Stone Cold

by Olivia Rigal

  As we get closer to the table, the guys interrupt their conversation.

  "Hey, Ice, you've got luscious fresh meat!"

  "Mind your manners, Lobster," Brian barks at him.

  "Why? You're not gonna share that one? Come on, there’s enough of her for two!" Lobster's a chubby guy with red hair and tons of freckles. I'm not sure how tall he is since he's sitting at the table, but he's a beefy type of man. He's the sort of person who makes me understand why eighteenth-century doctors came up with bleeding as medical treatment—when I see people as crimson as he is, I feel this insane urge to prick them with a needle just to see what would happen.

  "But if you don’t want to share, that’s fine with me. We could take turns. Maybe she would like to come visit me after you're done with her," he says to Brian, and then he looks at me and asks, "Hey, sweet butt, wanna know why they call me Lobster?"

  I glance in Brian's direction, and with a very slight tilt of the head, he lets me know that I'm not allowed to answer, so I just shake my head.

  "Because the sweetest and most impressive part of me is my tail," he says, and then he guffaws. The men sitting at the table laugh as well, but I have the feeling they're also laughing at him, and one of them looks almost embarrassed.

  Brian keeps on going, pulling me behind him. "See you later, brothers," he says as we enter the house.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The main room looks like a bar with one very large table and a few small ones, but before I can take a good look around, we start climbing one flight of stairs and then another. We walk down a short hall with half a dozen doors, and Brian opens the last one. He gestures for me to go in and then follows.

  We're in his bedroom. I can tell because it smells like him. The furniture is nondescript: a dresser, a table, a chair, and a bed. Everything is cluttered with clothes and papers. That's not a surprise—chaos had always been Brian's natural habitat when he was younger. I guess the army didn't do better with him than it did with David when it came to changing that habit of theirs.

  There's a small open window overlooking the tables we just passed on our way in. I can hear the murmur of the conversation of the guys outside. There's another door in the room. It's ajar, and I pull it open—it's one of those bathrooms in which you can sit on the toilet while brushing your teeth and soaking your feet in the shower at the same time. But it's private.

  "Wow, you scored a suite. You've done well for yourself; you've become MC royalty," I say.

  Brian laughs. "This is my home now." He's in my space, but he doesn't touch me. "Tonight you're not spoiling my mood. I've got you where I want you, and I'm getting my rematch."

  That's a funny way to put it. A rematch.

  Our first time was sweet. Well, I enjoyed the intimacy, and I felt kind of wild just being naked in his arms, but then the act itself was a true debacle. A far cry from the fireworks and ecstasy I had heard about from more experienced friends. I felt so frustrated I could have screamed, but I didn't. I plastered a smile on my face and said it was just fine, because I didn't want to hurt his feelings. Yet he knew better, and instead of making the most of the moment with tender cuddling, he bolted.

  So the truth is that I want that rematch, as well. I probably want it more than he does, because I have no doubt he's acquired tons of experience during the past years. Just the way he kisses me is enough to turn my blood into lava, so of course I want more.

  I want to test the new and improved version of Brian; I want to see the man's body that was built on the boy's tender frame. In a perfect world, the boy's affection would have turned into a man's love… but I know this is not a perfect world, so I'll settle for what he's offering. Yeah, I'll take the rematch and ask my questions later.

  As he closes in on me, I decide that I will forget that we're in the club house of his MC, and I will do what the biker's sweet butts do: I'll go along and enjoy the ride, no strings attached.

  I let him remove my leather jacket, and then I push his down from his shoulder. He smiles at me as if this is a child's game, a clothing tit for tat. He pulls my T-shirt out of my pants and over my head. The bra I'm wearing is not the lacy black number I would have picked if I had known I was going to strip in front of him, but it's fine, presentable… but then again I don't think he's really noticed, since it's down on the floor already. My turn. I pull away his T-shirt and gasp. Not because of the tattoos—I was expecting them—but because of the scars on his chest and the fresh bruise on his shoulder. The tips of my fingers touch the most important scar. I count a dozen stitches way too close to his heart, and I bend over to kiss the damaged skin.

