the far side of the circle drive. Riding it was the man I had shown very little interest during our first meeting, the mysterious Les. Dressed in jeans, a black leather vest, and boots, he looked – and rode his motorcycle – like a hellion. From his fingertips to his bare shoulders, miscellaneous tattoos covered his arms. They differed from Franky’s tattoos significantly, in that they looked like someone had applied the ink in their garage, and not in a licensed shop.

  He flipped the switch and shut off the engine.

  I stood at the edge of the porch with wide eyes. Impressed by the impeccable condition of his motorcycle – and rather overwhelmed by his ability to perform flawless high-speed stunts – I simply stared at him in awe of what I had seen.

  He unstrapped a helmet from the rear of the motorcycle. “Here,” he growled. “Put this on. That fucker in the Suburban’s a mile or two back. He’ll be here in a minute, and he’s not very fucking happy with me.”

  “We’re not supposed to go anywhere unless we go with the driver,” I said innocently. “I’ve already been in trouble twice.”

  He chuckled out a raspy laugh. “Do I look like I follow rules?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Probably not.”

  “Two types of people on this earth,” he said. “Those who obey, and those who rebel. Which one are you?”

  I’d never been one to simply comply. I seemed to always overthink everything and did what made the most sense to me after all things were considered. If I were forced to define myself, I would have to choose the latter.

  “A rebel. But I’ve…I uhhm.” I reached for the helmet. “I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle.”

  He nodded toward my purse. “Got any glasses in there?”

  “Yeah. Sunglasses.”

  “Grab ‘em.”

  Although common sense told me not to, the adventurous side of me prevailed. I reached into my purse and pulled out my glasses. Convinced a ride on the motorcycle was exactly what I needed to clear my head of its current state of confusion, I pressed the helmet down onto my head, hung my glasses on the neck of my shirt, and began fumbling with the straps.

  “Here.” He leaned to the side, fastened the strap, and nodded. “Put on your glasses.”

  “What about my purse?”

  He motioned toward the leather pouch fastened to the rear of the motorcycle. “Stuff it in the saddle bag.”

  I lifted the top of the bag, shoved my purse inside, and grinned at the thought of an impromptu motorcycle ride.

  “Just sit down, put your feet on those pegs, and hold on. Holding on’s the most important part. That, and keeping your bare legs off the pipes.” He flipped the switch and started the bike.

  The sound of the exhaust was almost deafening, but it was exhilarating at the same time. I sat down behind him, reached around his waist, and tried to decide what to do with my hands.

  “Don’t worry, you ain’t gonna hurt me.” He revved the engine. “Just grab ahold of something and hold on.”

  After realizing there were very few places to grab, I eventually decided to simply wrap my arms around his waist. Just as I positioned my hands above his belt, the headlights of the Suburban came over crest of the hill.

  “You good?”

  “Yeah,” I shouted.

  “Hold on.”

  The motorcycle jumped forward, and we took off through the driveway. In an almost fluid movement, he veered to the left. Once positioned in the proper lane, he accelerated rapidly, all but forcing me off the back of the small seat.

  He continued his full throttle break all the rules escape, heading up the hill as the SUV came toward us in the other lane. There was roughly one hundred feet still separated us – but it was disappearing fast. Les raised his left hand and extended his middle finger. With one hand gripping the throttle, and one hand clearly expressing his defiant behavior, we flew past the Suburban.

  Gawking out the side window with wide eyes and an open mouth, the driver left little to the imagination regarding his feelings about our decision to go for a late evening ride.

  We slowed down to a steady speed, and after a short time, I realized my death grip was no longer necessary. I released my grasp and relaxed. After a few miles, my vision widened. All of what had been running through my mind seemed to somehow either escape or no longer matter, leaving me feeling a sense of freedom I had never known to exist.

  The cool evening air rushed by me as we cruised along the coast. I closed my eyes and inhaled a slow, deep breath.

  “You alright back there?” he shouted.

  “I love it,” I responded. “This is awesome.
”

  He slowed the motorcycle to a comfortable pace. The sound of the exhaust changed to a low rumble, but the level of excitement remained. He cleared his throat. “You like donuts?”

  I thought he asked if I liked donuts, and decided the wind combined with the sound of the engine must have prevented me from hearing what he actually said.

