by Zoey Parker
Okay, truth: I was finding everything about him sexy. He defined the word.
Once I was in and belted up, he took off, with way more care than I would have expected. I looked at him in surprise when he pulled to a full stop at a stop sign that was completely lacking in convergent traffic. Considering his biker bad-ass looks and disposition, I’d have expected him to roll through the stop, at best. He caught my look.
“What? There’s a baby on board. Safety first. Always.”
Aw. I didn’t think he had it in him. I smirked at him with appreciation.
“So where are we going, then?” I asked, fidgeting with my sleeve.
“My place. It’s not huge, but I got a spare bedroom, so from now until further notice, it’s your place, too. No way do I let a new mama and baby sleep in a car, let alone a shit piece of junk like this. Where’d you even find this boat? It’s scrap metal.”
“It belonged to one of my grand-uncles. He babied this thing. Lucky me, I inherited it when he passed.”
“Grand-uncles? What is that?—No, don’t tell me. Sounds complicated. So he died in, what, 1989?”
I laughed. “Close, but no—more like 2005.”
He nodded. “Sorry for your loss. You do know, though, that you should’ve traded this in, in 2005, too, right?”
“Yeah, I’m aware. It’s just…it never really got high on the priorities list. It still runs. We do all right. And anyway, it’s not for much longer. I’m working on a way to get better sorted.”
It was true, but there were a lot of variables I was really not sure about—some of which may or may not have depended on Jack himself. But there was no way could I make a judgment call on that this very first day we met—so I’m not quite sure my voice rang with confidence when I laid out that claim.
He shook his head again. “Woman, from what you’ve shared so far, you do not do all right. Don’t pretend with me. Straight-up. Do not try to sell me any shit. I will not be buying it.”
And there went the humor from the car. The rest of the ride was silence.
After about a ten minutes’ drive, he pulled up to an adobe house with a Spanish tile roof. It wasn’t huge by any means, and the front yard was mostly red sandstone gravel and rocks divided up by cement drive- and walk-ways.
There were a few hardy bushes and smallish cacti and aloes in front of the house. I wouldn’t have described the place as gorgeously landscaped, but it looked tidy—even kind of cute in its way. It fit well into the neighborhood, which was similarly presentable. Nothing was lush or decked out, just solid and safe. It looked nice. And I hadn’t had nice in what felt like a long, long time.
Jack was waiting patiently for me to gather Peter and his stuff when I asked him to pop the trunk and grab the Moses basket I had found at a thrift store, which he did, then let us all in through the front door. He hadn’t lied—there wasn’t a ton of space, but it was well-laid out, and the living area was filled with a comfortable-looking leather sofa and armchairs. It had the requisite bachelor pad huge flat-screen, assorted surround sound speakers, DVR, and two handfuls of remote controls that would surely take me a good half-hour to figure out.
The room, like the small front hallway and the decently-sized kitchen, was littered with stuff: fast-food detritus, pizza boxes, beer cans and bottles, hard liquor bottles, glassware, socks, T-shirts, and jeans... It was like all of his belongings had been released into the rooms by some insidious interior tornado.
It was the stereotypical bachelor pad complete with nasty odor. I worked hard not to roll my eyes.
He led us back into a short hallway off the living room, which featured four doors. We went to the room farthest to the right. It turned out to be the aforementioned extra bedroom with an under-inflated air mattress, air pump, stackable milk crates with assorted tools and papers stuffed in, random barbells and weights, and a contraption that looked like a vertical half-bench with ankle stabilizers a few feet below.
I eyed it suspiciously. Jack caught my look and narrowed his eyes and said, “What?”
I asked. “That isn’t…?”
Now he was full-on smirking. “What do you think that is? Do you think that’s my crazy sex machine?” He puffed himself up and came in close, angling behind me, and lowered his voice to a gruff whisper. “Does that idea turn you on, Ellie?” He drifted the back of his fingers along the side of my left breast, light as a feather.
I suddenly had trouble breathing, and I had no idea how to respond. Was he serious? Because, yes, that turned me on! But there was no way in hell I’d tell him that. What was happening?
My eyes must have been like saucers in my tomato-colored face. I’m sure it was a fabulous look. But I was glued to the spot; I was totally turned on by his nearness, and the potential of sex that filled the air around us. Still, I needed to answer him, and I wouldn’t allow my body’s response to take over for my brain. “How am I supposed to know what you’re into, Jack? I just met you! So, you’re saying that’s…” I let my sentence hang, allowing him to take this where it would go.
He eyed me speculatively. “No, it’s not, but it has potential, doesn’t it?”
I blushed again, hard. He smirked. Damn the man.
He stepped away. “It’s actually a gravity inversion table. Feels awesome. You should try it. You’ll love it.”
Whew. Well, that sounded a whole lot better than a sex-slave table, or whatever those things are called.
