These have gotta be her parents, two All-American, peach-faced grinning people. They weren’t smiling as much in this wedding photo. Looks like they warmed up to the idea of being together.
Marriage. Never thought much about it. Not until these last couple years when Jett and Tonk got so damned lucky.
Hoping I’ll be the same.
In the kitchen I find more fluffy shit, and after scanning more photos on the fridge, and the hand-needled calendar, I come to the conclusion that her mother decorated this house. Nothing is new. Not one damn thing. There’s even a tube T.V.
I give up the search for answers, satisfied, and plant myself on the couch, kicking my feet onto the doily-drenched coffee table. It takes me a couple minutes before I look at my dirty boots and take them down, glancing around to see if she saw I was being disrespectful.
At home our feet can go anywhere. Especially up people’s asses if they piss us off.
I grab up a small magazine and check out the title: Readers Digest.
Huh.
Never seen one of these before.
Flipping through it is like time traveling back to the 1950’s. There’s even an ad for cigarettes with a dude in a suit taking a long drag like it’s a good idea. Shaking my head I keep thumbing through abridged stories until I hear Meg’s footsteps coming down the stairs.
Looking to my right I wait until she appears, and then my gut flips over when I see her. She’s in a white, tight-fitting sweater, a brown belt, and her jeans are tucked into sexy brown boots with no heels, since it’s snowing. Her gorgeous red hair flows over her shoulders. Her blue eyes are waiting for me to say something nice.
“Holy shit,” I mutter.
She laughs and walks closer to me, running fingers through her hair with nervous excitement. “I guess that’s good?”
“I was used to seeing you all antique’d out. This…this is…you’re fuckin’ mind-boggling!”
Her smile falters with happy surprise. “Thank you, Antonio.”
Whoa, it was weird to hear my real name falling from her lips. Sexy. Intimate. Like how your friends call you by a nickname, but your lover calls you something just for her.
I stand up, my zipper bulging so badly I have to adjust myself. Her eyebrows dance up. “I’m not apologizing for this,” I grumble, heading for her and pulling her to me. “You light me up.”
She leans in and hovers by my lips. I don’t move – letting her kiss me first turns me on after how she did it before. Her smile becomes sexy and she surprises me by licking the line between my lips. Pleasure storms into my cock. I wrap her hair around my hand, smashing our bodies together by gripping her to me with my other hand while we kiss.
She moans into my mouth and I lose it, tearing the sweater up over her head and freeing her over the top of her bra so I can nibble those saucer nipples she’s got. Small tits and big nips. I’m into it. I’m buyin’ up everything she’s got on her shelves.
She bends back as I devour her breasts one after the other with such slow and methodical tongue massages and teeth nibbling that she starts moaning like she might just cum right here and now.
“I have to fuck you, Meg.”
She moans, “Uh huh,” and locks eyes with me. “After dinner.”
“No,” I growl, palming her ass with one hand and her pussy with the other.
She whimpers as I vibrate the two. “Okay, but just a quick one.”
“I feel like I wanna burst now, so that’s fine by me!”
I said that to make her laugh, but her face went all business and suddenly she’s pulling my sweater off and softly grunting with an urgent need for sex. I help her and she goes for my pants. I go for hers. We’re both kicking our boots off, and it ain’t easy to do with no hands, so we drop at the same time and hit our heads. Grabbing them, we come up laughing, shirtless and pants half open, one boot on each of us. Seeing this, we start laughing harder and when she points at me like she can’t take how funny this is, I grab her and kiss her.
Meg melts in my arms. I break free, cover her lips with my finger, and tell her with my eyes to wait up here. Bending I remove her boots, then my own, then help her out of these hot jeans she’s got on. Her soft fingers slip into my belt line and she wiggles my pants down my legs, leaning over to help me kick ‘em off. She takes my cock in her mouth and licks it a few times, glancing up at me and smiling like she wants to do more but doesn’t know how. I grab her arm and pull her up to kiss me, wrapping one arm around her as I touch her cheek. “I can teach you another time.”
I lift her and she wraps her legs around my hips, smiling at me as I carry her, both of us naked, to the couch. I lay her down and make love to her this time, stroking my cock inside her while we kiss and explore each other’s bodies with gentle fingers. Where we fucked like animals before, we now do it like we can’t believe this has happened to us. There’s a sense of awe every time I slide into her and every time I slide almost all the way out, then bury myself deep again. Her hair is fanned out around her head and she looks like an angel. My angel. My future bride. The mother of my children.
“I missed you,” I rasp into her lips as the orgasm builds.
Her sweet fingers lace into my hair as her back arches. I press my lips into her bared throat and relish the pulsing of her climax as it unleashes with mine. With gritted teeth I feel my cock release inside her. We moan together and grip each other, pressing our hips as close as they can get. When it’s over, Meg melts underneath me and smiles, staring into my eyes.
“You missed me? What do you mean?”
“All the years I didn’t know you I missed you.”
She searches me like I’m not real, and whispers, “I missed you, too.”
Burrowing into her neck I kiss her earlobe and relax.
It’s just the beginning, but it also feels like the end.
The end of loneliness.
