by Anne Malcom
“Well, since you’re here you can help me take a look at the lady’s car. See if we can get her off to her movie,” he declared, moving to the front of my car.
The “kid” didn’t say a word, merely threw his finished cigarette away and sauntered to join Lucky, who glanced at me.
“Pop the hood, would you, darlin’?”
I jerked out of my glare at the “kid” who was now also staring at me, and moved to the driver’s side. I opened the door and popped the hood. I then sat down and stared at my daughter, who was lounging in her seat with her book face down in her lap.
She caught my stare and raised her eyebrows at me innocently. “What?” she asked obliviously.
I raised my eyebrows right back. “Don’t what me. You know exactly what,” I told her.
She kept up the act. “No, I don’t, actually.”
“Don’t play dumb. The obscure Russian literature in your lap makes the act fall short,” I informed her flatly.
“Leo Tolstoy is hardly obscure,” she argued defensively. “He is considered to be one of the best novelists of all time.”
“That book is fifteen hundred pages,” I said by explanation.
“So?” she replied tersely.
“So that book could be used to sink a small boating vessel, or as a weapon to knock even the most hardheaded attacker unconscious,” I continued with seriousness.
“I’m using it for its intended purpose,” she replied smartly.
“I doubt its intended purpose is to be sitting in the lap of a teenage girl while a teenage boy puffs smoke in her face,” I shot back just as smartly.
She was robbed of her no doubt brilliant defense when I heard my name shouted from the proximity of the hood.
I pointed at my daughter. “This isn’t over.” I then hauled myself out of the car and directed myself to the front of my car, where I expected to see Lucky and the unnamed corrupter of my daughter’s virtue. To my horror, not only did I see them, but two other equally hot sex gods and Zane. I was momentarily stopped in my tracks at this sight, not because they were hot—which they were—but because of the hateful glare Zane was directing at me. I hadn’t even spoken a word to him. What was this dude’s deal?
“Got good news and bad news for you, babe,” Lucky told me, not looking up from the hood.
I regained my motor skills and walked a teeny bit closer to the hot guy huddle. Not too close though; with the look Zane was directing at me, I was worried laser beams might come out of his eyes and incinerate me.
I swallowed, trying to ignore it. “I do always like my dessert first,” I addressed the bald head still bent in the depths of my car.
A manly chuckle erupted at this statement and I glanced to one of the hot guys who was smiling at me. I struggled not to melt on the spot. I recognized him from the café on the first morning of my job. He had dirty blond hair tied haphazardly into a delicious bun.
Lucky straightened, and I struggled to tear my eyes away from the rugged surfer to focus on news about my car.
“The good news is, we can get you to your movie, but not in this car,” he told me, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. I didn’t understand how that would clean them, but then again I wasn’t a big badass biker mechanic. I was not party to their ways.
“I don’t follow,” I told him, confused. Confused because male gods had gone in with their attractiveness and muddled up all my thoughts.
“Well, to fix your car it’s going to take a touch longer than half an hour. We have to order in the parts, and we have to wait till Monday to do that,” he explained.
My face drained. “Fiddlesticks,” I muttered under my breath. Of course my day could not just be filled with eating my body weight in movie snacks and perving at outlaw men who drove hot cars. No. It had to deal with man boys who chatted up my daughter, fielding death stares from a hot biker, and having car trouble. I focused to see that all of the men, except Zane of course, were openly grinning at me. Even the dark-haired one, who had also been at the café and didn’t look like his manly face grinned much.
“Zane!” An excited voice turned the attention away from me, which I was thankful for. I didn’t think a woman could handle that many hot guys staring at her at the same time. Something could happen. Spontaneous combustion, hormone overdose. Something dangerous, anyway. Unfortunately, the excited voice was that of my daughter, someone I definitely didn’t want four and a half hot men staring at.
But staring at her they were.
She rounded the car with a grin on her face, oblivious to all of the other attention on her as she approached the biker.