  As I continue to explore the ribs and mountains of his torso, he somehow manages to get rid of the rest of our clothes until we're both standing naked in his room.

  He turns me around and presses his hard body against my back.

  "Look," he says, directing my gaze to our reflection in the mirror over the dresser. He cups my breasts with his hands and whispers in my ear, "It's a perfect fit. Everything about you is just the right size for me now."

  Watching him touching me is overwhelming. My eyes are glued on his hands, and I forget everything. My mouth is open, but I’ve stopped breathing. But then he pinches my nipples, and my gasp makes the machine start again. I feel more alive than I've ever felt in my life. I try to turn around—I want to touch him.

  "Not done watching you like this," he growls, keeping me in place.

  One of his hands leaves my breast and vanishes out of the mirrored image. Unseen but not unfelt. He's reaching the apex of my legs, and I catch fire. I close my eyes to concentrate on the sensations, but as soon as I do, his hand stops. I let out a moan of protest.

  "Can't have you closing your eyes now," he says. "I want you to look at me as I make you come."

  My eyes flutter open, and he pursues his exploration. My breath catches when he finds an especially sensitive spot, and there's a ferocious smile on his face when he notices my reaction. His caress centers on the reactive patch of flesh, and it doesn't take long before I'm panting. There's this incredible ball of heat growing inside of me. I fight to keep my eyes open, until I'm overtaken by this sunburst inside. I throw my head back and lean into Brian for support.

  He catches me and lays me down on the bed.

  "That's one," he says as he lies down beside me on the bed, looking quite pleased with himself.

  I nod and try to catch my breath. I put one hand flat on his chest and feel his heart beating as fast as mine. I raise my hand to his neck and pull his lips to mine. I want another mind-blowing kiss, and I get it. He's on top of me. I spread my legs and tilt my hips, but he ignores my invitation. He abandons my mouth to nibble on one breast and then the other. I want more than his sweet teasing, so I press my hand down on his head and his bite strengthens. My entire body jerks and I gasp. He goes for the other breast, and the ball of heat starts growing again.

  I reach out for his waist and try to pull him to me, but he resists.

  "Shush, Lisa," he whispers. "Relax and enjoy the ride."

  "Kiss me again," I say.

  "I will," he says, but instead of coming up to my face, he goes for lower lips, and I shudder in anticipation. I'm finally going to experience what I've heard about so many times.

  Oh my God, words don't do justice to the sensations. I understand why, since I don't have the words for them either. My entire universe is centered on Brian's tongue. I discover a new language that I would love to study for hours. I dig my fingers in his hair just before I reach heaven.

  "That's two," I hear him say before lips and fingers join, and I realize that I was not yet totally undone. I come ablaze again, and every time I think I've reached a peak, he brings me higher. I'm breathing so hard I think my heart is about to explode, but it's not my heart; it's my entire body that shatters as I scream his name.

  My voice is hoarse and my breath short when I steal his line from him and say, "That's three."

  He laughs and scoots u
p the bed until his face is next to mine, and his lips burn my neck.

  "Now that I've paid my debt, with interest…" he says while retrieving a condom from the nightstand's drawer.

  "… it’s your turn again?" I ask.

  "No. This time, it's our turn."

  My heart melts when I see the look on his face. In the gaze of the grown man, I find the young boy I adored, and the tenderness he shows as he lowers himself into me brings tears to my eyes. I hide my face in his neck and blink to chase those stupid tears away. I need to protect my heart. This is just one time, one night with a half stranger, one shot of physical bliss with Ice, a stone cold member of the Iron Tornadoes.

  I stop thinking and just feel.