Meg
For two reasons I chose Cirino’s, an Italian restaurant on Broad Street. One, there aren’t a lot of choices in Nevada City, and I don’t want to go to the neighboring towns. And two, I want him to warm up to Christmas. It’s an important holiday for me. I love this time of year and I don’t want to give it up or enjoy it alone.
The delicious aroma of garlic travels on the air as we step inside the lovely single room with red brick walls, warm ambient lighting and easy going conversations floating across Christmas music from the Rat Pack era.
Honey Badger side-eyeballs me and says, “Frank Sinatra I like.”
“I’m glad you approve,” I tease him, walking to the pretty local girl standing at a small host stand. “Two please.”
She smiles but her eyes keep drifting back to my date. The biker jacket has turned more than a few heads, but the gleam in her is pure sexual attraction.
His forehead is scrunched up as he takes a menu for himself and starts reading. I don’t think he knows how dangerously hot he is, which I’m very grateful for.
Her eyes flit guiltily to me as she realizes she was staring, and she whips around to search for an empty table. “Right this way,” she motions, grabbing a menu for me and heading off.
A few conversations pause as we follow her. I nod to my dentist, “Dr. Norman.”
“Margaret,” he nods back, his eyes hovering on the beast I’m with, before rejoining his friends with a look that says everything. Nobody will say it aloud but they’re a little afraid of Honey Badger. And I kinda like it. Isn’t that strange…
But when the food comes I have to say enough is enough. Laying my hand on his arm to arrest his attention, I whisper, “Slow down. It’s ravioli. It’s not trying to run away.”
His coal-black eyes blink at me as he straightens his hunched back. “Oh,” he mutters, cracking his neck and shaking out his shoulders like he’s preparing for a war — him against his bad manners. He picks up two instead of five raviolis and brings them to his mouth like a normal human being, chewing more slowly than he probably has in his whole life.
“Are there just men where you live?” I ask, glancing around at the people as they turn back to their meals.
He shakes his head and sets the fork down for his pint of lager. Gulping it, he blinks and slows that down, too, glancing to me. “Men, women and kids. But we don’t poke our nose in anyone’s business too much. Didn’t have to answer to no one.”
I could point out that he just used a double negative in that sentence, but I’d rather be happy than right.
I’m very curious about this living arrangement. If he’s thinking of me in the way he says he is, I would like to know more.
“How many women?”
“Depends on who’s living there at the time. We have another station in Montana, and two smaller factions of our club in other states. Mostly it’s – wait, just the women? It’s Luna, Melodi, Hannah, Mona, Louisa, and Beth. They’re usually there. There’s about seven kids there now. But Louisa and Beth travel back to Montana a lot. I don’t know. It’s not always the same, but we’re all a family.”
“You all get along?” I ask before taking a slow sip of my Cabernet.
“Most days. It’s a tight group. You’ll fit right in.”
I almost spit red wine all over the white tablecloth. Amused, he goes back to eating while I remain speechless.
After we continue our meal for a time, I finally blurt, “You’re very direct.”
He shrugs, “Yep.” His expression changes to less cocky as he asks with a careful tone, “Where are your parents? They pass on?”
“Oh, they’re not dead.” He relaxes and I explain, “They found Jesus and now they travel to third world countries as Missionaries.”
“Was he lost?”
“Not funny.”
He chuckles, “I thought it was.”
“They’re doing good work out there.”
“What about you?”
I blink to my mushroom risotto. “It wasn’t my calling. It’s their thing.”
“No, I meant, what about being around for you. It’s Christmas and where are they?”
“Guatemala.” He stares at me like his point has just been made. Defensively I argue, “People need their help. They’ve built schools in villages where the children didn’t even know how to read and write. Besides, you don’t even like Christmas, so what do you care?”
Our eyes hook and hold. I know what I’m saying is true, and that I shouldn’t complain about being alone when they’re helping so many… and I’m just one person. But I have been feeling the loss of not having a family to spend time with for the holidays. They’ve always meant a lot to me, and I don’t like having no family to spend them with.
Honey Badger lays a heavy hand over my much smaller one. “Before I joined The Ciphers I had no one.”
My eyebrows flinch at this quiet disclosure. “So you know.”
He nods once, just a subtle dip of his chin, his eyes still holding mine. “I was raised in foster homes.”
“Plural?” I ask. He cocks his head and I use a different term. “More than one?”
He releases my hand and picks up his beer, his eyes glazing over. “Lost count, but it’s way more than one.” He downs the beer and starts back into the raviolis.
We finish our meals and when our waiter asks if we want dessert, I decline. “I’d like to take him to The Truffle Shop.”
All the locals know it, so the older man’s eyes alight with understanding and excitement for us. “Now that’s a treat! I’ll get your check.”
We both watch him walk away. “Do you mind if I call you Antonio?”
“I like it,” Honey Badger says with a sexy half-smile. “Surprised me to hear it. But only you can call me that. That’s why I like it.”
Happy to be special, my mind is light and I’m unaware that what I’m about to ask should be treated with care. My tone is far too casual as I ask, “Do you hate Christmas because you never really had one?”
