by Bijou Hunter
RIGHT AMOUNT OF WRONG
A Standalone Romance
Bijou Hunter
⊱✿ ✿⊰
Copyright © 2017 Bijou Hunter
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
*****
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
For more information about this book and author visit:
http://www.bijouhunterbooks.com
Cover
Photographer: Forewer
Source: DepositPhotos
Cover Copyright © 2017 Bijou Hunter
Dedication
My boys for inspiring me every day
Sally for giving me guidance; Mike for watching over me
Debbie and Sarah for their honest feedback
Judy’s Proofreading
Book Summary
Club enforcer and former cage fighter “Ogre” O’Keefe just met the woman of his dreams.
Unfortunately, Vidalia is drunk off her ass at the time and can’t remember him or his sexy kisses.
To make matters worse, she’s sworn off men, even handsome ones with sad eyes like Ogre.
He knows he can win her heart if only she’ll give them a chance. Getting creative to woo her, he sets up a scenario where he can play her hero.
Even if his plan works, will Vidalia still swoon for the scarred biker once she learns the truth?
Table of Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
Epilogue
Epilogue
About Bijou
1
Ogre
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Vidalia doesn’t remember me.
Like a kick straight to the balls, her blank stare steals my ability to speak. This woman’s eyes are the palest blue, and I want to stare at them for fucking ever, but she only wants to know what I plan to order from Walmart’s deli.
“What’s good?” I stammer like a complete idiot.
Her hands absently reach for the hairnet over her red hair pulled back into a braided bun. When I first saw her days ago, Vidalia’s waist-long hair hung loose. She’d been a vision of angelic beauty then, and she’s one now even while she struggles to answer my question.
“Umm… I don’t know. It’s all good,” Vidalia mumbles, looking over the pasta and potato dishes.
“Tell me this,” I say, leaning against the counter and hoping I don’t look like a monster ready to smash her organized deli. “Say you were gonna get something for your mom, what would you pick?”
Vidalia’s gaze flashes to me and then the food and finally back to me again. If she remembers me, she’s hiding it well. More than anything, she looks nervous about the giant man hanging around her section.
“If it were me,” she says in nearly a whisper, “I’d choose the broccoli cheddar pasta salad. It’s my favorite.”
Glancing down at the container she points at, I admire her delicate fingers hidden behind plastic gloves. Vidalia wears no nail polish or jewelry. Everything about her beauty is simple, easy, perfect.
I like how she doesn’t pick the most expensive or cheapest item. Vidalia suggests her actual favorite dish, making it the one I want.
I run a hand over my dark crew cut and tell her, “Give me two pounds.”
Smiling easily, she gets the containers. I watch her and wish to make casual chit chat. I’m not that guy, though. What can I ask her that won’t sound like a cheesy come-on from a strange man?
Once she hands me the containers full of pasta, I’m stuck in the same place I was minutes earlier. I know her, and she can’t remember me, so I don’t know how to talk to her that won’t seem like a pervert wanting to perv her up in a town known for pervs.
“Thanks,” I say, tapping the containers on the counter like the gesture might jog loose an idea in my fat head.
“You’re welcome. Have a nice day.”
I stare into her pale eyes and mentally will her to remember the night at the bar. Vidalia smiles faintly, but she doesn’t know me from any other customer.
It’s as if our lips never got chapped together. Worse than that, this redheaded angel doesn’t remember telling me that I was the most beautiful man in the world.
2
Vidalia
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I don’t believe in romantic love and fully believe people confused it with need. People always say I came up with my “no love” idea after seeing what love did to my mama. While those people aren’t wrong, Harley Cornish’s horrible taste in men isn’t my only reason.
My big brother, Reg, married a girl who kept him busy enough to put distance between him and Mom. In my heart, I know his wife, Champagne, only loves him because he never cheats on her like her daddy always cheated on her mama. Plus, my brother is a hard worker, and she likes staying at home. Reg and Champagne need one another. There isn’t an ounce of romantic sentiment in their situation despite them saying the right words.
In her defense, Mom was always square with me. When I was around ten and sporting a sore ass from her boyfriend’s hand, I asked why she dated losers. Mom looked me straight in the eye and stated as clearly as could be, “I can’t be alone. I need a man.”
Nothing sentimental about her need. She didn’t love any of the men in her life –– except my long-gone dad –– but living without a man wasn’t possible.
I never plan to settle so that a man will pay my bills in the same way Champagne did with Reg. And I refuse to be like Mom by putting up with an asshole just to have a warm body in my bed each night. Not that I’m a big shot with a well-paying job. Working at the deli isn’t glamorous, but I enjoy it more than being a cashier. Occasionally, I get to wait on attractive men like the one who orders my favorite pasta salad.
Bigger than anyone else in the store, he intimidates me with his size, but I can’t help wondering about the way he stares at me. There’s nothing threatening about his deep-set, brown eyes. Dark like chocolate, they hold such sadness.
