by Karen Renee
I leveled my gaze at Razor and said, “I’ve been advised to steer clear of your club.”
Razor gave me a beautiful shit-eating grin, “My club or me specifically?”
I tilted my head one way and then the other and said, “The most accurate answer would be ‘both.’”
Razor picked up his French dip sandwich and said, “I knew you were my kinda woman. You tell it like it is. That’s decent advice, but you cast the die for yourself when you stared at me at Grumpy’s. I’m disappointed you never called me, but I get it. You’re a good girl. Calling a man like me is out of the norm for you. What I don’t understand is you and Cal. Wanna tell me about that?”
Not especially, I thought. What I said to him was, “There’s nothing to tell. We met through a mutual acquaintance. He insisted on a date, I went; it went to shit – his words, not mine. I told him I didn’t think we’d work out. Different worlds, all that jazz. It’s done.”
Razor was chewing up a bite of his sandwich, and I never thought watching a man eat could be a turn-on, but Razor’s sharp jawline moving beneath his midnight-blue eyes had me thinking thoughts I should not be thinking. He swallowed, then said, “Before I forget, that is a sweet sweater, baby. Few days ago, Cal said you were his. I know you said otherwise, but why would he tell my brothers that?”
I bit back a sarcastic laugh and said, “I have no idea why Callous does any of the things he does. As I said at the pool hall, we’re finito bandito.”
I took a sip of my Coke Zero and almost spit it out through my mouth and my nose when Razor asked, “What about that James guy?”
“How do you know his name is James?”
Razor shook his head, “How quickly you forget. You called him by his name when he came up on the three of us. ‘Hunky-dory, James.’ Ring a bell?”
Gah! This guy was sharp. I finished my pickle in silence. Razor wasn’t letting it go.
“So, what about James? He certainly seems like a safe choice, but baby, you got serious spunk in you tryin’ to get out. You’re a total fireball. You don’t get the attention of guys like me, Cal, Prank, and Bush without a spark burnin’ inside you.”
“I only have spunk when people like you and Cal are trying to force their chauvinistic ways on me.”
The shit-eating grin made another appearance and he said, “Would you ever use that tone with James? Would there ever be conversational banter that led to such heat from you, baby?”
Probably not, but he didn’t need to know that. “Maybe I’m not looking for banter and heated conversations. I’m pretty laid-back and mellow. It’s likely the very reason things don’t work between me and Callous.”
Razor’s head went back and he let go a bellow of laughter, which exposed the beauty of his lengthy neck. When he righted his head, he said, “You’re far from mellow, Fireball. I call ‘em like I see ‘em, and a beautiful lady I dub ‘Fireball’ is not mellow. Not by a long shot.”
I rolled my eyes, picked up a chip, and said, “Whatever. You might not believe it, but you don’t know what you’re talking about when it comes to me. You don’t even know me.”
After an eyebrow arch, he said, “Exactly what I’m trying to rectify, baby. I want to get to know you. First, I need to know if I have a chance of getting in there with you?”
Getting in there with me? What was going on? I was a widow. There was no reason for guys like James, Cal, and Razor to be working toward something with me. With all of those thoughts in mind, my response was more cutting than I intended. “You may or may not know this, Razor, but I’m a widow. I was married for ten years. I had a six-year-old boy. I lost them both to some dumbass who couldn’t call a fuckin’ cab instead of plowing them down on a summer Saturday evening. I know I sound a little angry, but I’m not ready to let anyone ‘get in there with me.’ It’s not worth it. It only leads to fucking heartbreak.”
During my rant, I was only slightly aware that Razor had shifted from the chair across from me to the chair on my left side. As soon as I finished speaking, he grabbed my right hand with his left and curled his free arm around my shoulders, pulling me to him. His cologne, smelling of pure ocean waves and top notes of spice, assaulted my nose since he was in such close proximity. It still had a calming effect, and I took a deep breath. Then I realized there were tears dripping from my eyes down to his jeans because of my weird angle. As I exhaled, he squeezed my shoulders.
