“Sure. Why not?” I laughed at my best friend and his crazy idea, knowing this probably wasn’t the best one he had ever suggested. The first three applicants were a bust, and we might blow it with the last person by being sloshed when he arrived. Regardless, I went to the fridge to get us some beer, hoping I didn’t regret it later. It was difficult to tell Dax no. He had a contagious bubbly personality and always tried to find the best of any situation. He was the definition of a glass half full type of person, and I usually wasn’t. I stopped trying to reason with him years ago over little things and just accepted that he was right. It was okay to ‘loosen my panties every once in a while’ as Dax put it.
“Now who is fancy?” I called from the kitchen, after opening the refrigerator door, noticing he’d bought expensive beer. Well, it really wasn’t, because no beer was ever particularly costly, but it was the brand we never bought in college unless we had an excess of money. It rarely happened during that time.
“Girl, I’m always up there with Iggy Azalea. Don’t you know?”
“I do.” I snickered, filling my arms with four beers, knowing full well, two wouldn’t last very long in the game between the two of us.
Dax flipped the quarter onto the floor as soon as I took a seat beside him and both our eyes zeroed onto its rotation.
“Call it, bitch.”
“Heads. No tails. Fuck! Heads!” I frantically shouted, carefully placing the beers out of its way, and stomped my bare foot down onto its surface.
“Is it heads or tails, Halle?”
“I’m afraid to look,” I answered, closing my eyes and shifting as much of my weight as I could to my left side as Dax attempted to lift my foot.
“Well, quit being a queen and let me see,” he fussed and flicked his fingers against my bare leg.
“Ouch! You’re the queen!” I giggled, curling my toes up slightly for him to see which side landed upward.
“Oh! Fucking tales, drink bitch!”
“Dammit! And so, it starts.”
“It’s definitely starting, honey.” He beamed, grabbing one of the beers and popping the top for me.
“Ugh. I don’t think I can chug this.”
“Halle. Halle. Halle. Have you forgotten all the rules?” He shoved the chilled can into my hand. “You don’t have to chug it until you are wrong three times in a row.” He licked his pointer finger and swiped the air. “That’s one.”
“Thankfully.”
I took a few sips of the beer and retrieved the quarter, flipping it into the air, and it smacked against the marble flooring with a ting.
“Maybe this guy will be the one,” Dax cheerfully pointed out, avoiding what we both were aware he needed to do.
“Yeah. Maybe.” I laughed. “But I’m not getting my hopes up given how the other three were so far…Oh! Call it!”
“Tails, girl. I’ll always look for the tail, you know that.” He chuckled, jumping to his feet and slamming his designer shoe down onto the quarter. “Unless, of course, I need some head.” His sandy blond hair fell backward as his throaty laugh filled our house.
The only thing I could do was laugh with him. No matter how long we had been friends, his responses still took me by surprise a lot of the time, and I hoped they always would.
5
Crash
I buzzed the door a few times without an answer. After the third time, I questioned if this was the right place. Thirteenth & Broadway of Blackwell, Louisiana. Yep. I was at the correct address, and I was a good hour late and then some. This day was shaping up to be a shitstorm, but I was determined to turn it around before it was a full-on disaster. For good measure, I pushed the buzzer one last time that way I could say I tried.
“Hello?” A sultry female voice answered with a hint of a slur to her thick southern twang.
“Uh. Hi,” I answered, not sure if I’d actually pressed the appropriate button. I lifted my finger and made sure it was number 357. Immediately, I realized why the number from earlier held importance. It was the same number of my potential new household.
“Who are you?”
“Who are you?”
“I asked first,” she insisted, and her giggles projected outward from the metal speaker in front of me.
“I’m Cras…er…Clayton D’Aigle.”
“It’s him!” she squealed, and a noise of flesh smacking against flesh resonated behind her. Were they fucking? What kind of fucked-up situation had I gotten myself into? It didn’t really matter what I was walking into, as long as there was a warm bed. I didn’t intend to spend a lot of time here anyway, but I needed to find a new pad during the winter months. The clubhouse was drafty, and part of the roof leaked over the bar.
“Come on up, Craser Clayton D’Aigle,” she purred and my dick stood at attention hearing her slightly mispronounce my name. It was as if I was a teenager again, and I couldn’t grasp any of it. I hadn’t even seen this woman, and I was already half primed to fuck her. This could either be really bad or really good. Either way, I was all in, because if they would have me, I was here and ready. All I had were the clothes I crammed into my saddlebags the night before the fire, and the outfit I was wearing. Since the biggest part of my belongs were ash, I didn’t have too many options. Of course, I could stay at the clubhouse, but I wanted someplace to call my own…or partially mine. So, as soon as the door buzzed and unlocked, I nodded my head to my potential humble abode. It was a nice enough place, but I really didn’t need more than a place to rest my head and park my bike. Other than those necessities, I was pretty damn open and agreeable.
