by Lilly Atlas
“Nope, just guy. Bourbon?” he asked. What she’d had the two times he’d seen her drink.
“Yeah, thanks,” she said as she slid onto a stool and dropped her packet on the bar top. Her face took on a teasing glint. “Hmm, kinda like this. You fixing me drinks. A girl could get used to this kind of service.”
With a snort, Jig slid her tumbler across the bar. “Don’t get used to it. I graduated from bartender as soon as I was done prospecting. With how much liquor our guys can put away, it fucking sucks to work the bar at our parties.”
She let out a soft hum. “I imagine it does.”
“How you feeling?” Jig shoved the bottles aside but didn’t return them to the shelf. Chances were, they’d be back for more. “You’re moving better.”
“Not bad. Much better, actually. A little stiff and achy when I first get going in the morning and by the end of the day, but that’s the worst of it right now.” She gave him a smile that had his jeans shrinking.
Jig held up his glass. “To kicking ass,” he said.
Izzy’s eyes sparkled. “I’ll gladly drink to that,” she replied as she clicked her glass against his.
They both drained their drinks in seconds, then Jig grabbed the bottle of bourbon and raised an eyebrow.
“Remember what I told you about that bird?” She’d pulled the tail of her braid over her shoulder and was twirling it around her fingers. It was cute, and there was an innocence about it he knew she didn’t possess. But it made her look younger, with a hint of vulnerability.
He chuckled and poured her a healthy drink. “Yep. Can’t fly with only one wing.”
“Exactly. So, Jig,” she said, gaze on the tip of her braid as she fingered it. “I’m not sure I ever properly thanked you for meeting me at the hospital and taking me home.” Unspoken was the thanks for the orgasm, but it was there in the slight flush that rose on her cheeks.
Izzy was blushing. Jig wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, but there it was. An adorable pink flush she’d probably unman him over if he called attention to it.
“Ain’t a thing, sweetheart.”
“No, it was a thing.” She lifted her gaze to his face. “Everyone in your club has been so incredibly kind. The girls have been bringing me food and forcing me to rest. Copper’s checked in a few times. Even guys watching my house are quick to jump in and help. LJ even carried in my UPS packages the other day.”
Jig frowned. Those assholes were supposed to be guarding her, not strolling through her house and getting all chummy. Fucking LJ, still slobbering after her. He’d be having a chat with LJ later. “Seriously, Izzy. It’s no big deal.” He’d practically had to cuff himself to his office chair to keep from checking in on her all week. Toni and Shell had a blast filling him in on every detail. It was enough to satisfy his curiosity about her wellbeing.
That left him with no reason to visit but to fuck her. And he’d promised himself that wouldn’t happen, so somehow, he’d found the strength to stay away.
And now here she was, looking like a delicious treat made just for him.
“Well, thanks all the same. You’ve got a great family.” There was something almost sad about the way she said family.
The word sent a sharp, stabbing pang straight to his heart. He’d had a great family once upon a time, and while she was talking about his MC family, and they were great, the word family made him recall what he’d lost. The girls must have filled her in on some information about his past. While he supposed it was natural for her to be as curious about him as he was of her, being the subject of her chats with the ol’ ladies didn’t sit well. The past wasn’t something he discussed, and hopefully she wouldn’t ask.
Because there was no way in hell he’d be sharing it with her. Time to divert the conversation from himself. “What about you?” He filled their glasses for the third time.
Her nose scrunched. “What about me?”
“You got a family?”
The light drained from her eyes, so thoroughly he almost took the question back. But now he had to know because there was a story there.
“Nah, it’s just me.”
“It’s never just you. There’s gotta be someone somewhere.”
And there was the look. Narrowed eyes, compressed lips. Her feathers were ruffled. His cock twitched. He needed to cut the poor thing a break. With all the hand-to-dick action he’d been giving himself over the past week, he was about five strokes away from rubbing the skin off.
