Kickflip

by Christina Lee

“How do you know that?”

  “I’m gay, duh. So I’m sort of an expert on men,” I said, walking behind her so that the dogs could spread across the sidewalk. “And I know when a guy is interested. Just saying…”

  Emmy dipped her head and hid her smile.

  We walked toward my house so I could pick up Chopper for his second walk, which was what I sometimes did on shelter days. He had so much energy that I was glad to do it. And with Jude’s advice the other day, I was testing out my leader-of-the-pack skills…which were deteriorating with every attempt.

  “What have you got to lose?”

  “You’re right,” she said. “I just wish he would make the first move.”

  After we got Chopper, we made it to the edge of the soccer field at the park, but I refused to look toward the bowl. The dogs lay down on the cool grass for a quick rest, their tongues wagging.

  “I decided you’re right,” Emmy said. “I’m going to say something to Travis at the end of my shift about meeting me at Zach’s. If he shows, then maybe I’ll get to know him outside of the shelter.”

  I wrapped my arm around Emmy’s neck and pulled her into a one-armed hug. She laid her head on my shoulder. “You deserve some happiness, sweetie.”

  “Thanks, buddy.”

  I kissed the top of her head, and she sighed.

  “And some good sex.”

  She giggled and popped me in the arm. It was so easy to make her squirm. We laughed, and my head lifted when I felt a tug on one of the leads.

  Emmy bent over, untangling a couple of leashes, and my eyes darted to the bowl. Jude was standing on the far side of the cement wall, his gaze directed at us. My heart gave a start because I expected him to be skating, not watching me.

  His eyebrows were drawn together, his eyes narrowed in that same pissed expression he’d given me when I saw him with his probation officer or whoever the hell that dude had been. But as his gaze bored into mine, I realized he wasn’t ticked off; he was suspicious of my relationship with Emmy. Wouldn’t that be cataloged as jealousy? What the hell?

  I took a step back and shook my head. The tightness in my chest constricted even further. He couldn’t get involved with me, yet he couldn’t handle seeing me hug a friend? Fuck that. So messed up.

  “Let’s take the dogs to the fenced-in park.” Emmy straightened and withdrew a ball from her pocket. “I thought we could play some fetch.”

  “Let’s go.” I was ready to be done with Jude’s equally frustrating and confusing scrutiny. As we neared the newly constructed area, I said, “So cool that they’re allowed off leash.”

  “It was needed in this town,” she said. “I think this will be good for Chopper too.”

  We closed the gate behind us, took off the leashes, and the dogs began roaming free, tails flapping. We played fetch, and I pretended that the back of the enclosure didn’t provide a clear view of the skateboard bowl. I kept my eyes forward, though I could still sense Jude’s gaze on me.

  Chopper generally did well with other dogs, though he was grabby with the ball and could be an intimidating presence around them. I made sure to keep my eyes peeled for him.

  Emmy threw the ball again, and I heard a yelp. At the end of the fence, there was a cluster of dogs, and Chopper was yapping and nudging at Patch, who now had possession of the toy.

  “Chopper,” I yelled in warning, heading over there.

  “Better grab him before he’s kicked out,” Emmy said, following me.

  Patch attempted to head in the opposite direction with the ball still perfectly balanced in his jaw, and Chopper went after him, pinning the smaller dog beneath his haunches in the grass.

  All at once, Jude was scaling the fence and releasing that low whistle from his throat. The other dogs fell back nearly in unison, which left Chopper and Patch fighting each other. Before I could say or do anything, Jude grabbed Chopper by the scruff, forcing him to back off Patch, while simultaneously making a different noise. Jude gently but firmly forced Chopper down on his side as he loomed over his snout. Chopper’s limbs fell limp as he assumed a submissive position.

  I halted my stride and watched this interaction in complete awe.

  Emmy grabbed Patch and began rubbing behind his ears to soothe him. She looked between Jude and me as we stared each other down.

  My neck felt clammy and hot, and I was self-conscious that I couldn’t control my own fucking animal.