Hopefully, these people wouldn’t kick my ass out as soon as their eyes landed on my cut as a lot of people did more often than not. I wasn’t a bad guy per se. I was just a biker, which automatically gave me a bad reputation with people. I didn’t worship Satan as several people I’d crossed paths with assumed. My mom was a Southern Baptist, and she dragged me to Sunday service every chance she could. I actually had manners when they were needed, but most people judged me before I even had a chance to speak the first word to them. I hated that shit and hoped these people were different. If they weren’t, fuck them, I didn’t need to live here anyway. I’d take living in the clubhouse with my brothers who accepted me over living with self-righteous people any day.
“Hello, tall, tan, and muscular,” the tall blond man gushed with a hint of playfulness in his voice. Hell. I considered turning right around and marching my ass back to where my bike was parked, but it would have made me a hypocrite. I didn’t want them to judge me, and here I stood, passing judgment on him. I shook my head and plastered an awkward smile onto my face before bending to remove my boots.
“He has manners, too, Halle,” he mused, calling over to someone around the corner.
“He does?” Her silky voice grew closer, and a lump of nerves clumped together in the center of my throat.
“He does,” I answered her, untying the last loop and standing to greet her, thinking once I saw her, I’d be able to swallow. I was so fucking wrong. She had to be the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and it was a rarity for me to think in this manner. Although I was polite on a general note, being a biker, I viewed most women as club whores or at the very least, a pass-around—with the exception of my mom, grandma, and sisters, of course.
Her wild brown eyes softened the moment they connected with mine, and blood rushed to the apples of her cheeks as they turned a light shade of pink. Her teeth caught her bottom lip between them, and she sucked a much-needed breath into her body, and I did the same. I was right there with her, breathless and dumbstruck.
“Whoa!” she finally murmured and then laughed, smacking her hand over her mouth before any other words could escape. I had never been in this predicament; I didn’t know whether to offer her a beer or a ride on my bike. Most of the women I came across in my life were mediocre, but she looked like she’d just finished shooting for Vogue or some other high-end magazine, and she was wearing pajamas.
“So…We both approve, tell me this leather thing you have on doesn’t mean you’re going to piss on the floor. You’ll pick up after yourself, and if you have money, then the room is yours.” The man stepped between us and momentarily lifted my cut off my shoulders as he spoke, dropping it quickly, and then smoothed the wrinkles out of my shirt. I almost decked the bastard for touching my cut, and me for that matter, but remembered I was trying to make a good impression. After a deep cleansing breath, I finally shook my head, fixating my eyes on the woman watching me with bewilderment.
“For, a trial period,” he added, his eyebrows raising and cocking his head to the side. He might not be as much of a powder puff as I initially thought. He had the guts to not only get in my bubble but set boundaries about our future living arrangements. I respected that about him. A lot of people refused to look me in the eye. If it wasn’t the fact I rode with a club that scared them off, it was my size. I was naturally huge like my dad and all the guys on his side of the family, but I also hit the gym when I had a free moment. I was a bit intimidating to people, but I didn’t care. I was happy with who I was, and that was all that really mattered.
“Want a beer?” she finally spoke again and nodded to what I assumed to be the living room given the couch and television. This place was definitely nicer than anywhere I’d ever been in my life. Perhaps one of my brothers from the club set this up as a prank and I’d wake up to someone’s balls on my forehead. I wouldn’t rule that out as a possibility. Soco was notorious for pulling that kind of shit, and he’d been oddly distant recently.
Testing the atmosphere, I answered in my usual fashion, “Hell yeah, I want a beer.” No matter how this meeting went, I would always accept free booze. I was a bit hesitant given how this morning had gone, but fuck it. It was a beer, right?
“Good. First roommate initiation passed.” She smiled and turned to the man. “He likes carbs.” She stuck out her tongue and nodded toward the fridge. “Second roommate test, get the next round?”
At this point, I laughed and merely shook my head, doing as she asked. Not only was she gorgeous, she had moxie. I liked that in a woman. Either we would be great friends, or she would end up being the first woman I had ever cold trailed. Someone as hot as she was had to be in a relationship already, and if she was, I wouldn’t even try to get with her. Growing up and witnessing the hell Dad dealt with after Mom cheated on him with Jake Break, I would never purposely put another person through that catastrophe. Maybe she was with the guy living with her, but I had a pretty good idea his preference didn’t lie between what she had between her legs.
“Umm. Do you all know Soco?” I hesitantly asked, letting my suspicions get the better of me. This was a ‘too good to be true’ situation. They didn’t ask anything about my history as I thought they would, and I wasn’t even sure I was in the right place. I needed to know what I was agreeing to exactly.
“Not even a little, but I’m Dax, and this is Halle,” he introduced them and took a beer for Halle and then himself. They seemed harmless enough and either they were both amazing actors or he was telling the truth. Those were the names listed on the ad I’d answered online, at least.
“How will this whole living together work?” I opened my beer and took a seat on the chair adjacent to the couch where the two of them landed.
“Stay away from her in the mornings and don’t be an asshole,” Dax pointed out, and Halle hit his ribs with her elbow.
“What? It’s true.” He batted his eyelashes and pursed his lips in her direction.
“It really is. I’m not a morning person by any means.” Her shoulders rose and fell as she gave a little insight about herself.