“Well, bubba”—she seemed to call him that when she was in her prickly mode—"I’ve never met my dad. My mom married and divorced five different men before offing herself when I was seventeen. She had no siblings, her parents are dead, and thankfully she never procreated beyond me, so I guess, sure, I’ve got someone. I’ve got a sperm donor floating out there in the wind, no doubt dying to learn of the long-lost daughter he fathered thirty years ago. That what you were looking for?” She sucked back what was left in her glass.
Well, fuck. That explained the fuck off scrawled across her forehead and her fierce independence. Jig might mimic a stone half the time, but he wasn’t completely devoid of emotion. He slid his hand over hers and smiled at the widening of her eyes. “Hey, sorry I asked. Your shit is your shit, and I shouldn’t have pushed.”
Izzy heaved a sigh. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. Kinda a touchy subject, if you hadn’t noticed.” She flipped her hand over and curled it around his.
“What happened with your mom?”
With a huff, she tapped the top of her glass, but he didn’t bother reaching for the bottle. Three drinks in ten minutes were plenty. “Mental illness. She had severe bipolar disorder and was with a long line of loser men who never cared to get her help. She had these erratic moods and intense swings from high to low. Her boyfriends and husbands just called her crazy. By the time I was old enough to understand she had an illness that could be treated, she was too far gone and refused any help. Couldn’t get her hospitalized involuntarily if she wasn’t a danger to herself or others. The one time she proved to be that danger, she got the job done.” She shrugged. “Sucks, but that’s life.”
Such a hard exterior. Such a lonely life. Jig tried that, going it completely alone, and it nearly ended in disaster. Copper saved his ass, and his brothers brought him back from the dead. No way Izzy’s insides were as matter of fact and unaffected as she portrayed on the outside. He was starting to understand what made her tick. She burned hot, felt too much, but had years of practice suppressing it. Unable to deal with the tumultuous emotions, she handled them differently, fighting them out in the ring. Something Jig fully comprehended.
For the first time since his wife had died, he felt an urge, a need, to soothe a woman. If he didn’t think she’d kick him in the nuts, he’d draw her into his arms and remind her she wasn’t alone anymore. She had him. She had his club brothers and the women that loved them.
Jig cleared his throat and shoved down those primal urges. His own head was a mess; he was in no position to meet anyone else’s emotional needs. Nor did he want to. “You said you were seventeen when she died. What happened to you?”
Izzy watched him, her gaze assessing, as if trying to decide if she trusted him enough to share a vulnerable piece of herself. He had no idea why it mattered to him, but it did. He wanted her to trust him, to open up and share a little fragment of her inner workings. Because it was obvious she didn’t do this often. Didn’t form relationships, platonic or otherwise, didn’t let others have any piece of herself deeper than surface knowledge.
And that meant anyone she handed the information to was important, trusted, and significant. It wasn’t smart. In fact, it was downright stupid and a mistake, but he felt something for her. Something more than just his cock’s response to her body. And while he’d never act on it, never take it to a deeper level, he was selfish enough to want her to feel the same.
He waited her out, not speaking nor pressuring while she glanc
ed away, breathed, then came back to him. Something unspoken passed between them at that moment. An understanding and acceptance. Whether it was the peace and quiet of the clubhouse, loneliness, or, hell, maybe the alcohol, they saw each other. Two people too damaged by life to have successful relationships or tap into their emotions in a healthy way. Maybe something could be formed from that. A friendship of sorts. No promises, no guarantees, no potential for more agony. Just a…bond of pain.
“I was still underage, so I would have ended up in foster care somewhere. But I fled before social services could get their hooks in me. For about a year, I lived on the streets in New Orleans. Rip found me outside his shop one day, sketching in this ratty old book I had. He took pity on me and hired me to keep the place clean. Eventually, I apprenticed with him.”
Her gaze bore into his as if to say, “Go ahead, pity me. I dare you.” But he never would. Many of his brothers had shit backgrounds, some so horrifying the stories made your ears bleed. Hell, his own story made grown men cry. Survive, overcome, move on. That’s what people did with shitty circumstances.