Sad or not, I know what his leather vest with the patches mean. Banged up as it’s been in too many fights, his rough face fits the image of a biker. A man with his height, broad shoulders, and massive hands probably didn’t lose many battles, but he’d lost enough.
After he takes his pasta salad and leaves, a light bulb goes off in my head. Men rarely pay me much mind. It’s probably my freckles, but whatever the reason, I just don’t draw their eye. This guy, though, acted as if he was dying to say something, and I think I know why.
A few nights back, I went drinking with Champagne and my friend, Fern. Unable to hold my liquor well, I can’t remember much of what happened after my third jello shot. Fern, though, made abundantly clear how I’d made a huge ass out of myself by dancing and singing loudly. She also claimed I flirted with men as if I were the world’s biggest slut.
No doubt the handsome guy with the vest witnessed my stupidity. What I confused for sadness in his eyes was pity for th
e stupid freckled girl shaking her flat ass for everyone to see.
Even with him gone, I’m embarrassed for the rest of the day. Only once I climb into the top bunk in the bed I share with my niece and nephew, do I finally shake off the shame.
After all, who cares what a random guy thinks? Men don’t interest me. I’m not my mom, Champagne, or even Fern. I don’t need a man, and I refuse to fantasize about them, not even the beat-up beauty from today.
3
Ogre
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Long White Cadillac by Dwight Yoakam plays overhead when I stroll into the Belly Up bar. Mindy sings along with it while flashing me a fake smile. Like many of the waitresses –– and club sluts –– she doesn’t think much of me. I’m a second-generation Reaper, yet the one member least likely to let her ride his dick. That makes me a loser in Mindy’s mind. Her opinion of me would matter more if I were interested in having her riding my dick.
My younger sister runs the local chapter’s business side. I hear Heidi barking on the phone at someone who did her wrong. Whether dealing with a personal slight or someone late with their payment, Heidi is always a ball busting bitch. She’s also the reason the local Reapers don’t dissolve into drunken stupidity like the club we forcibly replaced some years back.
“I smell blood in the water,” I tell Heidi and kiss the top of her head. Then I lean down and give one to my drooling six-month-old nephew hanging from a baby carrier. “Your mama is gonna make someone cry.”
Axe chews on his fingers, no more interested in me than Mindy. My sister, though, pats my cheek.
“If people want to be late on payments, they best expect to have their asses beaten. If they don’t like that, they can borrow money from the fucking bank.”
Knowing she’s got the world by the balls, and I’m just in the way, I leave my sister to yell into the phone. She rightfully scares the piss out of people. Even squawking in her shrew voice, Heidi lovingly caresses her boy’s head.
Multitasking is her gift. She loves to tell the story about when she was nine months pregnant. Heidi gave her husband a hand job while on the phone sweet-talking a guy who threatened to run to the cops. She got her man, Jox, ready to drive his lazy ass over to the rat’s house to deal with the problem. When her man returned home, Heidi announced she was in labor, but they needed to run a few errands before heading to the hospital.
I’m not Heidi. She demands attention. I skulk around in the shadows. We both carry a big stick, but she can speak softly or scream like a banshee. I just mumble like I got a mouth full of marbles. The only things we have in common are our love of family and club, and we scare the crap out of people.
Sitting in a back booth, I take the beer Mindy#2 brings me and ask for a fork.
“To eat with,” I clarify when she only frowns.
“Do you plan to order?”
“No.”
In another world, Mindy#2 would flip me off. Not for the fork thing, but because I’ve blown her off so much that she claims I’m gay. In fact, the last time she made this accusation was on the same night Vidalia and her friends came into the bar. I hadn’t seemed too gay with the sexy redhead pinned against the wall in the back hall.
“Give me a fork,” I say again, and Mindy#2 finally walks away.
Soon, I open the container of pasta salad and give it a try. Vidalia’s got good taste, and every bite makes me feel closer to her.
I noticed the redheaded vixen as soon as she walked through the door. At Belly Up, we get a lot of party girls looking to ride a biker. Some of them eventually get a turn with every guy in the club. Others realize very quickly how the fantasy of fucking another woman’s husband isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
The Pema chapter of the Reapers is filled with married men. All of them cheat except my brother-in-law. Jox married a woman who’ll put him in the ground if he dips his dick in a pussy that isn’t hers. I sometimes wonder if my sister will still be married in five years. Jox is a dumb, horny fucker with an eye for young women. One day, he’s bound to stray. When that happens, I’ll dig his grave and help Heidi dump the corpse. Family comes first with the club a close second.
This kind of life isn’t suited for a sweet chick like Vidalia, but I can’t get her out of my head.
Her friends were more excited about coming to Belly Up. Sporting wedding rings, they figured nothing wild would really happen, so they flirted wildly. Vidalia didn’t look around much, kept her head down, and was obviously nervous to have stepped a foot into this rough place.