“Nothin’ wrong with that. I’m not either,” I admitted, shocked how easy it was to be open with them. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
6
Halle
Last night was a blur and my head pounded in protest from the amount of alcohol we drank. I vaguely remembered bits and pieces of what happened, and a hint of regret swam in my stomach. I hadn’t filtered myself around Crash, and I typically did around everyone except Dax. It was the beer talking, undoubtedly. It wasn’t that the stuff I recalled saying wasn’t true, it was simply I rarely spoke my true feelings to most people. Maybe it was the fear of rejection, or it could plainly be a conditioned response on my part. Whatever it was, it was my comfort zone, and I never stepped out of it with a lot of people.
As I stretched and rolled over, my face pressed against a paper and a bundle of bills secured together with a rubber band swiftly rolled down the sheet and stopped against the tip of my nose. It was Crash’s signed contract and his money. Flashes of me tossing a pen and this paper at him as Dax and he helped me to bed passed through my mind, and I couldn’t stop myself from sniggering. First impression of the century, without a doubt. I didn’t want Crash to think the person he met last night was who I was on a regular basis, but I was almost relieved he had seen me with my guard down. There was no way of telling if it was for better or worse, but he signed the contract regardless, so I could breathe a little easier knowing we had his part of the rent even if he didn’t stick around, which I kind of hoped he did.
7
Crash
I didn’t see much of Dax or Halle for the first two weeks after moving in with them. Our schedules never seemed to be on the same page, which would normally not bother me. However, I actually wanted to see more of Halle, the Halle I had first met. Every interaction we had thereafter, she seemed withdrawn and didn’t have a lot to say. She absolutely had an opinion about everything the night we met. She even gave me shit for being in a club, which took some fucking balls. She wasn’t a bitch about it but was actually intrigued after I started telling her what I could about club life. Her boldness was one of the things I liked most about her. It outweighed her beauty and allurement. I’d never been the type of guy to swoon after a woman, and I wasn’t sure that was precisely where my mind was at now, however, I did respect her for her openness the first night and always would. I’d never crossed paths with a female as outspoken and bold as she was. She told me I was sweet when we put her to bed, a word that no one in their right mind would ever use when describing me. Honestly, if it had come from anyone else in a different situation, it would have neared close to an insult, but her honesty and innocence showed through, and it lessened the blow. I might have even liked it a little. She clearly was unaware I wasn’t a man people would refer to as sweet. An asshole or a dick, sure. Those were definitions I was used to hearing, but something endearing was seldom said about me. Other than my grandma that was, to her, I would always be a sweet little kid, even though we both were very aware I was no longer that by any means.
I didn’t know who the fuck I might be turning into and certainly didn’t want the guys to think I was a pussy, so I decided to forgo the whole story when they asked how the interview went.
“You find a place to stay, brother?” Frogeye inquired clapping me on the back as soon as I found my usual stool at the bar in the common area.
“Sure did.”
“So, you don’t need my couch?”
“Nobody wants that couch, Frog. The shit needs to be torched after all the skanks you’ve banged on it.” I laughed, pressing the drink to my lips, and swallowing, almost choking on the liquid when his middle finger flew upward in my direction.
“At least I’m bagging and tagging. ‘Tis the season to be froggy.” A deep guttural laugh billowed outward from his mouth as the old fucker did his best to hop a few feet away from me and dry humped the air. He’d never really gotten full function of his left leg back after he earned his wilted wings patch when he wrecked in 2015 and had to have surgery. Actually, it gave him more character, in my opinion. Not many people walked away from what he had and lived to tell about it. When he told the story of the night, he always spoke with a sense of pride, and rightfully so. The man was hit head-on and ate asphalt for a good ten feet before stopping. His bike was totaled, and we
all thought he was a corpse, but he was still here to give us all hell, and I couldn’t be happier about the fact. I needed someone to keep me in check and constantly knock me back a few pegs when I got too cocky. Everyone needed a person like that in their life.
“Indeed. ‘Preciate the offer though, brother,” I quickly said. We’d been through a lot of shit, killed a lot of booze, and put a lot of miles on our bikes together, but in reality, he was the closest thing to a best friend I had. He had my back when Dad passed and encouraged me to fill Dad’s shoes as Vice President in the club when I didn’t think I was ready. Fast forward three years, and looking back, it was the best damn decision I’d made in the club to date.
“I know you do,” Frog answered, dropping a duffel bag in front of me. “Your turn to be Santa this year at the charity event.” He crookedly smiled at me; we were both fully aware I hated dressing in the ridiculous costume.
“Let Pooh Bear wear it; he has kids and is less likely to scare off all the little shits.”
“Pooh did it two years ago. Sorry, but it’s up to you to do it this year.”
“Fuck,” I groaned, tucking the bag under my arm and grabbing my keys off the bar. “Hope they don’t mind drunk Santa because this bastard is going to be lit.”
Frog’s green eyes widened, and I about choked on my beer.
“Jokes, man. My dad would come back and beat my ass if I did that shit.”
“Got that fucking right.” He clapped me on the back and squeezed my shoulder with his cupped hand.
Hard Rime Page 3