Making the Cut by SD Hildreth

closer to my age than she was to his. He passed out drunk, and I’m guessing it was before she got what it was she was after. So I was in the garage working on my bike, and she came out through the garage, bitchin’ about him passing out,” he hesitated and shook his head lightly.
    He raised both eyebrows as his mouth formed into his signature smirk, “She stopped half way through the garage and offered to suck my cock.”
    “So, this list goes on and on. I’m not so dumb that I believe all women are evil or can’t be trusted, but I do believe women who are attracted to men like me are a different breed. Finding a woman who can be trusted one hundred percent is like finding a wolf that won’t eat the chickens. It’s not that they don’t exist, but the odds of finding one are slim.”
    He stood, crossed his arms, and stared for a short moment. As he uncrossed his arms, he pulled against a rubber band on his left wrist. He now stood erect, still focused on me, and snapped the rubber band into his wrist. He acted like he didn’t even notice he did it.
    Ouch!
    I tilted my head to the side and grinned, “So your definition of slim is compared to the odds of finding a wolf that won’t eat the chickens?”
    He nodded his head once, “Mmhhm.”
    “I’m a vegan. Chicken is meat, and I don’t eat meat,” I grinned.
    He shrugged his shoulders, “Doesn’t surprise me.”
    He hesitated for a long moment, gazed past me, and blinked a few times. With him standing there, I had become all but immune to the other men around, the music, and the noise of the overly loud drunken bikers. Hoping he would continue, I stood and admired his handsome features. As I realized for the first time that he had pierced ears, he began to speak again.
    “I’m the President of this club. I damned sure don’t need a woman to get in the way of me doing what it is I’m supposed to do. And, the long and short of it is this. She’d sure as fuck get in the way,” he said flatly.
    Somewhat frustrated with his answer, I shrugged my shoulders, “So, it’s not about a chicken eating wolf or even the fact that you really don’t trust women. It’s more that you think a woman would get in the way of you being a biker. Right?”
    “Suppose that’s pretty close.”
    I stood, aggravated at his ridiculous beliefs, wondering how much of it was a show and how much of it was the truth. Maybe he liked women, and he simply didn’t like me. Maybe he was being as nice as the President of a bike club could be, and just not telling me the absolute truth. The problem, for me, was the fact he didn’t want me. His complete lack of interest fueled every competitive bone in my body. While I inventoried all of the patches on his vest and wondered what they all meant, I also pondered what the real reason was behind his denial of my offer.
    Avery, you’re skinny, you have a flat ass, no tits, and your lips are skinny. You have one redeeming feature, and it’s not even a feature, it’s more of a mannerism. You’re a ‘courageous smart-ass’. That’s’ all you’ve got going for you. And to be honest, I’m not interested in fucking courage. I’d prefer fucking someone with meat on their bones. Well, that and a set of nice tits.
    Now wallowing in self-imposed guilt driven by my lack of confidence in boyish body being attractive, I realized something.
    I tossed the towel into the towel bin under the bar, “Answer a question.”
    “Ask it.”
    “You came over here to the bar,” I hesitated and motioned along the bar.
    “And it’s empty. I’m back here alone. And for some reason, no one is sitting here. So, why’d you stop to talk to me if you weren’t interested?”
    Ha, motherfucker. Answer that.
    He gave me his half-assed grin and crossed his arms, “I like talking to you. Hell, what else am I going to do? I talk to these motherfuckers every God damned day. But just because I’m talking to you doesn’t mean I want your ass on the back of my