He pushed me back a little, looked in my eyes and said, “Baby, you’re wrong. It doesn’t lead to heartbreak. Wait. Let me finish. You got a cavern in there. And you should. You lost a little boy and ten years of marriage to the man who you thought was it for you. Anyone would have an empty cavern inside of them. But caverns are homes to bats, and those bats keep you full during the day and empty you out at night. You need a man to come in and take care of your cavern. I don’t care if that man is me, if it’s James, or if it’s Cal. But you can’t shy away from finding someone to take care of you. It ain’t healthy and it damn sure isn’t right. The spunk and fire you shoot our way, when you don’t mean to do it, tells me that you want a good man to exterminate those bats living in you.”
Fuckin’ A. Why did the wisest and possibly nicest man I’d met in the past three weeks have to be part of a motorcycle club? He was right, and his gentle way of breaking it to me made me want him. But as much as I wanted to give him a chance, I knew he wasn’t for me.
I rubbed both of my hands down my cheeks, and rested my chin on top of them. I looked at Razor and said, “You’re a really good guy.”
He looked at the wall behind me, then narrowed his glance at me to say, “Nothing good ever starts with those words.”
I shrugged, “Well, I didn’t have much else to say in addition. You’re a good guy. I wish circumstances were different.”
Razor lifted his head in a knowing nod, “There it is. The bad stuff. You wish things were different. That’s okay, Fireball. What will be, will be. Now, you want this other cookie, or do I have to eat ‘em both?”
I chuckled. “I don’t pass up free cookies, man. Hand it over, pronto.”
Chapter 12
Even though I ate out for lunch, I decided it was a Friday night pizza night from Little Cesar’s. This was a little bit out of the way for me on my way home, but my craving for Crazy Bread was so strong, I did not care in the least. Off of Wells road there was a convenience store that had enough room for three outparcel properties along the back side. One of these was the Little Cesar’s, which opened up into the convenience store proper. I walked into the pizza shop and noticed a man in military uniform sitting to my left and a buxom black woman sitting to my right. I went to the counter and a teenaged clerk asked if he could help me.
“Yes. I’d like one hot-and-ready cheese pizza, a hot-and-ready pepperoni, and an order of Crazy Bread, please.”
The teen was diligently entering my pizza orders, but dramatically grimaced after my request for Crazy Bread. He looked up to me and said, “I’m sorry. We can’t do any Crazy Bread orders at this time.”
Something about the kid’s tone made me skeptical, so I asked, “Why not?”
He grimaced slightly and said, “Well, we’re out of bags for the Crazy Bread.”
My passion for Crazy Bread was not going to be denied by a lack of corporate packaging. I suggested, “How about you use a pizza box instead? I’ll gladly pay a premium for the upgraded packaging.”
My suggestion sent this kid for a very obvious mental loop. He reluctantly said, “I don’t…think, ...”
After the day I had, I was not in the mood for a part-time teenager to deny me my Crazy Bread fix. I said, “Your manager is willing to lose a three-dollar sale in an effort to save a box that likely costs your franchise twenty-five cents? Seriously, if you don’t have the Crazy Bread dough, then that’s one thing, but if it’s a packaging issue, you need to look at the bottom line. Newsflash, when you keep customers happy, that bottom line is green. When you keep the corporate schmucks at corpora
te headquarters happy, that bottom line is red.”
Before I could draw a breath to continue, I heard a familiar voice say, “I’d suck it up and fulfill her order with a fuckin’ pizza box before she gets into a full-blown business analysis. Not that this isn’t pretty damn close, but really. Save us all the grief, yeah?”
I shifted my view between Cal and the clerk, wondering who was more deserving of my ire. The teenager seemed receptive to Cal’s blunt assessment, so I focused on Cal. He was sitting next to the military man, and he was wearing his leather cut with a forest-green long-sleeve t-shirt underneath it. His jeans were indigo and looked well-worn.
“How are you here?”
He choked on some laughter, and said, “You came in after me, woman.”
I retorted with an overly-skeptical, “Really?”
The military man I had noticed upon my entry said, “Really. He was here first, Ma’am.”