  “You know your dogs,” Emmy suddenly said to Jude, maybe to break the tension between us. She knew him from the shop, but I was going to guess she’d never spoken to him directly. Few had in this town. He looked up at her and opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

  I silently implored him to say something. He appeared hesitant, but it wasn’t like he wasn’t familiar with Emmy. Besides, I could vouch for her—no danger would come his way if he interacted with her.

  He seemed to figure that out on his own. “We had several cats and dogs on our land. Where I grew up.”

  “That makes sense,” Emmy said. “If I could make a suggestion, I think you should trade places with Cory. Let him deal with his dog.”

  “No, it’s cool. I…” I was actually nervous that Chopper would only ignore me.

  Jude nodded and sat up on his knees. “Come around this side.”

  I walked to where he was holding my dog and knelt down next to him.

  “Take my place.”

  I scooted over, and when my hands landed on my dog’s back near Jude’s, he loosened his grip and slid sideways. As soon as I was the one in control, Chopper gave me a pitiful look and attempted to get up.

  “Don’t let him,” Jude said low to my ear. “Come up with some kind of assertive noise to make it clear who’s boss.”

  When Chopper didn’t seem to comply, I made a grunting noise out of frustration and laid him back down on his side.

  “That’s it,” Emmy said.

  Eventually Chopper looked away from me, which, according to what I saw him do with Jude, was a sign of submission.

  “Practice that a couple more times, but you get the idea,” Jude said, standing up.

  “You’ll get the hang of it, Cory,” Emmy said, and I nodded. “Don’t want Chopper kicked out of here or anywhere else.”

  When I looked up, Jude was stroking Patch’s ears, and the dog was leaning into his legs. He was like the damned pied piper of dogs.

  I let Chopper up, and as if no showdown ever occurred between us, he scuttled away to sniff along the fence.

  “You’re good with animals,” Emmy said, smiling at Jude. “Need a new pet? Patch is up for adoption.”

  “Patch is Emmy’s favorite dog, and she’s hoping to find him a good home,” I supplied. Something came alive in Jude’s eyes, as if he’d remembered my earlier story about taking a dog from the shelter before Chopper came along.

  Emmy patted Patch’s head. “He really likes you.”

  Suddenly Jude’s eyes grew dim, and he withdrew his hand from the dog. “Sorry. Wish I could.”

  He tipped his chin as a goodbye, and as he headed for the back of the enclosure, I knew I’d lost him yet again to whatever darkness was inside him.

  “Thanks for your help.” I lifted my hand in a wave.

  As he scaled the fence and wheeled off, we gathered up the dogs.

  “He likes you,” Emmy said, looking over my shoulder to the skate park.

  “You sure about that?” I grumbled, because Jude had completely rattled me again.

  “I may be a cis het girl, but I know when a guy is not interested in playing for my team,” she said, throwing my earlier words back at me. “He’s interested in you.”

  “Nice to hear,” I said grimly. “But not sure that’s ever going to happen. It’s hard enough just getting any words out of him.”

  “I don’t think he would’ve scaled that fence had you not been on the other side,” Emmy said, picking up her stride and walking ahead of me. “Just saying…”

  16

  Th
e following night I rode to the Hog’s Den and sat at the bar to listen to the pub chatter and take note of any back-room meetings without appearing too obvious. I felt driven to try to understand the kind of danger Jude might be in. And call me stupid—protect him if I could.

  The place was quiet tonight, save for some regulars I’d gotten used to seeing over the past few months. When it was slow like this, Vaughn had more time to talk at the bar, and he liked to tell stories about his crazy childhood and his adventures on his old dirt bike on the back roads of his rural town. He was animated and held a captive audience, and I realized how much I’d grown to like him.

  Outside of his tough looks and usually stone-cold demeanor, you’d never know he was involved in shit with the Disciples of the Road—or at least I thought he was. He could’ve been any bartender at any establishment in the Midwest.