  I leaned forward, positioning my mouth alongside his ear. “What?”

  He tilted his head to the side. The stubble from his beard brushed against my cheek. “Donuts. Do you like ‘em?”

  It seemed like an odd question, especially coming from a biker. I couldn’t help but smile. “l love donuts.”

  “Place up in LA has some good fuckers. We can make it in two hours.”

  At that moment, I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather be doing than riding on the back of his motorcycle. I had my doubts that any donut shop would be open late at night, though. “Are they open this late?”

  “Real donut shops are open twenty-four hours.”

  He sounded pretty excited. I decided to play along. “Is this place real?”

  “Randy’s?” He laughed. “As real as it gets. Even Tony Stark eats donuts there.”

  I wondered about the Iron Man reference, but decided to ask later. “Kelli’s going to be mad.”

  “Fuck Kelli,” he barked.

  My mouth curled into a smile. “Let’s do it.”

  I found it comfortably odd that Les was a rebellious biker with a fondness for late-night donut runs.

  Well, at least he wasn’t a pizza prick.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I immediately recognized the small shack with a huge roof-mounted decorative donut as having been used many times in movies, music videos, and television shows.

  As we waited in line, I waved my hand toward the entrance. “I’ve seen this place in movies.”

  He fluffed his short brown locks from where the helmet had flattened them. After satisfying himself that his hair was situated, he turned toward me. “Been here for over 50 years,” he said. “According to most, it’s the best donut in the United States.”

  “No shit?”

  He grinned. “No shit.”

  “Sounds legit.” I glanced over each shoulder, and then decided to whisper my remaining remark. “It’s in kind of a sketchy neighborhood, though.”

  “Technically, this isn’t LA. It’s Inglewood,” he whispered. “You ever heard of Compton?”

  “Compton? Yeah. Straight Outta Compton, NWA, Dre, Ice Cube, Snoop--”

  “You got it.” He tossed his head to the side. “It’s about six blocks that way.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  “Are you from here?”

  He shook his head. “Nope, I live about four hours north. Henderson, Nevada. Right outside of Vegas.”

  “But you’ve been here before?”

  “Come here all the time,” he said. “Maybe you didn’t hear me. Best. Donuts. In. The. United. States.”

  I chuckled. “I heard you.” I leaned a little closer. “Is it safe for us to be here?”

  He laughed out loud, and then when he caught his breath, he shook his head. “Do I look like someone that’d be easy to intimidate?”

  Dressed the way he was with his arms covered in jailhouse tats and his biceps flaring each time he moved, he looked like a bad ass biker. A real bad ass biker. “No.”

  “A pussy?”

  “No.”

  “Pushover?”

  “No.”

  “There’s your answer.” He motioned toward the register. “We’re up. Order.”

  I stared at the menu for a moment, and then blurted out my donut desires. “A chocolate long john, a raspberry jelly, and an apple fritter.”

  The girl at the counter was cute, and looked to be all of sixteen years old. Sixteen and happy as fuck to be selling donuts at 10:00 p.m. “We’re out of chocolate long johns.” She shot me an ear-to-ear grin. “Will you take a twist?”

  “What’s a twist?”

  “Like a long john.” She shrugged. “Only twisted.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  She looked at Les. “You?”

  “Two lemon jelly, two orange iced, two cherry iced. And, a bag of assorted holes, don’t care what they are.”

  “A dozen?” she asked.

  “Make it two.”

  “Drinks?”

  “Milk.” He looked at me. I nodded. “Times two.”

  “$18.23”

  Les paid for the donuts and we stepped to the side.

  “So, did you ride here from Henderson?”

  “Sure did. I don’t get on airplanes, so flying was out. Kelli argued, she said my contract was clear. I had to meet the driver at LAX. So, that’s what I did. I rode my bike from Henderson to LAX, met the driver, and rode the hell out of there.”

  “Oh wow. At least she won’t be pissed off at only me.”

  “No. Pretty sure she’ll have a few choice words for both of us.”

  “Here you go.” She pushed three sacks of donuts toward the edge of the counter. “Enjoy.”

  As we walked to his bike, he turned toward me, glanced up at the sky for a few long seconds, and then cocked an eyebrow. “Generally speaking, after, oh, say 9:45, chances of an asteroid hitting the earth are about nil.”

