Betting on Stocks

by Harley Stone

  I was far from “okay,” but lacked the energy to correct him. “Thanks.” I blew out a breath and started the car, dreading the traffic we were sure to hit. The sixty miles between Tumwater and Seattle would be a parking lot by the time we made it there.

  “Want me to drive?”

  Everyone seemed bound and determined to run my life today, and Stocks wanting to drive pushed me over the edge. “I can fucking drive!” I snapped.

  His eyes widened comically. “I know. But you have a hell of a lot of clothes and must have been packing for a while, and fighting with Naomi seems really taxing. Thought you might be tired.”

  Actually, I was exhausted. This was the longest stretch I’d been awake since the accident. I let out a breath, trying to look at his offer without the lens of my battered and raw emotions. None of this was Stocks’s fault. Hell, the man had given up his afternoon to drive down and get me, and I was acting like a bitch. “I’m sorry. I just… I have a lot going on right now.”

  He quirked a smile at me. “You don’t say?”

  Stocks had a nice smile. It was disarming, and I could feel tension roll off my shoulders in response.

  “You and I are cool, babe,” he added. “I remember what it felt like to finally find my place in the world only to have it ripped out from under me.”

  The details I knew about Stocks wouldn’t fill two hands, but I knew he had a prosthetic leg. Curious about what he’d gone through, I asked, “What changed?”

  He shrugged. “I found a new place. Whatever you need… you got it, Monica. All you gotta do is ask.”

  He was a good man. No wonder my mom had loaded him up with treats. “Thank you for the offer; I’d like to take you up on it. Will you please drive?”

  “I’d be happy to.”

  We switched seats and were on our way. I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep with little more than a stranger behind the wheel of my new and improved baby, but the minute I reclined my chair I was out cold. The next thing I knew, Stocks was waking me up to let me know we’d arrived.

  “You feelin’ any better?” he asked.

  Still groggy and disoriented, I sat my seat up and tried to get my bearings. “Yes. Thanks for letting me sleep.”

  “Thanks for letting me drive.”

  We were here. The fire station of misfit veterans. Considering my situation, I should feel right at home, but I didn’t. Even though I’d met several of the bikers at Naomi’s party, the idea of marching in there and claiming my borrowed room had my stomach all twisted in knots. Usually great in crowds, all I wanted now was to be alone. In fact, if I could magically teleport to my room and cast amnesia on everyone who knew me, I would.

  “About how many people would you say are in there right now?” I asked. It was a big building and I remembered lots of big, burly bikers at Naomi’s party.

  Following my gaze, Stocks shrugged. “Hard tellin’. Could be five, could be fifty. You lookin’ to avoid them?”

  It was like he could read my mind. “Is that possible?”

  “Sure. We can sneak in through the back. We might run into someone on the stairs, but at least we can avoid the common area where everyone hangs out. I’ll take you up and get you settled and then come back down for your luggage.”

  “Where’s Naomi?” I asked.

  He pointed to her car on the side of the building. “She’s probably been here for a while. That woman’s got a lead foot.”

  And she was a horrible driver. There was no way I could have slept with her behind the wheel. “Thank you. For everything.”

  Stocks smiled. “I told you, whatever you need, I got you.”

  He led me around the side of the building to a back entrance. Punching in a code on the keypad, he opened the door and held it for me to enter. “Morse will provide you with a code for the doors. Everyone has their own so the system logs who’s in here and who’s not for safety purposes. It’s a feature they just put in last month, and it’s a hell of a lot more convenient than carrying around more keys.”

  I followed him up the stairs to the second floor, and thankfully we didn’t run into a soul. We turned down a hall, and he gestured to two doors. “Communal bathrooms. Men on the left, ladies on the right. They’re locker room style with private toilets and showers.”

  I froze in my tracks. “I won’t have my own bathroom?”

  Stocks shook his head. “No ma’am. We all share. You’ll have plenty of privacy though, since not many women stay here.”