It was clear how Izzy had made it through life. Living through darkness made her strong as fuck. Made her capable of taking care of herself and surviving the harsh realities of the world. Hell, if his wife had been half as tough as Izzy, maybe that night would have turned out very differently.
Shit. He peered into his empty glass. Been a while since thoughts like that had invaded his conscious.
“Hey,” Izzy said, cutting through his morbid trip down memory lane. “You got a funny look on your face. You good?”
“Yeah.” He polished off his drink. “You’re pretty fucking fierce, you know that, Iz?”
A slow smile curled the blood-red lips he wanted to crush against his own. Looked like she appreciated the compliment. God, she was gorgeous.
“You’re not so bad yourself, Jig.”
He glanced down suddenly when he realized their hands were still intertwined. The air between them thickened and cracked with high-voltage electricity. The chemistry they shared was enough to burn the place to the ground. Friendship and chemistry—sounded like a recipe for a relationship neither was able to accept.
Orgasms. That’s what he needed. A warm, wet place to sink his cock and lose himself. That’s all he wanted, and that’s all he’d allow himself with her. Time to rip the emotions from this encounter and bring it back to the safety of the physical.
Leaning forward, Jig reached out and hooked a finger into the collar of her sweatshirt. One little tug, and her mouth was millimeters from his. “Not to mention,” he said. “You have the sweetest fucking pussy I’ve ever tasted.”
Her eyes went tire-wide, and she sputtered. It wasn’t often someone caught her off guard, but it was damn fun. As her mouth flapped opened and closed, Jig’s attention was rapt on her lips. Shiny with that bright red gloss, they looked like the perfect place to sink his teeth. He leaned in, ready to do just that—
“Oh, my god, I am so sorry.” Stephanie’s voice had Izzy wrenching back and spinning on her stool. Their friend rushed through the door over to the bar. “Were you waiting forever?”
“Ah…” Izzy cleared her throat and stood to accept Steph’s enthusiastic hug. “No. Not at all. Felt like two minutes.”
Jig snickered and discretely adjusted himself behind the bar. “Want a drink, Steph?”
“No thanks.” She waved a hand back and forth. “Mav will be here in ten, and we’re going to grab something to eat.” Stepping back, Steph looked between him and Izzy with a raised eyebrow.
Izzy’s face reddened, and she looked everywhere but at him. Then her body straightened and she said, “Oh, I got what you asked me for.” Snatching up the envelope, she handed it to Stephanie.
A mix of disappointment and relief bombarded Jig. The interruption was necessary and jerked his mind out of ridiculous fantasies, but left his body in a state of unfulfilled desire. “All right, ladies. I’m out. Good chatting with you, Iz. See you at the gym tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there by eight.”
“Good deal.” Jig accepted a kiss on his unscarred cheek from Stephanie as he made his way to the exit. Within seconds of walking away from the women, he could hear them chattering on and giggling like school girls. It brought a smile to his face. Izzy might not realize it, but her guard was coming down.
Them fucking was inevitable. It was going to happen. They had the type of attraction that couldn’t be ignored. And it would be fucking earth-shattering.
But that’s all it would be. Fucking and a shaky friendship. Because no way in hell was Jig letting a woman, even a woman as boss as Izzy, melt the thick layers of ice around his heart. He would never survive a devastating loss like he’d suffered with his wife and child’s deaths, and his life now was a hundred times more dangerous than it had been years ago. After knowing Jig a short time, Izzy had already been attacked by his enemies. No matter the conflicting emotions Izzy dredged up in him, she wouldn’t ever be more than a friendly fuck buddy. Anything more could destroy them both.
And no amount of chemistry was worth that.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
IZZY CONCENTRATED ON slowing her inhalations and filling her lungs. Damn, it felt good. She’d hit three miles easily today and without an ounce of pain. Parts of her were still a little discolored, but the discomfort had all but disappeared. Only a slight amount of a.m. stiffness remained.
