Strike

by Jennifer Ryder

  “I really like your Dad. Mac’s just … well, I guess for Aidan he’s like family.”

  “Yeah. He’s the best.”

  Daddy had mentioned something about how he’d asked Aidan about his father, but Aidan had simply told him he didn’t have one. Daddy didn’t pry, sensing from his curtness it was best not to, but I know he’s always had a soft spot for Aidan, particularly since then. He talks about Aidan like he’s the son he wished he’d had.

  “From what Dad tells me, sounds like everyone gets along in the team pretty well,” I add, after leaving a reasonable gap in the conversation.

  “Yeah, I guess they have their good days and bad. The thing about boys is they tell it how it is, tell each other off, but by the next day they’re over it. Can say I don’t admire that. Aidan and Jones seem to have more of a hate than love relationship, but I think, in a way, it’s good. They push each other, and I think there’s a bit of mutual respect there because of it.”

  She brought him up. Here’s my in.

  “Do you know Jones well?” I ask, wondering if she knows any more about him than just being Aidan’s teammate. I don’t wanna sound like I’m digging, but up until this morning I’d had no clue he could even ride a bike. He could have at least told me that much, but I guess I didn’t ask.

  “Well enough, I guess. Aidan doesn’t like him hanging around me.”

  What?

  “How come?”

  She frowns. “You really don’t know anything about him, do you?”

  “No.”

  She raises one eyebrow, and eyeballs me suspiciously. “Okay, well, the first time I met him, he got Aidan pretty worked up. Jones said something to him about ‘sharing me’ and Aidan nearly went apeshit, wanting to beat the shit out of him. Jones seems nice enough to me, a bit cocky, but Aidan went all caveman, and said he doesn’t want the manwhore of motocross anywhere near his woman.”

  Well, fuck.

  Eevie might as well have hit me over the head with that wine bottle. My heart takes a dive into my stomach, stirring up an awaiting pool of acid. I swallow and then take a sip of wine, hoping to quell any reappearance of dinner. Then I take another large sip, because the first one did jack all.

  “Right,” I mutter, my voice raspy.

  “But I don’t think he’s as bad a guy as Aidan makes out. When Aidan had an accident on the bike a couple of years ago, Jones did all but hold his hand to get him to the hospital. He wasn’t his usual cocky self. He was genuinely worried about Aidan. It was kinda sweet.”

  Aw.

  “Who’s cocky?” Aidan asks, pulling out the chair next to Eevie.

  “Jones,” Eevie informs him.

  “I give you girls some time to chat, while I read The Hungry Caterpillar for the billionth time, and you decide to talk about Jones?”

  Aidan’s intense gaze pierces me to the chair. His dark brows pull closer together. He knows something. How in the fuck could he know? Did Spencer say something?

  “We were talking about your teammates, Aidan. At least I’m not talking about snotty noses and changing nappies,” Eevie says and rolls her eyes. She slumps back in her chair. Yeah. That’d be riveting after dinner conversation.

  “How about dessert?” Aidan says, raising an eyebrow at me.

  “Great idea,” I say, grateful for the diversion. I was just about to excuse myself so I could get my shit together before I spill my guts to Eevie about how I want to do rude things to Spencer, and whether my tactical holding-back-sex approach is gonna stop me from getting hurt. I don’t really have another girl I can talk to about this stuff. I no longer talk to my best friend, thanks to her fucking Todd and all, and Sophie’s not-so-hidden agenda makes it hard to get any real advice from her when it comes to guys and me.

  Aidan clears the dinner plates and disappears, returning with a cloth to wipe the table.

  I fill up our glasses once more.

  “I’ll get the plates,” Eevie says.

  “Relax. Sit down, babe. I’ll sort it.” Aidan smiles brightly, flashing his white teeth. He returns a moment later with dessert and plates.

  “I’ll let you do the honours, April. Looks amazing.”

  I take the knife and cut off a few slices and place a piece on each plate. As if we were all starved, we rush in for a taste.