I contained my grimace at being called “Ma’am” by someone who was only five to six years my junior. I mean, seriously, I didn’t think I’d be comfortable being called “Ma’am” even when I was fifty-one, let alone thirty-one.
I looked at the soldier and said, “Thank you, sir. And thank you for your service to our country.”
He shyly ducked his head and mumbled, “You’re welcome, ma’am.”
I turned back to the clerk and asked, “So, about that Crazy Bread? You gonna be able to put it in a box instead of a bag?”
The clerk turned and went into the back, presumably to speak to the manager. Cal had sidled up to me during the exchange. He leaned close and said in a low voice, “Thought you were gonna return that sweater, woman. Though, I’m glad you didn’t. I almost forgot how smokin’ hot you are in it. Almost, but not quite, sweet cheeks.”
I kept my lips pressed together as I contemplated becoming a hermit and asking my boss Sheila if I could work from home. I’d never have to leave the house, and I could wear frumpy pajamas every day. No weird half-lunches with strangely-named bikers, and any time I wanted pizza, I’d call Pizza Hut for delivery instead. Some of the grocery stores were delivering now too. Yes, being a hermit would be a piece of cake. J.D. Salinger would have nothing on me once I holed myself up.
Cal interrupted my thoughts, “No response, Mal? What’s goin’ on in your head? I called you both names you can’t stand, and seriously, nothin’?”
I looked at him and calmly said, “I’m done. I’m getting two pizzas and with any luck, an order of Crazy Bread, and then I’m done. I’m gonna become a hermit. The world can keep spinnin’ without me stepping foot out in it.”
Cal chuckled. He put an arm around my neck and pulled me to him in a hug. I didn’t return the gesture, and he pulled my arms around him and gave me a firm squeeze. Then he stepped away from me a bit to say, “You’re not becoming a hermit. I don’t know what’s got you all bummed out, but you and I are gonna have pizza and beer together tonight.”
“No, we’re not,” I informed his chest.
He tipped my chin up. “Yes, we are, Mallory. I told you I was going to see you today. I was planning to bring my pizza to your house. I was miffed about the Crazy Bread, but I’m glad to run into you here since you may have solved our Crazy Bread dilemma.”
Why did my name have to sound so pretty when he said it in full? I heard Jackie in my head saying ‘Stick to your guns!’ So, I did, and told him, “No, we’re not. You can’t just bring pizza to my house uninvited.”
He smiled his mega-watt smile and dipped his head closer and whispered, “Yeah. We are. And I can bring pizza to your house uninvited.”
Before I could refute, he touched his lips to mine lightly. A zing went through me from head to toe. I didn’t have any words, but I still managed to shake my head at him. He smirked and nodded at me. I pouted and managed to pull away. Then I realized, I had not replenished the beer at my house since Cal and his brothers fixed my fence.
“Newsflash. I have no beer in my house. So, no. We are not having pizza and beer together tonight.”
Cal leaned into me slightly. “I won’t be thwarted, Mal. And newsflash for you: right through that doorway is a full-size convenience store. I’m sure they got six-packs of Yuengling, and if they don’t, I can make an exception and get Sam Adams.”
At this point, the clerk returned carrying a large box. He said, “Large, all-meats pizza for Cal.”
Cal nabbed his pizza, which he had already paid for, and said to me, “I’m going to get some beer, and I’ll see you at your place.”
I mumbled to myself, “Maybe I could just run away and be a hermit in an undisclosed location.”
Cal heard me and said over his shoulder, “You can run, but you can’t hide.”
He went into the convenience store, and the buxom black woman caught my eye and said, “And I don’t know why you’d want to hide from him, girl. That is one very fine ass on that man.”
* * * * *
I pulled into my driveway to see Cal holding his pizza box and a white plastic bag which likely contained a six-pack and leaning against a silvery-grey Ford Mustang GT. He had backed his car into my drive, and I was having a hard time not drooling over the sports car. It was hot. I should have expected nothing less, I suppose. If a biker had to be cooped up in a car, then I would imagine they would drive something that would get them from point A to point B as fast as possible.
I stepped out of my car and opened the door to the backseat so I could get out my three pizza boxes. The manager was more than willing to make a sale with or without the proper Crazy Bread bags. Cal came to my side and took the boxes from me.
