by Geri Glenn
Gunner Monroe clears his throat, causing all eyes, including my own, to turn to him. “All right! Let’s get this fuckin’ show on the road, shall we?” He bangs his fist down onto the table. His eyes lift to meet mine. He’s trying to intimidate me, but I hold his stare. I won’t lie, having Gunner stare you down is not a nice feeling, but he doesn’t scare me. Nothing scares me anymore.
“As you all know, we have been here discussing the fate of our boy Tease.” I sit up a little straighter and glance around the room, noting the glares I’m getting from everyone. “The time has come to decide if this crazy motherfucker deserves to wear our patch or not, so we’re gonna put it to a vote.” My heartbeat picks up. This is it. I’ve been working my ass off for this for over a year. I’m older than most prospects and I haven’t made many friends here, but I have been unfailingly loyal to every one of these cocksuckers. My skin heats with the attention that is focused on me, rage and nervousness churning slowly in my gut.
Ryker lifts his hand from the table. “I vote yeah.” I nod my head at him in thanks and get a nod in return.
“I vote fuck yeah!” Jase.
“No.” The word is growled from the fat fuck sitting next to Jase. Tiny sits at the table, eyes narrowed on me, shoulders squared in defiance. Everyone’s eyes move to his, surprise held on many faces, but I’m not surprised. Tiny’s had it out for me since the day I became a prospect.
Ryker’s fist pounds down on the table. “For fuck’s sake, Tiny! We fuckin’ talked about this already. You fuckin’ agreed!”
“Well, I changed my fuckin’ mind, VP.” His snarl is full of derision and contempt.
Ryker glares at Tiny but stays silent. It is against club laws to influence or sway the votes of any member. It also means I’m out. To be patched in, the vote has to be unanimous. My stomach drops. I’m done. Ever since I met Ryker, this club has been my life. Now what the fuck do I do?
I stand and raise my hands to remove my leather cut bearing the prospect patch. I feel like I’m in a trance, lost in a world that already fucking hates me. I thought I had finally found my place, but I was wrong once again.
Just as I fold up my cut to pass back to the club, a growl rips through the room. Reaper is on his feet, fists clenched at his sides. His face contorts in anger as he hollers out, “This is fuckin’ bullshit! That fucker has done more for this club today, than you have done all fuckin’ year, Tiny. What are you trying to fuckin’ prove?”
“I ain’t tryin’ to prove shit. I just don’t like the crazy prick. He’s always just fuckin’ lurkin’ around the clubhouse and creepin’ me the fuck out.”
I stand frozen, rage attempting to consume me at his words. I hate his words. I want to cave his fucking face in for saying them. But instead, I move my eyes to Gunner, nod my head and place the cut on the stool I was sitting on. I turn and make a step to the door. I need to get the fuck out of here.
“Wait.” Gunner is glaring daggers at Tiny. “Let’s try this again. As we fuckin’ discussed.”
“Yes,” Ryker states, anger consuming his features.
“Yes,” Jase says through gritted teeth.
All eyes are locked on Tiny. He huffs out a breath and rolls his eyes. “Fuck. Whatever. Yes. Give the crazy fucker a patch. It’ll do wonders for our already stellar repu-fucking-tation.”
I continue to glare at him, hate fueling my every breath as the votes continue around the table, ending in a unanimous yes.
Jase lets out a whoop, breaking the tension in the room. “Put that fuckin’ cut back on, brother! You can’t get rid of us that easy!”
I look at him and shake my head. He’s a nut too, just like Laynie. Disappointment takes over when her name enters my mind. I push it aside as I pull my cut back on and accept my new patch from Gunner. I will never have Laynie, but I finally do have a family. A real family that has my back. I watch as Tiny leaves the room while I endure back slaps and handshakes from the rest of the club. I’m going to have to keep an eye on that fucker.
Do I call him? No, I don’t want to seem too desperate. Why do I even want to call him? He was kind of a dick when I first talked to him. Yeah, but then he’d swooped in like a knight in leather armor, whisking me and my poor wounded dog to safety. Well, for the most part, anyway.