The smile in his eyes evaporates, and suddenly I want to kick myself. He glances away from me toward the front door but his eyes are locked on something in his childhood. I can tell he’s extremely upset because the skin around his eyes is twitching. That’s all the answer I need.
I stand up and go to him, bending down to kiss him and make him forget his past. The restaurant disappears as we look into each other’s eyes. “I’m sorry you lost Christmas.”
His frown deepens like it hurt to hear that. His calloused hands cups my face and he kisses me, pulling me to sit across his lap, the kiss deepening to where it shouldn’t be seen in public.
We have to force ourselves to pull away.
Okay, it’s really just me pulling back.
If it were his choice our dishes would be on the floor right now, with us in their stead.
The waiter returns and sets the check down, awkwardly mumbling, “I’ll take that whenever you’re ready,” before he hurries away.
Like I’m the only person alive, Antonio is gazing at me. “Meg, I’ve missed you.” Now that I know what it means, I go boneless and accept the rocking hug he gives me, whispering in my ear, “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you…”
Honey Badger
Meg feels better to me than riding my Harley through the warm summer wind on Route 66, and that was the best feeling I’ve ever known.
On the road I’ve met lots of people.
We’ve come to the rescue of thousands over the years. When human beings are grateful and freed, you hear a lot of personal stories they’d never normally tell a guy like me. Gushing and relieved, they’re often hell bent on sharing something that you can take with you. So many stories of marriages that lasted longer than anyone would have guess when they walked down the aisle. And some of those people had known when they saw their husband or wife for the first time, that they were the one.
I used to think those people were crazy. But then I’d never met Meg yet, had I? Nope. Was it an inner sense that told me to shape up, get my act together, and hit the road searching for her? Why didn’t I do it earlier?
I guess I wasn’t ready, would be my normal answer. But that’s lazy. I don’t know if there’s destiny, but if there is I think you make your own. No one else is going to do it for you because they’re too fucked up over what they’ve gotta do.
Now this ginger beauty I want to stare at for hours is guiding me through the two main streets that make up this throwback town. The only way I’m stomaching Christmas being shoved down my throat is that I’m with her. The happiness on her face is making me smile, and I have to focus on that in order to let go of the past. At least for tonight.
She knows everyone, which could be a problem. So I ask her, after she introduces me to another one of her old teachers, “You rooted into this place?”
She glances to me, taking my hand. “It’s where I grew up. I love it here.”
Someone just poured wet cement into my chest. “Huh,” I mutter as it hardens.
She gives my hand a squeeze and bonks her shoulder into mine. “Why do you ask?”
“You know why,” I mutter, my eyes on a bundled up old woman waving at Meg. “She’s tryin’ to get your attention.”
“Oh, hi Mrs. McIntyre!”
“Hi, Margaret! Is this your new fella?” She ducks around pedestrians to get to us, a muffler in her hands. “Hello, I’m Lizzy. A friend of Margaret’s parents.”
I offer my hand. “Honey Badger.” She blinks at the name, just like everyone else we’ve met has. Her fingers are cold so I point to her muffler and say, “You need a thicker one of those.”
Her laugh has a twinkle to it. “Oh, I get cold easily. They should make these with electric warmers in them.” She leans forward with excitement at the idea. “Wouldn’t that be nice?” This woman is pure goodness, and I wonder if she ever saw a bad thing happen in her whole life. No one I’ve known is this bright.
Meg gives her a warm smile with years of familiarity behind it. “You should tell someone to invent it. It’s a wonderful idea, Aunt Li
zzy.”
My eyebrows twitch, and Lizzy explains, “She’s always called me that because her mother and I were friends since we were three-years-old! Isn’t that incredible! We were practically sisters. Oh, I miss her so.” She’s eying me like she wants to ask me something.
“Yes?” I say with a smirk, waiting for the bomb.
“You’re a biker, aren’t you?”
“I am. But we’ve redefined the breed.”
She tilts her head and glances to Meg with curiosity, before returning to me. “Well, you must understand I represent Margaret’s parents, so I’m a liaison of trust if you will.”
“I get it. She’s safe with me.”
Her eyes crinkle up as she inspects me. “I believe you. You have a nice aura. Well, you two run along now. I’d heard you had a fella.” Off of our expressions she hastily explains with a mischievous smile, “News travels fast in a town like ours. And everyone’s out tonight! With tomorrow being Christmas Eve everyone will be home then. This is their last chance to hear the carolers and ride in the coach!” She pats my forearm. “So nice to meet you, Honey Wagger.”
As she heads off Meg and I cut a look to each other, both of us trying not to laugh while the old lady can hear. She slips her arm through mine and clasps my hand, leaning in to whisper, “Honey Wagger? Can I call you that now?”
Holding back a grin, I give her a blunt, “No.”
She laughs, “And you have a nice aura. I think it’s black.”
“Stop it.”
She kisses my cheek while we continue down the street. Meg buys gloves because she forgot hers. I pay for them, and she doesn’t argue. Instead she looks at me like she did when I finally opened her door after she gave me the clue that I’m supposed to. I’d done it by instinct after she was attacked — never thought to do it again.
A Honey Badger X-mas (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta #7) Page 5