  He's slow and gentle, which is good, because I don't remember him being so big. I relax as my body adapts to let him in and his strokes become more powerful. I thought I was sated, but yet I react to his touch. There's a blaze inside of me, and just as I'm about to fly again, he freezes and asks bluntly, "How many since me, Lisa?"

  I turn my head to the side and say, "Less than you've had since me, that's for sure."

  "Answer me," he growls.

  I shake my head, and for an instant it looks as if he thinks I'm refusing to tell him, but then he understands that I mean none. I'm not sure he believes me, because he mutters to himself, "All those years and no one."

  He watches me nod, and the expression on his face is indecipherable. Still, he must be happy with the answer since he starts moving again. He's more forceful now, and I savor each stroke as I lose myself a little more. Time stops, and the clock starts slowly ticking again after we're both spent and panting on the bed.

  That's when he proves to me that I was dead right. It was just a one-time thing. This was not about love; this was all about pride. His pride demanded that rematch, and now that he's paid back his debt—with interest, as he so elegantly put it—he tells me, "I guess I should take you home."

  There’s not a shred of tenderness left in his voice. As we put our clothes back on in silence I wonder if there never was any. Probably not. It was all an illusion. I only heard what I wanted to hear.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Getting back to work has done me a world of good, first because I'm a social animal and a team player. Staying at home with my mother was getting to me. Being part of a crew cheers me up. It took me all of one shift to realize my new boss was a strange character with unpredictable mood swings. Since no one ever knows when or why lightning's going to strike, the entire staff are really tight-knit. They all have each other's back. Whereas Lyv creates solidarity by creating a pleasant work atmosphere, this man does it by being the common enemy. I miss Lyv, and I miss New York, but I make do.

  The other benefit of the work—aside from the money, which is not bad—is that when I get home at night, I'm so tired I don't toss and turn anymore. When my head hits the pillow, I fall into instant oblivion. I still have dreams in which David is calling to me, but they're becoming less frequent. I wish the same was true about the dreams I have about Brian.

  It's been a month since he brought me home from the MC house, and I haven't seen him since. I now see members of his MC everywhere, however. I'm not sure there are more of them around than before. It might just be one of those things that I've been told pregnant women experience all the time: the second they find out they're expecting, they see big round bellies all around. So maybe it's just a question of awareness. The Iron Tornadoes is an old MC. Chances are they've always been around town, but I never saw them before, because their presence had no meaning for me. Now I can't help but notice, since they're Brian's family now and I'm pretty sure they're associated with my brother's death. Also, I can recognize some of them.

  I'm rolling my ride out of the garage when my mother catches up with me.

  "Lisa, dear," she says as I put my small helmet on. "Since it's on your way to work, would you mind dropping this at the police station? Steven forgot his lunch when he left this morning."

  Without waiting for my answer, she's already putting away a brown paper bag in my saddlebag.

  "Sure, Mom." I wonder how Captain Williams will feel about having his lunch dropped off at the reception desk.

  It's a short ride to the station. That's probably why my mother and the captain have decided that he will sell his home and move in with her when they're married. He proposed three weeks after David's funeral. I guess at their age, they feel there's no point in beating around the bush. Since my mother accepted, he's become a permanent fixture in our house. Watching my mother coming back to life is making him grow on me, but I'm still not comfortable around him. He's obviously not comfortable around me, either.

  A few days ago, he asked me when I planned to return north.

  "Not to rush you or chase you away," he explained. "It's just that we obviously can't do the wedding without you, so I want to get things organized before you fly back."

  They've set the date for August first, and a few days later, I will return to school for my final year. I'm so glad he proposed before the law school administration had a chance to start preparing my transfer application.

  Yeah, Captain Williams is not my favorite person, but he makes my mother happy, so I'll bring him lunch.

  I leave the bike with the engine running and take the bag into the station. The morning shift staff are still on. Mike is manning the reception area.

  "Hey, Mike. Your boss forgot his lunch in the fridge," I tell him with a wink.

  He looks up at me with a big smile.