  God, it was like I was back in basic. Suddenly missing the hell out of my cute little house in Clovis, I sighed and followed Stocks into my room. Bare bones was the first term that came to mind as I took in the small space: double bed, dresser, sofa, coffee table, the necessities, and nothing more. The basic closet beside the bed could fit maybe a third of my hanging clothes, and the contents of my smallest suitcase might fit in the dresser.

  “No kitchen either,” I muttered, collapsing on the bed to stare at the ceiling.

  “We have a huge kitchen downstairs. It has every pot, pan, and appliance you can imagine. Someone even brought in one of those air fryers. Prospects do the shopping, so the fridges are always stocked. One of the club whores likes to cook, and she comes in and whips up a meal from time to time, and we usually eat dinner together. Other than that, everyone’s welcome to do their own thing.”

  Raising up on my good elbow, I stared at him, hoping I’d misheard. “A club whore?”

  “Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t give them the title.”

  “There’s more than one?”

  He took a step back. “I don’t think you’re ready for that conversation, but you should talk to them before you make any judgments.”

  I wasn’t ready for any of this. “Moving here was a horrible idea. Back home, I had a perfectly good room with enough space for all my clothes and no whores. Sure, I had to share the bathroom with my senile grandmother who sometimes forgot why she was in there and had to be rescued… usually while naked…” I shuddered at the memory. “But this…. I don’t think I can do this. Maybe I should go find an apartment nearby.”

  “You could, but being forced to interact with like-minded roommates on a daily basis keeps you from hiding in your own head for too long.”

  I eyed him. Stocks seemed like such a normal, well-adjusted guy. It was difficult to imagine him going through my current struggle. Losing his leg couldn’t have been easy, yet he’d survived. Maybe I should get some pointers from him. “Is this what helped you get through everything?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t have this when I was where you are. I was trying to do it all on my own and pretending like nothing had changed. I had changed, though, and it took me getting thrown in jail to realize how much.”

  “You did time in the slammer?” I vaguely remembered him mentioning that the night we met, but he looked like a pretty boy with a nice body and a dangerous edge. Not exactly prison material. “Please tell me you weren’t someone’s bitch.”

  He quirked a smile at me. “No ma’am. I made friends with the biggest guy in the joint… Havoc. He was in there for putting a rapist in the hospital, and he made sure nobody fucked with me. I was damn lucky to have him as a cell mate. This place might be a glorified frat house, but your roommates are good people. They’ll go to hell and back to help a vet. Link wanted to bail Havoc out of jail, but the big guy refused to leave until he convinced me to join. That’s the caliber of men you’re dealing with here. They’re far from perfect, but they’re genuine, honorable guys.”

  Hearing Stocks sing the praises of the Dead Presidents put me at ease a little. I didn’t know what my role with the club would be, but at least I wouldn’t be surrounded by shady assholes.

  “Get settled, and I’ll be back up with the rest of your luggage.” Stocks left, closing the door behind him.

  Looking around the tiny room that lacked a private bathroom, kitchen, and enough space for my clothes, I collapsed back on the bed wondering wh
at the hell I’d gotten myself into. My new roommates might be saints, but it was already clear I didn’t belong in their dated, all-boys club.

  Monica

  ALONG WITH MY belongings, Stocks brought me up food. Somehow balancing a plate in one hand with a garment bag slung over his shoulder, he wheeled three suitcases into my room. Feeling obligated to help him juggle my shit, I peeled myself off the bed and stood. “Here. Let me help you.”

  “Sit. I got this.” He handed me the plate. “Eat. You’ve gotta be starving.”

  I hadn’t had much of an appetite, but the enchiladas, corn, and Spanish rice all looked and smelled delicious, making my stomach growl. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “I ate about half that bag of goodies from your mom during the drive. It’s a good thing she lives three hours away, or I’d weigh three hundred pounds in no time.”

  “You think my mom would just keep baking you goodies?” I asked, still surprised she’d given him any in the first place. Mom had never once liked a single guy I dated. If she knew Stocks and I hooked up, she probably would have slipped a few laxatives into his cookies in a passive-aggressive message that he wasn’t welcome. “I’m sure that was a one-time thing, and you should probably wait to see what adverse effects you experience before singing her praises.”