  “Oh my God, April. I think I love you,” Eevie says.

  “Don’t hate me for it, baby. But I think I do too,” Aidan says cheekily. Eevie throws her crumpled up napkin at him, but he dodges it.

  We silently enjoy the rest of our dessert, and Eevie and I wash it down with some more wine.

  “I’m gonna call it a night,” Aidan says, stretching and running his hand through his dark hair. Eevie looks between Aidan and I like she’s torn. Aidan gives her a soft smile. “Have a couple of drinks, baby girl. Relax. If the boys wake tonight, I’ll get up.”

  Eevie’s shoulders drop and she smiles, as if he’d just given her the world. “Thank you. Just another reason why I love you.”

  “And there’s so many reasons,” he says, his words heartfelt. He takes our plates to the kitchen. Just watching these two—so in love, so connected—I wonder if Spencer and I could ever be like this.

  Aidan returns, and leans down and kisses Eevie softly on the lips. She sighs and wraps her hands around his neck pulling him closer, deepening their kiss. Hello! Get a room, I’m right here.

  Aidan breaks away and smiles at her, as if he’d like to eat her alive.

  “Take it easy on the wine, girls. Better make sure you have some water too,” he says, like a concerned father.

  “Now where would be the fun in that?” I say and hold up my glass.

  He holds up his hands, like I’d just pointed a loaded gun at him. “Hey, don’t blame me when you feel like shit tomorrow.”

  “We wouldn’t dream of it,” Eevie says, slapping him on the arse.

  “Night girls,” he says and strolls off.

  ****

  Another bottle is empty all too soon, which means we have to crack another.

  “Come on, I think it’s time for the Barbie story,” I say.

  “It was before Aidan. I was with an older guy, Alex.”

  “Whaddya mean older, like ancient? Not grandpa old.” Creepy.

  “No! He was, like, eleven years older.”

  “Right.”

  Her cheeks flush a deep pink, and she squirms in her seat. “So, I was about to have sex with him, and well, it was my first time, so you know, it was kind of a big deal. I was literally seconds away from having sex with him, and someone interrupted us. I managed to barely get dressed, and in walked Barbie incarnate.”

  “No. He was two-timing you?”

  “Yeah, the bimbo knew all about me, and she had some kind of ‘arrangement’ with Alex. I found out later he was into some kinky shit, and even bisexual.”

  “Wow.” Imagine that for your first time. The arsehole was probably a walking STD.

  “I’d say it was a good thing he got found out. So what happened after that?”

  “I left him. Grew up, I guess. Then, well, Aidan happened. It was just before I turned twenty-one.”

  “Aw, so you’re telling me Aidan was your first?”

  Her smile is that bright, I’m wondering if I brought my sunnies. “Yep. First and last. I’m a lucky girl.”

  I’m glad her first time was sweet with someone like Aidan, although I can’t for the life of me understand why she’d waited so long. I’d started early. My hormones would have eaten me down to the bone if I’d waited until twenty.

  “What about your first time, April? How old were you?”

  “I dunno; seems so long ago now. I think I was fifteen, and it was just a guy from school. Can’t say that he knew what to do with me, but we worked it out … eventually.”

  Eevie tops up our glasses. I guarantee I’ll be enduring a sore head tomorrow.

  Which reminds me, while I’m on topic …

  “So tell me, Eevie. This Jone
s guy. I wanna know how you get crowned the ‘manwhore of motocross’.”

  Eevie throws her head back and laughs out loud, and then covers her mouth and looks towards the bedrooms. She’s probably afraid she’d wake the kids.

  “His bedroom has a revolving door, apparently, and whenever he’s touring women are like flies to honey with him. They can’t help themselves. He’s pretty hot, I’ll give him that, but to him women are disposable. Use once, and onto the next. One at a time, sometimes two—Aidan even told me once he had three in one night. Tell me, April: how the hell do you please three women at the one time?”

  “I’d sure like to know,” I say, and then scull down the rest of my wine.