“Go unlock the door, woman. I can carry in the food.”
I decided not to rant about being called ‘woman.’ I was saving my mental energy to plot how I was going to get him to eat and get out of my house. I was picking up a vibe from him that I needed to ignore, desperately.
I opened the door and let him in. He followed me into the kitchen and put down the pizza boxes. He pulled Sam Adams out of the plastic bag, put two aside and placed the rest of the beer in the fridge.
He looked at me and said, “Where’s your church key?”
Of all the things to come out of his mouth, that was the least of what I expected. So I asked, “My what?”
He closed his eyes at me and shook his head, “Your bottle opener, sweet cheeks.”
“Oh. Front of the silverware drawer.”
I grabbed paper plates and put some Crazy Bread on my plate, then a slice of cheese and a slice of pepperoni. I sat down. Cal put a beer in front of me, and then he put Crazy Bread on his plate, pulled the large pizza box out from the bottom of the pile and nabbed two slices of his pizza and sat down next to me. Then he took a bite and watched me as I finished a Crazy Bread stick and sipped my beer.
He swallowed his pizza and asked, “Now, what’s with this hermit business? Talk to me.”
I thought about lying, but decided the truth might just set me free. And by free, I meant free of Callous in my house. Therefore, I said, “I already don’t go out much, and any time I get an itch to go somewhere, there’s always bikers there. This shit never happened to me before, but now everywhere I go, there’s you, or Razor, or some-damn-body wearing a leather cut.”
Cal gave me an assessing gaze. “You run into Razor somewhere besides the pool hall?”
I looked at the cabinets behind him for a moment, and then looked back at his face, “Yeah. I went to Jason’s Deli for lunch, and just as I sat down to wait for my order, in come three Leathernecks. I wasn’t leaving after already having paid for my food. Further, you and I are done, so I’m not going to heed your warning about getting out of a restaurant the Leathernecks are in. Anyway, Razor wasn’t with them, but when they got close enough to order, he came in the side door. I hoped I would stay under their radar, but Razor decided to sit down and eat with me, even though I was two-thirds of the way through my lunch.”
I hadn’t spent too much time with Cal. However, I could
still tell his temper was quickly rising. His tone was calm when he said, “First, you and I aren’t done. I’m not gonna tell you again, woman. Second, just to clarify, you had lunch with Razor?”
“Yeah. And then I decided it was a pizza kind of night, and I ran into you. I can’t seem to shake you guys all of a sudden.”
Cal swallowed a slug of beer, then asked, “So, Razor’s the reason you’ve lost your umph and you’re talkin’ about bein’ a Goddamned hermit?”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
Cal put his beer bottle down with a clink against the glass table. “Then what the hell would you say?”
I shrugged, “I don’t know. He asked me about you, and he asked me about James. He asked if he had a shot of getting in there with me, whatever the hell that means. I told him I didn’t want anyone getting in there with me, because it wasn’t fucking worth it.”
Cal had a strained look on his face, and I figured he was definitely trying to keep a lid on his temper when he said carefully, “So, you misinformed him about you and me?”
I furrowed my eyebrows. “Misinformed him? Uh, no. I did not misinform him. We’re done.”
He tilted his head at me just a fraction. “Last night, not even twenty-four hours ago, mind you, I kissed you almost senseless, woman. And I know I mentioned it was the best damn kiss I’ve had, and I also know that I told you I do not agree with you anymore and that. We. Are. Not. Done.”
At this point, my temper was off the measurement charts, so I launched in. “Here we go with the chauvinism! You can’t just declare that we’re not done and that’s that. You said we weren’t done, but I didn’t agree. Not that you fuckin’ listen to me. Not at the pizza joint this afternoon, not last night, not at the pool hall, not ever, it seems!”
Cal quietly asked me, “You told Razor it wasn’t fucking worth it?”
I took a deep breath and tried not to sound snippy when I replied, “Yep. Only leads to heartbreak.”
Cal arched an eyebrow at me. “He have any words of wisdom for that declaration of yours?”