Six tequila lime jello shots later, Vidalia danced around the bar to Guitar Man by Jerry Reed. Half of the guys enjoyed the view while the other half tried to make a move.
I don’t talk much, and I’ve never been able to make cool one-liners. What I’m good at doing is turning someone’s face into a chunky mess of torn flesh and broken teeth. It’s my gift in the way multitasking is Heidi’s.
No man dared to talk to Vidalia once I stepped up and cracked my knuckles for effect. She wasn’t mine, but she certainly wasn’t theirs either.
I was so busy giving deathly looks to the guys that I hadn’t noticed Vidalia noticing me. She suddenly appeared in front of me. Staring with her blue eyes, she reached for my bare upper arms and squeezed.
“Are these muscles from dancing?” she asked, slurring her words.
As much as I wanted to kiss her plump, pink lips, I learned long ago what women like her think of men like me. So, I said what she’d be thinking if she weren’t drunk off her cute ass.
"I'm a dangerous man.”
"No, you're a dork,” she teased without missing a beat while her fingers danced on my chest before they slid down the tattered seams of my vest. “We both know you’re a big ol’ pocket protector wearing geek, so save your lies."
"You're drunk,” I mumbled, having no idea what to do about my dick’s reaction to her frisky fingers.
"No, I'm horny. You lit a fire in my uterus and–– Wait, is uterus the correct word?"
"How the hell would I know?"
Vidalia gives me a big smile full of teeth and drunken joy. "You look like a biology teacher."
“Well, I ain’t a biology teacher, so you might want to go sit down with your friends.”
“Or you could kiss me until I forget you’re a big ol’ geek. Wanna do that instead?”
“That ain’t a great idea.”
“You married?” she asked and checked my hands for a ring.
“No.”
“Gay?”
“No.”
“Do I smell?” she asked before looking down at her tits for some reason. “Am I too ugly for a handsome nerd like you?”
I don’t know what came over me at that moment. Vidalia’s charms were too damn intoxicating, and I was drunk off them in the way she was with the jello shots.
My hands are better at crushing men than wooing women, but they cupped her face real tender. I pressed my lips carefully against hers and waited to see if she showed the slightest bit of anxiety, distaste, or uncertainty. I was ready to stop right then.
Rather than seeming hesitant, Vidalia wrapped her arms around my neck. I instantly picked up her petite body and walked away to the applause of my brothers who likely thought I’d fuck her. That’d be why they didn’t bother me in the back hallway.
Vidalia and I didn’t do more than kiss. I kept her pressed against me, tasting her lips long after another man would have tugged free her jeans and gotten satisfaction for his hard dick.
If I got my wish, we’d have stayed like that forever, but eventually, her friends staggered down the hallway while yelling her name. Like I’d been slapped, I released her and stepped back. Vidalia looked down at her tits again, likely surprised to find she was still dressed.
“See you around, nerd,” she murmured as her friends pulled her away from me.
I only stood there, not knowing what the fuck else to do. Vidalia was beautiful and unexpected, and I’ve never been good at reacting unde
r pressure. Well, unless violence is involved then I’m solid. This time, though, I stared at my hands and wondered if I’d get another taste.
The pasta salad tastes nothing like Vidalia, but I eat every bite and wish she were eating it with me.
Still standing at the bar, Heidi watches me until I shove the last bite in my mouth. With Axe still dangling from the carrier and drooling like a starving dog, my sister walks to my booth.
“What’s the matter?” she asks, sitting down across from me.
“That girl Vidalia didn’t remember me.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing.”
Heidi sighs dramatically. “Don’t give me your sad-eyed routine. I can’t deal with it when I’m already dealing with this teething monster.”
I smile at Axe and then at his mama. “I don’t know if I should leave well enough alone.”
“Why should you? If you want this girl, go get her. Nothing more complicated than that.”
“Do you think the same technique you used on Jox will work on Vidalia?”
“Why the fuck not? People aren’t complicated,” she says, tugging at her long brown ponytail.
“Do I tell her that we made out and I want to take her on a date?”
“Sure.”
Smiling, I nod. “People aren’t that complicated.”
“Nope,” she says, sharing my smile. “You’re alone too much. Get a girlfriend and ditch the sad eyes.”
We stand up, and I give her a side hug. Axe looks at me before letting out a pained wail.
“My boy is ready for naptime,” Heidi announces and returns to where her purse/diaper bag rests. “I’m going home. Everyone do what you’re supposed to do while I’m gone.”
I leave Belly Up not long after my sister, but I don’t head home. Driving my Harley back to Walmart, I sit in the parking lot and think about Vidalia. I can’t find the words to tell Vidalia. After twenty minutes sulking, I drive away.
I lack any talent with women. For Vidalia, though, I’ll find a way to make her want me without the help of jello shots.
4