Now, it was time to get back the endurance she’d lost over the past week or so and get back to her pre-beatdown ten miles per day. Thankfully, Zach was still willing to keep the gym open an hour or two after closing for her and Jig. Tonight, one of Jig’s newer brothers, Screw, had joined them. The guy was hilarious. A total screwball, hence the name.
Wiping a stream of sweat from her cheek, she attempted to clear her mind of the muscle fatigue and focus on something else. All that accomplished was a return to her obsessive thoughts about Jig. He’d been in the forefront of her mind since she’d spilled her guts all over the bar the prior night.
Why the hell had she done that?
Alcohol. It had to be the alcohol, an uncharacteristic feeling of loneliness, and the proximity to the anniversary of her mother’s death. In just a few weeks, the thirteenth anniversary would be upon her. That had to be some kind of bad omen, right? Thirteenth anniversary of a horrific death?
A shiver ran down Izzy’s spine. Shit, she was getting maudlin. She never thought she’d say it, but obsessing over Jig was far better than ruminating over the dead and buried past.
It seemed they were now friends. He didn’t even scowl at her when she came into the gym. Sure, he didn’t run over and give her a kiss on the cheek like Zach did, but a non-scowl from Jig was pretty much the equivalent of a bear hug from any of the other guys.
It was what it was. The MC had adopted her, and she’d just have to deal. She had plenty of practice keeping herself from disappointment and hurt. She could do it again and have some fun with her new social circle.
A band of outlaw bikers. The thought made her snort out a laugh which had her sucking a quick breath and coughing. “Shit!” She hacked and tried to breathe as she lowered the treadmill speed to a fast walk. Oh, look at that, four point two miles.
She’d hit the target.
“You know, it’s a lot easier to run if you’re actually breathing.” Jig sauntered over in all his sexy, sweaty glory, and folded his way too muscly arms across the top of the treadmill.
Her breath caught in her lungs at the sight of him glistening with sweat and wearing a royal blue T-shirt that molded to every ridge in his chest and abs.
She swallowed around a suddenly very dry throat and focused on his statement instead of his drool-worthy physique.
Things were progressing quickly. From non-scowl to teasing in one evening. Izzy flashed him a smile. He could mess with her all he wanted. She was queen ballbuster, and he’d be eating those words in a matter of minutes. “Sorry, saw your brother, S
crew, doing some squats, and it stole my breath. That man’s got one helluvan ass.” She winked and lowered the speed even further.
Jig’s jaw ticked, and she must have been speaking louder than she realized because Screw yelled, “Damn straight, baby,” from across the room. He bent forward a little and slapped his own ass. “Any time you wanna cop a feel, sweet thang, you just say the word.”
A laugh bubbled out of Izzy. Even Jig’s lips quirked. Screw was ridiculous, but always good for a fun time.
“You’re gonna pay for that,” Jig practically growled at her. He tapped his knuckles on the top of the treadmill then made his way back to the weight rack he’d been lifting. Izzy was helpless to do anything other than stare at the flex and release of his calves, thighs, and ass as he moved like a powerful animal. When he was halfway to his destination, he peeked over his shoulder and threw her a wink. “Ain’t Screw’s ass you’re drooling over now, is it?”
A normal woman would probably be embarrassed, but, hell, Jig was one sexy man, and he damn well knew it. No point in caring she got busted gawking. Any sane woman would.
Screw hooted out a laugh and clapped his hands. “Jig with the jokes. Who the fuck knew? You just might have to marry him, Iz.”
And like a bucket of ice-cold water had been upended on them all, the fire was doused instantly. Jig stiffened so fast she thought he might snap right in half. Then came the first scowl of the day. With a sigh, Izzy jumped her feet to the outer frame of the treadmill and hit the off button. It was just a stupid comment, one she could let roll off her shoulders, but then she’d never been married before. And never planned to marry. A front row seat to the tanking of five marriages throughout her childhood was enough, thank you very much. But Jig had been married, and it had been destroyed by something vicious and out of his control. The pain of that had to be extraordinary, and both her heart and stomach clenched at the thought of his suffering. Something about the thought of him in agony tormented her deep inside.