Although, being honest with myself, the idea of any kind of sex with Jack had me getting hot and wet. I’d never tried much kink before, but if that was what he was into, I couldn’t say that I wouldn’t be into trying it with him. Oh lord, I had no control of my thoughts—or my body—around him.
But that was not what I was here for. Jack was being more than kind by sharing his own home and giving me and Petey a place to stay, a place to call our home, for however long we would be here. Jack—difficult as he was—was manna sent from heaven, and I was grateful to my bones.
I was also baby-mama to his brother’s son, and if that didn’t murkify the waters, I didn’t know what else could. Despite the fact that what Keith and I had shared was in no way a romance for the ages. It was a one-off, a night of comfort and convenience. Of letting off steam. Of protection, gratitude, and solidarity. And ultimately, of friendship.
So sex with Jack had to be off the table. That included both this literal inversion table, and the figurative one.
Jack was a no-go zone, sad as that might be. My hormones since getting pregnant were still at ragingly high levels, and I’d been celibate for months and months. So being around Jack was like notching my horn-o-meter up to one thousand percent.
Yeah, I was totally screwed.
Unfortunately, that would not be in the literal sense.
Suddenly, he was snapping his fingers in front of my face. “Yo, babe, you here? You listening?”
Oh jeez. I had completely zoned out into my thoughts. This happened sometimes. I blamed lack of sleep.
I tried to swat his hand away, but he was fast. I ended up looking even more ridiculous. So, naturally, I blushed again.
And again, he noticed. He stepped close enough to dip his head and whisper in my ear, “You gotta pay attention, babe. I get that you want me—hell, I want you, too—but let’s deal with first things first, yeah?”
Damn, he smelled good. And Oh. My. God. Did he…?—He did not just say that. My jaw dropped and I blushed even deeper. By now I was cooked lobster. At the same time, I was desperately memorizing the moment. He just said he wanted me, too. Right? Right? He said that! So maybe…
NO! Terminate operations, Ellie! Gah, this was not supposed to happen. I forced myself to control my face, control my breath, and step away from the hot man.
Thankfully, I had Peter to use as a distractive device. I knew I was a horrible mother. Good mothers don’t use their babies as props. But my sweet little Petey was sleeping—he would never know.
So I turned to where Jack had p
ut the Moses basket on the floor, and single-handedly dug through my shoulder bag for a couple extra small blankets to line it with, before carefully setting Peter inside, snug as a bug. He was breathing normally and his color looked good. Satisfied, I finally turned my attention back to Jack, who had been patiently watching me deal with the baby. When I looked up at Jack’s face, he appeared pensive.
“Okay. I am going to go pick up a phone for you. I’ll bring it back, then I gotta get my ass back to the shop. Don’t plan on leaving the house for most of the day. I want you here when I get home. Don’t mess up my shit, but, uh, make yourself comfortable, and all that. You need anything before I go?”
I shook my head. I had everything I’d need for Peter and myself in the bag or in the car.
“I’m off. Be back with the phone. You got a preference?”
Again, I shook my head. “Just don’t spend a lot of money. I don’t know when I’ll be able to pay you back.”
“Woman, I’m paying for it. I told you that. Open your ears and catch up. This one is on me.”
How did he manage to be so generous and sound so mean at the same time? This man rattled me.
“Okay. Thank you.”
He looked at me a moment, then just said, “Yeah.” And he left.
Ooookaaay.
I took another quick tour of the house, just getting my bearings with bathrooms, closets, and living spaces, then set myself to work. I refused to be a free-loader, so I began with a search for large trash bags and got to work.
About forty minutes later, I was sorting through the laundry, making piles in the living room, when Jack came back with a plastic bag. He looked around bemusedly, as though surprised to see actual furniture and tabletops there, and a corner of his lips tipped back, but he didn’t speak to it. He didn’t even say, “Thanks.” Which kinda ticked me off, but at the same time, he was the one doing me the huge favor, so I gave him a pass for this lack of consideration—this time.
He tossed the phone company bag on top of the laundry pile in front of me and said, “You’re all set. You gotta plug in and charge up the phone first before it’ll work right, so do that now. When I get back later, we’ll hook you up with numbers so you’ll be good to go. For now, I’m at the shop, rest of the day. You got the house phone here. Shop number’s programmed in, just hold down the five. Questions?”
I shook my head, and he was gone again, as quickly as he had come in.
I opened up the bag Jack had tossed down for me and discovered the newest model of the smartphone I had been eyeballing for years. These things cost hundreds of dollars, and Jack had bought it for me like it was nothing. I could feel the tears begin to build up again, but forced them down as a silly, hormonal reaction to his kindness.
After plugging the phone into the wall charger, I went back to the laundry, and the cleaning, and then digging through the kitchen to cook something for dinner. Finding nothing there, I wiped down the counters one last time, then removed myself to my room to check on my boy.
I finally—finally—felt like we would be all right.