“I so thought you might be here. This is your club, right?” She didn’t give him the time to answer and just kept on talking. “I told Mom that we should come in and say hello,” her eyes cut to me, “but she didn’t want to disturb you. Totally sucks about the car, but at least you’re here and we can thank you again for the other day.” Her blue eyes brightened. “You should come to the movies with us and we can treat you, as a thank you. Don’t worry, we don’t see girly stuff. We love action movies—the more unbelievable, unrealistic explosions and car chases, the better,” she quickly reassured him.
I swallowed a snort. I didn’t think there were enough explosions and car chases in the world to get a man like Zane into a movie theatre to watch one. He was more likely to participate in them in real life than watch them play out on the big screen.
Zane regarded Lexie with a completely different look than the glower I had been treated to just seconds ago. I didn’t think his granite face had the ability to produce a tender look, but his eyes softened slightly.
“Movies aren’t really my scene, Lex,” he told her, his voice gravelly.
My eyes moved to the men, who had lost their easygoing grins and were watching Zane and Lexie in something akin to amazement.
Lucky’s mouth was actually agape. He recovered quickly. “Mom?” he declared weirdly, then looked between Lexie and me. “No fuckin’ way. That’s your daughter?” he asked in amazement.
“That’s what they told me at the hospital,” I replied, moving my eyes from Zane.
“You’re shittin’ me! There’s no way you’re old enough to have a kid,” he told me.
I smiled. “Tell that to the doctors who cut her out of me sixteen years ago,” I retorted without thinking. “I’d like to think I didn’t undergo major surgery for nothing.”
There was a slight chorus of male laughter at this which I was glad of, considering the weird moment that had happened moments before. Plus, my joke had come out on reflex and I didn’t know how staunch and hot bikers would take it. I was pleasantly surprised that I made them laugh. I would have had to have crawled into a hole and died if I heard crickets.
“To formally introduce you, this is the fruit of my loins, otherwise known as Lexie,” I said to the group at large.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t exactly do introductions, considering I didn’t know the names of the sex gods standing in front of me, and I was sure she was already acquainted with the youngest of the crew who was intently staring at her.
She grinned brightly and did a little wave. “Hey,” she addressed the group, not at all shyly. I was slightly envious of my teenage daughter for a multitude of reasons; her wrinkle-free skin and general youthfulness usually some of the top contenders, but right now it was her unwavering confidence. I feared I acted like a fumbling dork.
There were chin lifts all around and the two hotties directed their gazes at me. The dark one spoke first.
“I’m Cade,” he spoke roughly, but his expression was welcoming, which seemed to juxtapose the entire environment we were in.
The blond one jumped in. “And I’m Brock, pleased to meet you both.” He gave Zane a playful grin. “You seem to already know Zane.” He emphasized the name for some reason and Zane stiffened.
“Yeah, Zane totally saved our skin the other day when we got a flat. Mom can’t change one,” Lexie said happily.
&n
bsp; My mouth dropped open. She did not just tell a bevy of hot guys I was unable to change a tire. They would think I was a fumbling idiot. And certainly not a strong, independent, single woman who did not need a man.
“I can change one,” I said to her tightly.
She kept her smile. “Uh no, Mom, hence your suggestion on calling AAA when we saw it,” she informed me and the group at large. The little witch.
I narrowed my eyes. “I had yet to consume an ounce of caffeine that morning, doll,” I said with a tight smile. “I barely had control over fine motor skills, let alone change a tire. I’m sure if the occasion arose again and I was properly caffeinated I could change a tire, no problem.”
Lexie gave me a look. “I’m so sure,” she said smartly.
“Mullet photo,” I threatened out of the corner of my mouth before turning back to the group, who were all regarding us in varying states of amusement. Apart from Zane, of course. I doubt meeting Will Ferrell in person would make this dude crack a smile. “So I’m just going to circle back to the good news portion of this announcement,” I said, directing my attention at Lucky, deciding to ignore Zane altogether. “You mentioned that we could still manage to catch our movie, despite the dire diagnosis of Betty,” I said.