This is what happens when you drink wine alone — you talk to yourself. It’s a good thing that I am a fabulous conversationalist then because I drink a lot of wine, and I always do it alone. Reaching over, I absently scratch Dexter’s head. Well, not entirely alone – Dex has proven to be a great drinking buddy.
He lies beside me, curled up on the couch, his head in my lap as I contemplate one of the strangest most exciting encounters that I’ve ever had with a man. He must be hurting because usually he is off on the floor playing with his stuffed rabbit leaving me to drink all alone. I’m not a drunk; I just really like wine – a lot.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore. The thought of never seeing Travis again makes my stomach churn. I need to call him. I need to hear his growly voice. Pressing the round button on the bottom of my iPhone, I instruct Siri to call Travis, praying that he didn’t put his name in as Tease when he set it up.
The phone rings four times before someone answers. “Yeah?” His voice is so gruff and angry sounding. His lack of a proper greeting throws me off-guard.
I can’t contain my giggle. “Yeah? That’s how you answer your phone?”
Silence fills the other end of the line, but I can hear loud music and laughter in the background. “Laynie?” His voice is full of surprise.
“Uh-huh.” Another giggle pours from my throat. I almost roll my own eyes. Since when do I giggle? Must be the booze.
“Are you drunk?”
“Yeppers. Wasted.” Another giggle erupts, and I slap a hand over my mouth to contain it.
“Where are you?” he demands.
“At home. Me and Dexter are cuddled up on the couch, drinking a few bottles of wine.” I pause, going back over my words. “Well, Dexter’s not drinking wine. I am.”
Amusement fills his voice when he asks, “How is Dexter, anyway?”
I sigh, reaching out to stroke Dex’s fur. The truth is, he’s lucky. It could have been so much worse. “He’s OK. Just needs a couple days of rest.” I swirl the glass in my hand, feeling the liquid sloshing around inside. Almost empty. For courage, I tip it back and down the remains of the glass.
“I nearly killed that fuckin’ kid that hit him.”
Heat floods me at the memory. He’d been so angry. Looking back on it, his protectiveness was a major turn on. “I remember.” Before I can stop the words, I say, “It was kind of hot.” Embarrassment and excitement floods me, my heart pounding in my ears. I can’t believe I just said that out loud. Time to change the subject and grab more wine for courage. I stand and head toward the kitchen.
“Anyway, I was thinking as a thank you, do you maybe want to–“ Suddenly, I step on something soft, causing me to lift my foot quickly and attempt to change course. My body stumbles to the side, and my shin painfully catches the end table beside the couch. Something falls to the floor, landing and shattering just as my body lands amongst the pieces. Pain sears through my shin and the heel of my foot. “Ow! Shit!”
I sit there, in a daze for a moment until I hear Travis’s disembodied voice coming from my phone somewhere off to the left. “Laynie? What the fuck was that?”
All pain forgotten, I scramble around wildly, hands skimming the hard wood flooring back and forth in an attempt to locate my likely shattered iPhone. I can hear the question in his voice, so I call out, “Hello? Travis?” I listen for him to call out to me again and keep searching, but I can’t seem to find it anywhere. “Shit! I dropped the phone.”
Worried that he will get annoyed and hang up, I call out to my savior. “Dexter! Get your drunk ass over here and help Mommy find her phone.” I feel bad asking him to get up on his sore leg and look for it, but Travis is going to hang up before I can ask him to st
op by. I need to get that question out there. I need to see him again.
His tiny voice calls out again. “Laynie?”
I hear Dexter moving around, nose sniffing out my lost phone. “That’s it, baby. Find Mommy’s phone.” His dog tags jingle as he roots around on the floor for another moment, and then he’s in front of me, placing the phone on my outstretched hand. “That’s my good boy. Thank you, baby.”
I quickly pull the phone up to my ear before I notice the slime. “Ugh! Gross! Now there’s slobber all over it.” Wrinkling my nose in disgust, I quickly wipe my slimed phone and hand on my pant leg before lifting it back to my ear once again. “Travis? You there?”
“I’m here.” He sounds amused, and I can’t help but smile.