  I wouldn’t have guessed him to be an authority on space debris, but I smiled and nodded a thank you at his offering. “Good to know.”

  He laughed, and then shook his head. “Unless your planning something I don’t know about, you can take off the helmet.”

  “Oh.” I chuckled. “I didn’t realize I was still wearing it.”

  “Wasn’t sure what was going on. Thought it was kinda weird when you wore it up there to order, but then figured maybe you was planning on doing a backflip or something – you know to impress me – and you were wanting to protect your nugget.” He shrugged. “I try and take mine off every chance I get. Tell you the truth, I hate wearing that fucker.”

  I pulled off the helmet and rolled my eyes at his sense of humor, although I did find him to be quite funny. I noticed his was hanging from the handlebars, and motioned toward it. “Is that what you do with it? Hang it on the bars?”

  He reached into one of the bags, pulled out a handful of assorted donut holes, and popped them into his mouth one at a time. In between devouring the savory morsels, he grinned and nodded. “Every chance I get.”

  I hung the helmet from the end of the bars and pointed to the donuts he was still holding. “What about me?”

  “Just waiting for you to take off your gear.” He handed me a sack and then motioned to the bike. “Donuts are best with all your gear off. Want to sit?”

  My butt was still tender from the two-and-a-half-hour ride. “No, I’ll stand.” I pulled out the raspberry jelly and took a bite. “And if they’re best with all your gear off, how come you still have on the vest?”

  “I’m just trying to be polite,” he said. “I’m not wearing a shirt underneath it. But believe me, if I had my say, I’d be eating these little fuckers naked.”

  I shot him a look. “Naked?”

  He straddled the seat, sat down on the motorcycle backward, and nodded. “Everything’s better naked.”

  “Not everything.”

  He poked another donut hole in his mouth and then widened his eyes. “Name something.”

  “Grocery shopping.”

  “Shit. If there weren’t laws against it, I’d sure as fuck do it.”

  “Really?”

  “Damned straight,” he said. “A man’s closest to God when he’s naked. I sit out on my back deck damned near every morning and have my coffee and donuts naked.”

  “You eat donuts every day?”

  “People that eat donuts are inherently happy.” He smiled and nodded. “So, yeah, I try to.”

  He was tall and muscular with a thin face that was covered by a few days’ growth of beard. He looked like a long-distance runner, not a don
ut connoisseur. “You sure don’t look like you eat donuts on a daily basis.”

  “That’s because I don’t eat ‘em and then lay around and watch a couple seasons of Sons of Anarchy on Netflix.” He reached into the sack and pulled out another handful of pastries. “I exercise pretty much every day. Taking care of my body satisfies my soul. If a man has a good soul, good comes to him.”

  I finished my jelly donut, then licked my fingers clean. I liked his philosophy, but didn’t agree. At least not wholly. “But, bad things happen to good people.”

  He leaned his shoulders against the bars and kicked his feet on the rear fender. After getting comfortable, he dropped a donut hole into his mouth. “I disagree. Life happens to good people, and then some of them bitch about it. They act like they were dealt a bad card. I look at everything as a learning experience. No matter what happens, if I live through it, it’s an opportunity for me to better myself.”

  A philosophical biker who preferred to buy his groceries naked and loved donuts. Definitely not what I was expecting, but very interesting nonetheless.

  “I like your attitude,” I said.

  “Appreciate it,” he said with a nod. “So, what happened with the long-haired Navy boy?”

  I carefully pulled the chocolate twist from the bag. After getting it out without damaging any of the chocolate, I responded. “He was a douchebag.”

  “Figured that.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I figured him for a shithead. I’m pretty good at reading people.”

  “Well, he was a real prick.”

  “Lemme guess. His main concerns were exercise and getting you in bed. Then, when he did – if he did – he didn’t care one little bit about satisfying you, did he?”

  I stared back at him in utter shock.

  He waved his hand toward me, then grabbed another donut. “You don’t have to answer that. It’s none of my business.”

  “You’re right. But, how did--”

  He sat up straight. “He wore it like a fucking crown. We all saw it. Not trying to be a jerk, but I’m guessing you didn’t see it because you didn’t want to.”