  Way to fucking go, April. You sure can pick ‘em.

  ****

  * SPENCER *

  Monday

  My gut was twisted in knots, but I was still anxious to see her. I was a dumbarse for holding back about riding. I’m damn near lucky she didn’t walk. She could have easily, but that tells me she’s still keen. She wants to see where this is going. For a dumbarse, I know that much.

  At exactly five o’clock I run from the office like the building’s on fire. I need to get home, change and get to April’s. If she saw me in a suit now it would only rub salt in the wound. I didn’t lie to her, but I might as well have by failing to tell her about riding. Her texts since I saw her at the track have been brief, and sadly without the trace of humour and cheekiness I was growing fond of. It’s been torture not being able to see her since then.

  I’ve been practicing what I was going to say ever since she handed me that coffee. It’s time to man up, and talk.

  After practically ripping off my Armani suit, I shower in less than five. I whip on a pair of jeans and a slim button-down blue shirt.

  My phone rings, and I fumble to answer it.

  “Yeah,” I bark into the phone.

  “Hey, man. It’s Ryan,” he says. From the chipper tone in his voice I can guess why he’s calling.

  “Hey, mate. What’s up?” I reply as I slip on a pair of leather shoes.

  “I’m in town, man. Thought we could head out for a drink,” he says, which is code for let’s get blind, get some birds and fuck ourselves stupid.

  “I can’t, buddy. Kinda got something on.” I walk into the kitchen and grab an expensive bottle of red wine from the rack.

  “Come on, man. This goat farmer hasn’t seen action for weeks. I’ve been stuck in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere, without a girl in sight.”

  I’d found Ryan’s police badge on the floor beside my bed after the last time we’d picked up. The crazy redhead. When he came to pick it up, I finally got the truth about what he does for a living. He admitted he’s no goat farmer—as if I thought that was the truth anyway. He’s told me he’s a cop, but that was all I got out of him. I still give him shit about it, and he continues to refer to himself as the farmer.

  “I’m sure you can manage on your own, buddy. I’ve kinda got a thing going with a girl.” If she doesn’t string me up alive tonight.

  He chuckles. Fucker. “Well I’ll be danged. Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. This one is something special.”

  “No sharing?” he asks. My jaw tenses at the thought.

  “No, mate. Definitely no sharing.” I’m prepared to throat punch anyone that looks at her sideways.

  He laughs. “Well, you enjoy this thing you’ve got goin’ on. I prefer to be the only cock in the room anyways.”

  “Ha, yeah. I’ll catch you later.”

  “Yeah, man.”

  ****

  Arriving at April’s apartment building, I take her stairs two by two to her level. When I reach her door, I breath in deeply and tap a tune with my knuckles on the solid wood.

  A moment later the door swings open. April is wearing skinny jeans and a tank top. Casual, yet sexy. Very sexy. Man, am I glad to see her. But she’s not smiling. April grips the door with one hand, the other is placed firmly on her hip.

  “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the manwhore of motocross. Please, do come in.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  * SPENCER *

  I’m standing frozen in her doorway and my mouth won’t work. Might have something to do with the fact my jaw is now making friends with my shoes.

  I know I’ve got a reputation, but no one has ever had the guts to say it to my face. Not like that. April just about smothered me with the words, leaving me numb, but more than that, ashamed.

  Of all the people to throw it at me why did it have to be her? Should I just leave? Is she going to rip me to shreds? Are we over before we even really got started?

  Fuck.

  “Get your pretty boy arse in here, Spencer,” she says, her lips moving from a scowl to curl ever so slightly.

  I slowly enter, trying not to make any sudden movement.

  I wanna know who the fuck said something. Was it Aidan? Billy? If that little shit Billy dared to spill any of the details he regularly pumps me for, I’ll kill him. No question .I know he doesn’t get much action, and living vicariously through me is sometimes the closest he gets. Did Billy spill so he’d look like fucking Prince Charming next to me? So he could take a shot? I don’t fucking think so. April is mine.