“Betty?” Brock chimed in with a grin before Lucky could answer.
Didn’t these guys have mechanic type jobs to do? Or could they spread their manly hotness somewhere else?
“Betty’s our car,” Lexie decided to answer for me. The mullet warning obviously didn’t guarantee silence.
Brock’s face turned blank. “You named your car?” he asked in an even tone that suggested he was trying to disguise laughter. I failed to be embarrassed.
“I didn’t name her, Lexie did,” I explained. “She was ten and decided that a car such as this required a name.”
“I didn’t technically name her,” Lexie disagreed, leaning against Betty. “I merely broached the concept of the naming of the car. You were the one who christened her Betty.” she glanced at me.
“Only because all of the names you came up with were utterly ridiculous and didn’t suit the car’s personality,” I shot back.
Brock failed to hide his choked laugh. “A car has personality?” he repeated disbelievingly.
I thrust my hand out towards her. “This particular car does. Some obviously do not. Like a Toyota Corolla or a Volvo, any make. A cherry red VW Beetle on the other hand...” I trailed off, my car really speaking for itself.
I ignored the teeniest twinge of embarrassment that was blossoming inside me at discussing the naming process of our car with four (and a half) sexy, bad ass bikers. “Okay we’re getting way off topic, again.” I glared at my daughter. “The previews are lost to us at this rate, so we need to get back on track.”
Cade shook his head. “I’m guessing there’s no such thing as staying on track in a conversation with you two,” he declared, his deep voice sending tingles down my spine. The wedding ring on his hulking hand made me immensely jealous of a faceless woman.
The rest of the men smiled—apart from Zane, obviously —and thankfully Lucky continued on.
“We’ve got a loaner car that we give customers that need transportation when their cars are getting fixed. Problem is, we have to gas her up first,” he said and my thoughts dampened at the time this would take. Lucky must have seen this on my face because he gave me a panty-melting grin.
“The bright side is, I’m done for the day and I’d be happy to give you a ride and accompany you to the movie, unlike my brother here.” He jerked his head at Zane, who stiffened, “I thoroughly enjoy any cinematic experience.”
I failed to garner any sense of irritation at the fact this guy was essentially inviting himself to the movies with Lexie and I. This may be because he was kindly offering us a ride. It also may be because he was fixing Betty and giving us something to drive in the meantime. But it was most probably because he was hot. Now, I held no illusions; there was no way I was going to turn cougar, but I was still a red-blooded woman. Still, it wasn’t exactly setting a good example for my daughter to accept rides and movie invitations from random—no matter how friendly—hot, biker strangers. I seem to remember one of my main—there were only a few—rules being: don’t get into cars with strangers. Unoriginal yet relevant.
“Thanks....” I opened my mouth but I didn’t know how I was going to politely decline when I was interrupted.
“I’m taking them,” a tight voice declared, the anger in the tone cutting through the easy atmosphere.
All eyes, including mine, cut to Zane who was no longer glaring at me—yippee! — but at Lucky.
“I don’t mind....” Lucky started but Zane cut him off yet again.
“I’m taking them,” he said slowly, with a hint of warning in his voice.
Lucky grinned, right in the face of the laser beam death stare. “Okay, brother,” he said knowingly and winked at me. “Get Bull to drop you here after the movie. Your loaner will be all gassed up and ready to roll,” he said easily, as if he had not just almost been pummeled by a raging bull. Pun intended.
I smiled back at him weakly. “Thanks, Lucky.”
The others, namely Brock and Cade, were not grinning but staring between Zane and I with blank faces. I didn’t know what to make of them.
Cade threw some keys that Zane caught in his fist. “Take my cage, bro, I don’t need it,” he told him, his voice not as easy as before and he inspected me with a slightly furrowed brow.
Zane didn’t reply, merely nodded tightly. His gaze moved to me. “You wanna make your movie, get your shit,” he said roughly.