  After a while my nerves got the best of me, so instead of calling attention to how badly I’d shredded the napkin in front of me, I stood up to find something else to do with my hands. I was about to rack up the balls to play a solo game of pool, when I realized I’d left my half-finished beer bottle over by Vaughn.

  My fingers closed around the bottle just as Jude opened the front door and strode to the bar. He took my breath away in his tight T-shirt and dark-wash jeans that showed off his lean muscles. He looked like a guy I’d definitely consider taking home from a club, with his hair pulled away from high cheekbones and his black Converse sneakers. He was like a wet dream, and I could feel my breath stutter in my lungs. Fuck, I needed to pull myself together.

  “Order will be up soon,” Vaughn said to Jude, and then he gave me a once-over before turning to dry off some damp glasses.

  Jude leaned back on the bar, slowly turning his gaze on me, as if he was unsure whether he should even be talking to me in this place. But the Disciples knew he was my client, and we’d had enough appointments by now to get to know each other in the casual sense.

  “How’s your ink healing?” I asked just to make conversation and also to make it seem like that was the only reason I’d be talking to Jude York at the Hog’s Den.

  He nodded, and I realized there was no way in hell he was going to chat me up in public and certainly not on this turf. Besides, hadn’t they seen him take off on the back of my bike the other night? Who was I kidding?

  Still, I felt frustrated that we couldn’t be friendlier with each other. What the fuck did it matter? I wasn’t going to jump him on his barstool and shove my tongue down his throat. In fact, I was pretty sure I’d never get to experience that tongue, so what the hell did I have to lose?

  “Want to play a quick game of pool while you wait?”

  He looked momentarily flustered. His gaze darted toward the back door, where the others members of the MC usually met, and then his eyes swung to Vaughn.

  “Go on,” Vaughn said. “I’ll call you when your food’s up.”

  Jude nodded, seemed to pull himself together, and then followed me to the pool table on the other side of the room.

  Not wanting it to appear like anything other than a friendly and random game of pool, I made the first shot and watched as a couple of solids and stripes sank into the side and far pockets.

  “I call stripes,” I said as he reached for a cue stick hanging on the wall.

  “Thanks again for yesterday,” I said in a low voice so only he’d hear. “I think Chopper seems different.”

  “No problem,” he replied as he chalked up his pool stick.

  I cracked a smile. “Emmy was hoping you’d say yes about taking her favorite dog.”

  He stared at me and nodded slowly, then moved around me to get to the other end of the table. Our hips brushed, and I schooled my reaction, never once glancing in his direction.

  When he leaned over to take his shot, I stared at the wall and mumbled, “You were rattled seeing me with her at the park, true or false?”

  His hands faltered and he almost blew his round, but I strode away to take a sip of my beer as if nothing had been said. He shot two solids into the side pocket along with the cue ball. “Scratch.”

  I aligned the cue ball on the red felt. As I leaned over to line up my stick, it stretched my back muscles, and I winced. Jude was watching me closely, but I pretended he hadn’t seen my face contort in pain.

  As he crossed to the other side of the table, he replied in such a low tone, I wasn’t sure I heard him right. “True.”

  One simple word, but it still made my breath hitch.

  We played a couple of minutes more in silence, but on another pass behind me, he said, “Your back is killing you, true or false?”

  I stared at him, then finally said, “True. I saw the doc, but he only gave me a prescription for painkillers. I have an appointment for an MRI next.”

  “Lower back?” he inquired after taking an impressive shot.

  “Yeah,” I replied, trying to figure out where to land the eight ball for the win.

  “Is it your sciatic nerve?” he asked, as if he were some expert on back conditions. But given his sport, maybe he was. He’d probably heard a lot of medical jargon while working at that shop, especially since he was in charge of repairs. Bet those boards came in all mangled, each one with a doozy of a story behind it.

  “Something like that,” I said. “It would spasm all the time after the accident. But hasn’t done it in years.”

  “Did that fall on the water irritate it?”

  “Probably,” I said, unsuccessfully attempting to land the eight ball in a side pocket.

  “Jude,” Vaughn called across the bar, and I straightened as if I’d been caught doing something other than having an innocent conversation about my injury. “Food’s up.”