  Stocks gaped at me as he set my garment bag on the bed. “Are you insinuating that your mom would poison me?”

  “Poison’s for a quick death. She likes her victims to suffer.”

  “She wouldn’t do that to me.” He suddenly didn’t look so certain. “We connected.”

  “Did you tell her we fucked?”

  His eyes widened with shock. “No. I would never tell your mom we fucked. I did tell her you picked me up at Naomi’s party.”

  “You what?” Now it was my turn to be shocked. “Why would you smear my good name to my mama like that?”

  “Smear your good name? I wasn’t about to let her think I picked you up at a party. I don’t want her to think I’m some player or something.”

  Stocks was too much. “Why do you care what she thinks of you?”

  He unzipped my garment bag. His thoughtfulness warmed something deep inside me while the necessity of the gesture raised my hackles. I was an independent woman who could handle my own goddamn zippers… only, I couldn’t.

  “Because she’s your mom,” he replied.

  That cleared up nothing. Not one damn thing. Stocks and I had hooked up once. He shouldn’t care what my mom thought of him. “Next time I talk to her, I’ll let her know you fucked me six ways to Sunday. Bet you get a different reception next visit.”

  “Why would you sabotage me like that?” He actually seemed offended and a little hurt.

  I eyed him, unsure of the answer myself. Why was I so bothered about his relationship with my mother? She knew I was no saint when it came to men. Hell, she’d put me on birth control my freshman year of high school and told me to be smart and remember my dreams. But if she actually liked Stocks, it meant he might be good for more than just sex and carrying my bags. I wasn’t looking for more. “Why you tryin’ to get all cozy with my mom?” I fired back.

  He dropped his gaze. “My mom and I aren’t close. She’s a health nut, so she doesn’t really do the home-baked goods and kitchen conversation. It was a nice change of pace.”

  And now I felt like an asshole. Cutting off a bite of enchilada, I popped it into my mouth and let the flavor roll over my tongue, keeping my mouth busy so I wouldn’t make any more stupid comments. “Whoa. This is really good. Who cooked?”

  “Jess and Spade. Apparently Jess has been learning some authentic Mexican recipes from his mom, and Spade is in the kitchen giving her a hand. He said they’re gonna attempt tamales next week.”

  So, the room sucked, and I still wasn’t sure where all my clothes would go, but at least the food wasn’t bad. “Jess can cook. It’s refreshing to see a white girl get down with the seasonings.” I fanned my mouth. “This is actually a little spicy. I love it.”

  While we’d been talking, Stocks had retrieved the rest of my luggage from outside my room. My bed now had three garment bags stacked beside me. My suitcases were all situated between the bed, dresser, and closet, leaving a three-foot wide path for me to navigate. Every zipper was open, and every hook was undone. Standing, he looked over his work. “Can I help you put your stuff away?”

  Despite all the shit I’d flicked him, he was a nice guy. No wonder my mom liked him. “Thank you, but I can get it.” I hadn’t decided for sure whether or not to stay and needed to make my mind up before I filled up every nook and cranny of the cramped space.

  He lingered by my bags, as if afraid to leave me alone with them. “You sure?”

  “Yes.” Regardless of how long the fire station would be my home, I didn’t want him to think I was needy or incapable of taking care of myself. “You’ve gone above and beyond already. I’m good. I can take it from here.”

  Still, he hesitated. “Can I at least give you my phone number? In case you need anything else?”

  If homeboy thought I’d be calling his ass to help me, he didn’t know me at all. Still, the gesture was sweet and if it would make him feel better, I wasn’t going to be a bitch about it. “Hand me your phone.”

  He plucked the cell out of his back pocket and handed it over. I swiped it on, amazed that he didn’t even have it locked. Anyone could read his messages. I needed to remember that if I planned to send him any.

  Sending myself a text, I returned his phone. “Go get yourself a plate. You’ve gotta be hungry, too, and these enchiladas are the shit.”