“Sorry. I dropped my phone.” Realizing he is well aware that I dropped my phone, I giggle again. I’m really showing him what a great catch I am. For just a fraction of a moment, I regret being drunk while I make this call.
“What was that crash?” The background noise on his end dims slightly.
“Just the table.” A hiccup rocks my chest, loud and harsh.
“What broke?”
I look around as if I can see to answer his question. Nope. Still black. “Something on the table?”
“You don’t know what that something was?”
My nose scrunches up in confusion. What’s his problem? “Travis, I’m blind. I’ve got no clue what the hell it was.”
He chuckles softly which is my new favorite sound. I hear murmurs and then laughter from the other end, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. Realizing that he’s likely still dealing with his “work shit”, I feel like an idiot. A drunken idiot that calls a completely sexy sounding man while he’s busy and spends most of the phone call flailing around on the floor, yelling at her dog like a total fucking lunatic. I awkwardly get to my feet and open my mouth to let him get back to his party, but before I can get the words out, pain slices through my foot causing me to cry out loudly. Shit. That fucking hurts.
“Laynie? You OK?” He sounds almost panicked all of the sudden, and I turn my body slightly, flopping back down on the couch, embarrassed.
My cheeks flame as I search my brain for an answer. “Um. Yeah?” Another hiccup sneaks past my lips. I try my best to sound sober and pain free. “I’ll be fine.” I fail even to my own ears. The slurred speech may give me away.
“You don’t sound fine.” He sounds annoyed. What else is new?
“I just stepped on glass or something. I’ll be fine.” Waving my hand dismissively, I attempt to end this disastrous conversation. “Anyways, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to invite you over for dinner tomorrow. Or this week. Or whenever.” God, Laynie. Shut up!
“You bleedin’?”
Confusion causes a frown to crease my forehead. Didn’t he hear my question? “What?”
“Your foot. You bleedin’?”
I shake my head slightly before tilting it down toward my feet. “Uh. Yeah. I think so.” Reaching down, I gently run my fingertips over my throbbing heel. Pain rips through me as I graze a large piece of glass, embedded deep into my flesh. “Ahh! Yep.” I nod my head and take a deep breath, gritting my teeth through the pain. My fingertips come away wet. “Definitely bleeding.”
“Be there in ten.”
I bolt upright in my seat, the pain suddenly forgotten. I don’t want that. I want to see him, but I don’t want him to come over because I’m a drunken mess who tried to slice her foot in half on an unidentified object.
“No! Travis, I’m fine. I’ll just –“
“I said I’ll be there in ten. Sit your ass down, and don’t move.”
And there he was. Coffee Dick. “Travis! Don’t you dare talk to me li –“
“Can’t talk to you and drive my bike, babe.”
My eyes narrow. “Travis – “
“Say what you gotta say in ten minutes. Sit tight.”
The line goes dead before I even get a chance to think about what to say to that. Somewhere between the first and the fourth glass of wine, I’d forgotten what an asshole he can be. I stab at the bottom button on my phone fiercely to activate Siri and direct her to phone Travis.
The phone rings and rings. No voicemail picks up so I continue to let it ring, knowing damn well that he can hear it. I scream out loudly in frustration before turning it off, tossing the phone onto the couch, and slumping back into the cushions with a dramatic sigh.
My foot throbs. I can’t believe that asshole hung up on me! Then I remember what he said at the end. Ten minutes! I can’t look sexy in ten minutes! I’m wearing flannel pajamas, for fuck’s sake! Regardless, he’ll be here no matter what so I better get to work.
Jumping off the couch, I hop on one foot all the way to the bathroom so I can at least fix my hair and put on some lip gloss. It’s not until I am smearing the cherry-flavored goo on my lips that I wonder out loud, “How the hell does he know where I live?”
AFTER FINDING A SPOT to park my bike on the narrow residential street, I rush up to the door of Laynie’s apartment building. Beside it hangs a panel with four buttons, each showing a last name and apartment number. I have no fucking idea what Laynie’s last name is, nor do I know which apartment is hers, but thanks to my new side hobby as a fucking stalker, I do know that this is her building.
“Fuck!” I stab at the first button. No answer. I stab at the second button.
A man’s disembodied voice comes from the speaker. “Hello?”