  He looked at the bartender, who had placed his brown bag on the bar top, and nodded.

  “He’s got one last shot,” I said, and Vaughn turned away.

  As Jude’s hip rubbed by mine a final time, he said in a rush, “Wait ten minutes before you leave. Come next door to the skate shop, back entrance.”

  My head spun around. He was asking me to come see him? My chest tightened, and I looked around the bar as if our conversation had been overheard.

  “Make it fifteen,” I said so as not to look too eager to Jude or to Vaughn.

  He returned his pool stick to the rack and turned to the bar without once glancing back. I continued the game by myself, pretending not to be aware of when he left or how many steps it took him to reach the exit.

  After the game was over, I replaced all the equipment and walked to the bar to discard my empty beer bottle. I felt Vaughn’s eyes on me, so I looked up.

  He scanned the area over his shoulder as if to be sure no one was listening. “You taking off?”

  “Yeah,” I said, my stomach bunching into a hard ball.

  “Your bike out back?”

  Odd question, but I got what he was doing—it was a warning of sorts.

  “Yep.”

  “Might be safer on the side street.”

  I felt my eyes widen, and he angled his head.

  “Don’t think he’s been with anybody in a long time,” he said real low as he replaced a bottle of vodka beneath the bar. “Could use the company.”

  I nodded, trying to process what he was telling me. “He’s hard to figure out.” I reached for a napkin to give my hands something to do. “But I can’t seem to…” I needed to shut the hell up, whether Vaughn and I had an understanding or not.

  “He’s got eyes on him and doesn’t want to screw anything up. Guy barely talks so that nobody recognizes his accent,” he said. “Been on the run awhile now. First safe place he’s landed.”

  Safe? Was he calling the motorcycle club safe? Or this town?

  I sucked in a breath. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I can tell he’s trying fucking hard not to like you, and it’s goddamn painful to watch. You’re a good kid, and so is he.”

  Shit. If Vaughn noticed, did that mean everyone
else did as well?

  “Is he a good person?”

  He stared at me a second more, blinking several times, as if startled by my question. “If you didn’t believe that, you wouldn’t be trying to get to know him, yeah?”

  I shrugged and thought back to the jerk who’d left me with Chopper. “Haven’t been the best judge of character lately. Just know that for some reason I want to understand him.”

  Right then, the back door opened and Malachi strode in with two other men, one of whom he bumped shoulders with. I couldn’t help noticing that it was the same official-looking guy I’d seen with Jude that day at the park. I spotted the outline of his gun holster this time. I was pretty darn sure parole officers didn’t go around carrying loaded weapons.

  The man briefly made eye contact with me as he headed out the door, and I looked away, fearful of staring too long. I decided to wait another minute before leaving the bar. Didn’t want to come into contact with him in the back lot.

  Vaughn’s shoulders tensed briefly as if reading the situation before pulling out a shot glass and filling it with whiskey. Sliding it across the bar top to Malachi, he said, “What’s up, Prez?”

  The president of the Disciples now stood next to me, and my back went rigid, which made it hurt like a motherfucker, but I kept my reaction in check.

  Malachi considered the drink and then clapped me on the back. “Get Cory a shot as well, yeah?”

  I tipped my chin, but my heart was thrashing in my chest. Vaughn immediately filled a glass of the amber liquid and slipped it over to me. What in the hell was happening here?

  Malachi raised his glass in a toast, and I attempted to control my shaking fingers as I lifted mine as well.

  “All good?” Malachi asked, looking me straight in the eye.

  “Sure.” I wasn’t certain what kind of answer he was looking for or why he was asking me in the first place, but I needed to roll with it.

  “To honesty and loyalty,” Malachi said, and I paused before downing my drink, unable to understand what the hell he was getting at.

  He gripped my shoulder roughly, then turned and walked back to his office.

  A concerned look momentarily crossed Vaughn’s face before it turned thoughtful. But I guess the message was clear: don’t screw Jude or the Disciples over.