  He glanced at his phone before pocketing it and reluctantly meandering toward the door. Swallowing another bite, I took a minute to admire his backside. The months since we’d hooked up had kicked my ass, but they hadn’t changed him one bit. He still had the body of a trained military weapon. His intense eyes were probably my favorite feature, but that ass was definitely a close second. Although, I was beginning to realize there was a lot more to Stocks than a pretty face and a hard body.

  “Thank you. For everything. I promise not to tell my mom we fucked.”

  Turning, he cracked a smile for me. “Thank you.”

  My breath caught. Goddamn the man was hot when he smiled. Trying to forget the way those lips had felt between my legs, I used my fork to gesture for him to leave. I had enough on my mind and didn’t need his sexy self messing with my head.

  The door closed behind him, leaving me in silence. My legs were cramping, so I shifted to get comfortable, and my plate started to slide off my lap. I reached for it with my left hand before realizing that was a mistake and snaking around my right to narrowly save my dinner from dumping on the bed. The reminder of my missing arm felt like a punch in the gut. I sucked in a breath as tears stung my eyes and I remembered everything I’d lost.

  My life was altered forever now, and I couldn’t let myself forget that because it hurt too much when I remembered.

  Stocks had been a nice distraction, but this was my new reality and it sucked. Appetite gone, I set the plate on the dresser and pulled the teddy bear Jagger had given me out of one of my suitcases. I hadn’t slept with a stuffed animal since I was a kid, but I wanted something to wrap my arm around. Crawling beneath the covers, I didn’t care that the light was still on, there was a half-eaten plate of food on my dresser, or that most of my bed and floor were taken up by luggage that needed to be emptied. Feeling completely spent and strangely alone in the grown-up equivalent of a frat house, I passed out.

  ***

  I’d just climbed into the cockpit and buckled up when some asshole beat on my door like they were the cops about to bust in on me, interrupting my dream. The bedroom light was still on, but unnecessary since daylight streamed in through the window.

  More knocking.

  Letting out an irritated growl, I yanked on the blankets, trying to pull them over my head. The weight of the packed garment bags proved to be too much for
my one hand, making me want to scream in frustration.

  More knocking.

  I used to be a morning person. Now, mornings were a slap in the face, bringing me back to a reality I couldn’t seem to make myself accept. Stumbling out of bed, I dragged my ass to the door. My still healing hips and back protested the entire way. Throwing open the door, I prepared to lay hands—or hand, since I only had one now, making my beatdowns forever lopsided—on my overly zealous wake up call. Unfortunately, Naomi stood in the hall wearing jeans, a Harley Davidson T-shirt, steel-toed black boots, and the don’t-fuck-with-me expression she usually reserved for bar fights and barracks brawls. I wasn’t surprised to see her all bright-eyed and bitchy-tailed, but her entourage did manage to raise my eyebrows. Recognizing Jayson, Emily, Julia, Carly, Jessica, and Sasha from Naomi’s housewarming party, I stepped aside as the gang crowded my small room.

  “Am I being invaded?” I asked.

  “No, we’re staging an intervention,” Naomi replied.

  It was too early for her bullshit. “Well, damn. Shouldn’t I be passed out drunk, suckin’ on a crack pipe, or selling my body for Tide pods to give your intervention some purpose?”

  “Ha-ha.” She looked me over. “It’s past noon and you’re still in bed.”

  I was also still wearing yesterday’s outfit. The enchilada plate on my dresser was now crusty and smelled sketchy, and it was clear to see I hadn’t put away a single stitch of clothing. I was adulting like a motherfucker. “Yeah, I was up late unpacking,” I lied. I couldn’t help it. Naomi and I had always been able to push each other’s buttons; our challenging competitiveness was how we’d helped one another improve. If I was in a better headspace, her persistent jabs would have encouraged me to get off my ass and step up my game. But, since my future looked bleak and I was questioning everything from God to myself, her button-pushing made me want to go nuclear.

  My shitty situation wouldn’t improve if I woke up earlier or unpacked my luggage, so why did it matter? There wasn’t a damn thing I could do to get me back to where I wanted to be. The sooner she realized that and let me live out my days in peaceful apathy, the better.