  "Oh, good, maybe food will pacify him," he says, making a funny face. "It's been a horrible morning."

  "Really?" Obviously, he's ready to burst. I'm sure he's so frustrated being stuck behind the desk that he needs to talk. Telling stories about his colleagues is the only way to vicariously become part of the action. I discreetly glance at my watch. I can spare him a few minutes and still get to work in time.

  "Come on, tell me. You're such a great storyteller," I say. "It's a lot more exciting to hear stuff from you than from Captain Williams."

  Comforted by the thought that I'm going to hear all about it in the evening from his boss, Mike starts talking.

  "Last night we got word that the Iron Tornadoes know they've been infiltrated by an undercover cop, while we've just found out they have one of our own on the take," he whispers. "The task force have been called in for a special meeting with IA. Given the leaked intel, the corrupted cop is one of them. There were not so many people who new about the undercover assignment. Let me tell you, today I'm really happy to be down here. Heads are gonna roll, so I'm keeping mine very low."

  "That's very wise," I tell him.

  "And of course you didn't hear anything from me," Mike says as the door opens behind me.

  "What didn't you tell her?" asks a voice behind me. It's Everest. I haven't seen or heard from him since the rock festival day. It's good I've never fancied myself as a damsel in distress because he's just as fickle a prince as Brian.

  Mike turns beet red.

  "How many roses the captain ordered for my mom," I answer. I have no qualms about lying—I can make up stuff anytime. It comes spontaneously to me. "Not that it's any of your business anyway."

  I turn my back to Everest and step toward the door.

  "As always, it was fun talking to you, Mike."

  Everest follows me outside. "Lisa, wait," he says.

  I don't. I take a few steps and get on my bike. He's yet to begin saying something, so I raise my eyebrows. "What do you want?"

  "I wanted to explain, you know…”

  I watch him shifting his weight from one leg to the other, looking for words. I don't have time for his crap. If I wait for him to start talking, I'm going to be late for work.

  "Yeah, right. Don't worry about it. It's not as if you'd promised me anything. I've got to get to work."

  While I drive away, a smile creeps across my face, because thanks to Mike, the world looks a bit brighter today. M
y mind is on a "what if" rampage, and I'm loving it.

  For a moment I will allow myself to dream: What if Brian has never been kicked out of the police academy? What if he's been recruited to participate in this operation before graduation? What if he's the undercover agent with the Iron Tornadoes?

  Without a full-face crash helmet, one can't ride and smile—there are way too many bugs for that in Florida!

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Everything is beautiful. I have to hand it to Captain "what will it take for you to call me Steven" Williams—he knows how to get things organized. He's rented this beautiful pavilion in a posh golf club, and it's very tastefully decorated.

  Chairs have been set up on the grass. The front row is occupied by Captain Williams's sister and her kids, on one side, and by Aunt Nancy and me, on the other side. Behind us sit many police officers in full uniform. I see Catherine and Thomas, as well as Mike and a few other familiar faces. No Everest. I'm sure of it, because he's so much taller than everyone else that there's no way to miss him when he's around.

  Captain Williams is standing under a flower-covered arch, and one of his judge friends is next to him. I'm not sure if he's acting as best man or witness, but he's standing very erect. He's stiff, as if he's swallowed an umbrella. The music starts, and we all turn to look behind us.

  My mother is walking down the aisle on Uncle Tony's arm. Am I the only one who realizes how weird this is? She's being brought to her husband-to-be by the twin brother of her deceased spouse. I'm watching my father's double giving my mother away to another man. I wish David were here to share the strangeness of the moment with me. I turn around to look at Aunt Nancy, and even though she's smiling, I see tears pooling in her eyes. Nancy looks happy for my mother, but there's something missing. Since David's death, something has broken in her. It's as if all her energy and joy had been transferred to my mother.

  I reach out for her hand, and she holds on to mine. I wish I knew how to comfort her. I want to tell her about my suspicion, but I can't.