“I’m looking for Laynie.”
The speaker is silent for a moment before he comes back on. “Who’s this?”
I grit my teeth and answer. “A friend. It’s a fuckin’ emergency!” The thought of Laynie inside hurt and bleeding makes me feel like I’m coming out of my fucking skin. I eyeball the door, looking for the quickest way to break the goddamned lock.
Silence from the speaker causes my chest to feel heavy with tension before it finally comes to life again. “Straight up the stairs and it’s the first door on the right.” The door buzzes, unlatching when I yank on it.
Although I’m thankful that he let me in, anger flows through me as I enter the building, wondering what kind of jackass just lets a complete stranger into the locked building of a beautiful woman and tells them exactly where to find her. That shit is going to be dealt with.
Stepping up to the door, I raise my hand and knock loudly, calling out, “Laynie?”
From inside, I hear a muffled voice, and then the door is pulled open. Rushing inside, I see Laynie sitting on the couch, a glass of wine clutched in her hand.
“You hung up on me!” I ignore her and hurry to the couch, crouching down to check her over for injuries. “That wasn’t very nice, Travis.”
I look up from where I was checking her over, spearing her eyes with my own. They are the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. “I ain’t nice.”
She snorts and rolls her eyes. “I’m learning that.” She lifts her glass and takes a swallow of wine. It’s then I realize that someone else had opened the door. Standing quickly, I whip back around. Dexter stands in front of the closed door, long tongue hanging out as he grins goofily up at me. My eyes move to the door knob, which is actually a handle with a long cloth tied to it.
“Your fucking dog answered the door.”
From her place on the couch, Laynie laughs lightly. “I know. I told him to.”
I turn back to her. “That is very fucking cool.”
She grins her wonky grin causing my heart to thud in my chest. What the fuck is wrong with me? And then I see the blood. All over the hardwood floor is several trails of smeared blood. Squatting back down in front of her, I grab her feet and look for the source of her bleeding. “Fuck, babe. I told you to fuckin’ sit still.”
She shrugs and drains what’s left of her wine before wagging the empty glass at me. “I was thirsty.”
I shake my head and lift her foot to inspect the damage. Hissing through my teeth, I see several small shard
s of glass embedded in the skin, surrounding a large chunk buried deep in her heel. “Fuck. That looks like it hurts.”
I glance up and meet her eyes, my breath catching in my chest. They are so green. It’s like she’s looking right at me, and for a brief moment, I forget that she can’t see. Standing, I scoop her off the couch and start walking toward the hallway.
She squeals and giggles, wiggling as she shouts, “Travis! Put me down! Where are you taking me?”
“You got a first-aid kit in the bathroom?”
She sighs and stops squirming, leaning back into my arms, the wide smile still on her face. “Yes, Father. In the medicine cabinet above the sink.”
Shaking my head, I give her a squeeze and growl. “Don’t be a smartass.”
We enter the bathroom as she shrugs. “It’s who I am. Deal with it.”
Smirking, I place her gently on the counter beside the sink. After locating the first aid kit, I open it up and kneel in front of her, holding her foot up to the light. “Gonna clean this up as best as I can, babe, but you likely need stitches.”
Her lower lip pops out in a childish pout. “No hospital. Just slap a Band-Aid on it, and I’ll be fine.”
I don’t think a fucking Band-Aid is what she needs, but I set to work cleaning it up. Using a pair a tweezers, I carefully remove the tiny pieces of glass embedded in her skin. Every time she cries out, my fucking heart squeezes. I hate that I’m hurting her, but I continue, hands shaking like a goddamned pussy in my attempt to be gentle. When I’m done, her foot is cleaned, disinfected and bandaged. It wasn’t as bad as it had looked at first.
I stand from my crouch, and for the first time, I notice what she’s wearing. A tight green camisole clings to her rounded breasts, her nipples showing slightly through the material. I can’t take my eyes off of them. If I were to lean forward just a few inches, I could pull one of those tight buds between my lips, and fuck me, do I want to. After a few seconds pass, I realize that I’m just standing there like an asshole, staring at her tits while my cock presses harder and harder against my zipper.