  “Aren’t you even going to say hello?” she asks. The door closes and she stands with her hands on her hips.

  “Hey,” I manage.

  I move closer and link my arms around her waist and kiss her softly on the lips. Her stiff stance relaxes, but not as much as I’d like. I lean into her ear. “Am I gonna need some sort of protection?” Maybe one of those padded suits the police use when training their dogs?

  “I’m not sure yet,” she says, leaning back and taking my face in her hands. “Depends how good you are at talking, and if I like what you say.”

  “Fair call.”

  “Come on, I made burritos. Let’s eat.”

  There’s hope yet. She hasn’t kicked my arse. Or maybe she’s just decided to feed me first. I might not put up the same fight on a full stomach. Especially if there’s a dose of chilli involved.

  I let out a long breath through my nose, and wipe my hand across my forehead. Damn. She’s literally making me sweat. I follow her into the kitchen.

  “And then my little manwhore is gonna do some talking,” she says with a nod. Half a grin tickles at her soft lips, lips I wanna ravish until the early hours of tomorrow.

  A low chuckle escapes my mouth. At least she’s talking about me like I’m hers.

  “Okay. Whatever you say.”

  ****

  We barely say a word to each other over dinner, but it looks like we’re just as hungry as each other. I give April the occasional soft smile. I just wish I knew what was going through her head. Some clue.

  “What are you thinking, April?”

  “A fair bit.” She rubs her hands on a napkin and sits back in her chair. Her scrutinising gaze has me pinned to my seat. It’s like I’m a puzzle she’s trying to solve. “If you want us to work, you’ve gotta spill. And I mean spill. The you’re-not-done-talking-until-you-fall-asleep-from-exhaustion kinda spill.”

  “Okay. Let’s talk.”

  ****

  I pass April a glass of wine, and sit back into the lounge and take a sip from my glass. That bottle isn’t gonna be enough. I can tell this is going to be a long night.

  “You didn’t even tell me you could ride a bike, for God’s sake,” April says, wriggling her painted toes under my leg.

  I’ve got to get my arse into gear. She’s right, I’ve gotta spill, because I want this to work.

  “I know. I’m sorry. I wanted to. I just held onto it … longer than I should have.”

  “You always asked things of me, listened to me, but never volunteered anything about yourself unless I specifically asked.”

  “I wanted to get to know you.”

  “What are you afraid of, Spencer?”

  Many things. Losing you, top of my list. If I’m complet
ely honest with her, will she want to have anything to do with me? I can’t lie to April; I don’t want to. I want to be honest with someone, and share things. I no longer want to be alone.

  I take in a deep breath.

  “That people won’t see me. See Spencer. For so long, girls have just seen me as Jones, the motocross rider. An image¸ not a person.”

  “Take some responsibility, Spencer. You’re in charge of what people see. You just need to be more discerning with which ones you let in. If people saw the worst in you, you let them.”

  Ouch.

  “Fair call, but I guess it was easier to go with it.”

  We sit in silence while I mentally beat the shit out of myself. She’s right. I took the easy way out. Why the fuck did I?

  “I had a nice dinner with Aidan and his family last night,” April says, changing topic.

  “Cute boys, huh? Eevie brought them around after you left the track yesterday.” I’d chased one of them, Grady, I think, and he’d giggled like crazy when I caught him and tickled him. It was kinda cool.

  “Yeah. They are.”

  “Do you want kids?” I ask, wondering if I’m ready for the answer. I’d never, ever asked a girl that.

  “Of course, one day.” She shrugs. “You?”

  “Yeah. One day.” My mother regularly reminds me that time is ticking away, but I keep brushing it off, thinking that day is a long way off. Getting married and having kids seems like it happens in some faraway place, and that’s not the direction I’m headed. Still, years just happen to fly by, and twenty-eight wasn’t that far away. Fuck. I hate getting old.

  “And this whole ‘manwhore’ business—I wasn’t entirely shocked that you get your fair share of action, but what I’m worried about is how people see the way you treat women.”