Chapter 5
Jack
I got home later than I had planned—six days out on a bender, and it was like the whole world had descended on the shop. Invoices, bills, supply orders. Rinse and repeat.
Grath had taken care of the most urgent crap—again proving his worth as my brother and closest ally in the MC. We were good like that. Grath and I had joined the Iron Bandits MC the same year; pledged together, rookied together. He was an alternative man through and through: huge muscle-y motherfucker with badass written all over him, but he was actually an incredible artist with the ink, and a gay man to boot. At first I hadn’t been sure what to make of him, but the better I got to know him, the more I loved just hanging out with him. He was funny as fuck and loyal to his bones to the brotherhood. We were lucky to have him in our ranks.
The afternoon had basically sucked. Yeah, I’d been busy, but I really didn’t want to be there. I still had a headache from my days and nights with the bottle. I needed more sleep, and I couldn’t stop thinking about Ellie—hot, beautiful Ellie—and Peter, and Keith, and my head was spinning. I couldn’t make sense of any of it. I needed answers, and she was the only one who could provide them.
Realizing that there was likely no food in the house, I ordered a pizza for delivery and picked up some beers before heading home.
When I finally got there, it was like stepping into an alternate universe. I had seen earlier that she was straightening up my mess—which was excellent, as I was likely to wade through the trash for months otherwise. But she had really cleaned. Like, shiny countertops and sinks. Vacuumed carpet and rugs. Even the windows and my bathroom mirrors were missing their smears. And it all smelled fresh, like lemon. I started to feel better immediately. Who knew a clean place could do that?
But the woman in question, the angel of the evening, was nowhere to be found—at least, not in the common areas. A part of me fantasized that she was waiting for me in my bed, and I headed there first, half believing in the mental image of her naked between my sheets.
Of course, she wasn’t there. And I was a dumbass for even hoping that she might be.
I changed my shirt and then made my way over to the door of the second bedroom, knowing she had to be in there with the baby, silent though they were. I knuckled the door lightly, not wanting to wake Peter up, but loudly enough so if Ellie was awake, she’d have some warning I was coming in.
She wasn’t awake. She was curled up on the air mattress on the floor, which she had somehow managed to outfit with sheets and blankets and a pillow, with her baby tucked close in her arms. They were gorgeous together. I’d never been one to appreciate mothers and their babies before, but the sight moved me, somehow. Ellie’s hair was unbound and floated around her head on the pillow, the soft curves of her body phenomenally on display. Her face had lost all lines of stress.
She was amazing. I couldn’t help but stare.
After several moments, her eyes drifted open as if she sensed my presence in the room even in her sleep. It took her a minute, but she managed to get to a sitting position without waking the baby. She tucked him in with the comforter, placing a pillow between him and the edge of the mattress, and struggled a bit to get to her feet from the low ground.
“How long have I been out?” she asked. Like I would know when she fell asleep.
“No idea. I just got back a few minutes ago.”
“Oh, right. Um…” She looked around, a little bit lost. I figured her brain was still in sleep-mush mode. She was really pretty in her confusion. I was enjoying this a bit too much, and figured I had to shut myself down.
“I ordered us a pizza, should be here soon. You want a beer?”
“Yeah, that’d be good, thanks. And some water, too, if you don’t mind.”
“On it.” I left her alone, to follow at her own pace. She obviously needed a few minutes to get fully conscious again.
I got her a glass of filtered water from the sink, pulled two longnecks from the six-pack, and brought them all out to the living room. After the pizza guy came, I set the food on the coffee table and settled myself on one side of the couch.
Ellie came out not long after, her hair once again gathered into that high ’tail, and she wandered to the couch as if still in a daze. When she sat, she looked around as if she had no idea what to do next. I leaned forward, grabbed the water from the coffee table, and handed it to her. She took it two-handed, like a little kid, and guzzled it back as if she’d spent days in the desert.
Which, I realized, she basically had, living in her car in freaking Arizona. Lucky for her, it was only March, and the heat of summer hadn’t hit yet. But what she was doing with Peter was insane. Arizona would cook them up in the summer if they weren’t living in a real domicile with air conditioning. Plus, it was dry as fuck here, and she must have been suffering some level of dehydration.
First things first, I decided. “Eat up. We
can talk after.” She nodded, and we applied ourselves to the food. It didn’t take long—after my day, I nearly inhaled a half of the pie in short time. She only ate half as much, but we were both done and ready for beers within minutes. Then I got down to business.
“How long you been living in that piece of shit pile of junk out there, Ellie?” I asked, trying to keep my anger from boiling over with just the thought of it.
“Not long, really. Just a few days. We’ve been on the road for most of it.”
“On the road. Huh. Coming from where?”
“Oregon. Portland area. I went back up there when…” she drifted off. I gave her a moment, but nothing else came out.
“When…?” I raised my eyebrows at her. The woman had some problems telling a story.