Save Me Read Online Free PDF Page B

At first, he was surprised by how low the handlebars sat, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t adjust to. What surprised him the most was the change of perspective. Riding that first beauty of a motorcycle was nothing like sitting in the seat of a car. Detached somewhere beneath the revving machine, the loud engine vibrated against Leo’s body, acting as the bikes heart and lungs.
    Riding it made Leo feel like he was home. He reached down, caressing it softly, the way some men might have touched a new lover, but to say it had a mind of its own would have been an understatement. It reacted like a stallion the first time he drove it through dense LA traffic. But with Richie’s guidance, Leo began to learn how to control it. It required more attention than most of the bikes he was used to working on, but he loved it too much to care.
    He made himself a promise then. One he was determined to keep.
    He told himself he'd make riding an unforgettable experience for himself. That more than anything, he'd enjoy it. In essence, the hunk of metal was Leo’s first love. There was something about the bikes reaction time that seemed deliberate. She would often struggle against his movements, like a wild animal in heat, but it was deeper than that.
    It was more like Leo's senses had developed in a way that made him  feel  for the motorcycle. It was like a living entity to him. The force of the wheels against the road. The way they would spin to a stop as he slowed. The high frequency sound the engine made as it vibrated against his body. Everything about it – the entire experienced – made Leo feel as like he found his calling.
    “Wow,” Mily said, letting out a deep breath, “I think I know that feeling.”
    As bad as it might have sounded, the way Leo described his love of bikes was precisely how she felt about money and the things it could provide her.
    Mily thought back to the dingy hotel room she had been in just a few hours before.
    The man she had been lying beside was one of her least favorite clients. Stephen, an unhappily married plastic surgeon from Orange County. He was nice enough, but Mily couldn’t help but hate him. Not wanting to disturb him while he slept, she had attempted to crawl out of the tangled sheets to leave, flinching as his arm tightened roughly around her waist. He buried his head deeper into the crook of her neck, exhaling deeply. Mily sighed, collapsing back down on the bed beside him. It was then that she began to consider the fact that maybe she didn’t hate him at all. From what she could tell, aside from partaking in adultery, Stephen was a decent enough guy. Sweet even, and he tipped well.
    Regardless, what they had together – if they had anything – was nothing more than sex. Paid sex, at that. Every other Saturday at four PM sharp, they would meet in the parking lot of a small hotel located in the isolated town of Desert Shore, “where no one can find us” Stephen had said. It became their routine but it was one with no strings attached. They didn't call each other pet names or partake in endless conversation. He never sent her flowers, bought her diamonds, or called her just to hear her voice.
    Mily finally managed to slide out of Stephens grasp, turning her attention to the large wad of money that sat on the dresser. She had been doing it for three years but she still found it all so peculiar. Being paid to have sex. It was the easiest thing in the world and even though she’d never admit it out loud, it made her feel empowered.
    How had it gotten to this?  She wondered.
    In Los Angeles, there were two different kinds of hookers. The kind that roamed the Sunset strip in stiletto pumps and blue eye shadow and the kind who discreetly courted men who were too shy or ashamed to admit they enjoyed paying for sex. Mily had been the latter and she took pride in holding herself well. In many ways, she looked more like a piano teacher than a call girl and that was the way she wanted