I jolted, shocked at the fact he was addressing me directly and more than a little pissed off he was swearing at me. In front of my daughter, no less. I wasn’t against swearing. Back in the day I swore like a sailor. Partly because parents who didn’t censor themselves surrounded me. Also because I was a confused, angry teenager who did a lot of crap, and swearing came part and parcel with said crap.
But when I had Lexie I vowed I would be nothing like my parents. I would not do things like lock her in the bedroom when I had drug dealer friends over, I would not forget to feed her for a day, and I would not swear in front of her. Hence my slightly eccentric words I used in lieu of curse words.
At this moment, I couldn’t really voice my distaste for the words he was using or the manner in which he was addressing me, especially since Lexie’s face had lit up when he uttered them. I pursed my lips and nodded, going to the car to get my bag. Lexie did the same, except she practically skipped to the car.
“How cool is this?” she asked me across the front seat, gathering her stuff, including her brick of a book. “Zane’s actually coming with us!”
“I doubt he’s coming with us to the actual movie, Dollybird. More like he’s dropping us off outside. We’ll be lucky if he even stops the car,” I told her seriously, muttering the last bit of my sentence.
She gave me a perplexed look and shook her head. “He’s totally coming with us. Now hurry up. You’re going to be the reason we get lumped with unsatisfying snacks,” she ordered.
So that’s how I found myself in a SUV with Zane and my daughter on the way to the movies. Not a scenario I had ever imagined myself in. It was even worse when I tried to get into the back seat, farther away from getting incinerated from the death stare. Lexie had insisted I sit in the front seat. Zane’s jaw had hardened exponentially when I had jostled in, and his face kept straight ahead as he maneuvered out of the lot. I had waved at the men, who gave me chin lifts and head shakes. I didn’t get the head shakes, and didn’t exactly have time to ask.
Luckily, bless her heart, Lexie hadn’t clocked the downright hostile atmosphere that emanated from Zane and had chattered the entirety of the journey from the garage to the movie theatre. For his part, he answered all of Lexie’s questions, limited his profanities and was actually polite in his ultra badass, I kill puppies in my spare time kind of way. He didn’t s
pare a glance at me, and when Lexie tried to involve me in the conversation, I barely squeaked an answer. I’m not a squeaker. I had my time when a man battered me down to a shell of myself and I would shrink into a corner. But I recovered. Fought back. Found myself.
I’m loud. Opinionated. And quite funny, if I did say so myself. But for this car ride I retreated back into that little shell. It didn’t help that I was also immensely attracted to the person who was radiating hostility. I breathed a sigh of relief when we pulled up at the theatre. It must have been audible because Zane gave me a hard, sideways glance.
I ignored it and clutched the door handle, restraining the urge to throw myself out of the vehicle.
“Thanks for the--” I started to say, but Lexie jumped in.
“You have to come in now, Zane, we’re right outside. It would be a crime for you to miss cinematic gold when you’re so close,” she stated firmly.
Zane didn’t turn, but he caught her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Told you, I don’t do movies. Sorry, kid.” His rough and oh so sexy voice didn’t sound very sorry to me.
Lexie widened her eyes into a look I was all too familiar with. It was the wounded puppy look that had gotten her out of multiple situations and gotten her into specific ones. Like ones at movie theaters such as this, where after such a look I found myself sitting in documentaries about global warming.
“Okay, but if you leave us here, we’ll have to walk all the way home and the shoes Mom is wearing are not conducive with walking long distances.” She shrugged. “I’m sure she’ll be fine, though—what’s a few blisters?” She feigned nonchalance.
I gave my daughter a silent round of applause for tapping into what I guessed was the only chink in this guy’s muscled and impregnable armor. Helpless women. Not that I was helpless. In these shoes, after walking more than half a mile, maybe.
There was a pause. Zane’s jaw got very hard, then his body relaxed slightly. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he muttered, unbuckling his seatbelt.