by Casey Hagen
What was she trying to hide with so much ink?
Or—what was she trying to tell?
I wanted to search over her body and study them all. Graze over them with my fingertips, trace them with my tongue. Memorize their taste with my mouth.
I wanted to know what each permanent piece of ink etched into her porcelain skin meant to her. What it said about the woman inside. The girl she’d been before her mother died. The girl she became after. The woman who battled demons on the track and wrangled unruly old men with comfortable affection and humor.
Turning the corner, her back to me now, I swallowed hard.
Worse than the rips on the front of her jeans was the one across the back of her thigh, just a couple inches under the curve of her round ass.
My blood stirred, surging hot and heavy through my veins, burning me up from the inside out as my body reacted to the baggy sweater determined to hang off her shoulder.
With her hair up in a ponytail and bandana, the tattoo stretching over her back and climbing to the base of her neck lay exposed.
Bastard that I was, I took full advantage.
Her flesh just begged for a series of sensual bites.
All of a sudden joking around with Jackson about popping bone didn’t seem so funny.
Blinking away the connection, I searched for a polar vortex to sweep through and knock me down a few degrees. I glanced over and caught sight of Wes Myers, a fixture in this town who knew everybody after spending two decades as an ER nurse at the local hospital. He sat at the table with a couple of boys sporting shitty moods etched over their defiant little baby faces.
My mother’s corner table.
And there it was, the blast of cold to spank my ass before seeping into my bones.
The boys kept stealing glances at the floor, their skeptical faces morphing into rapt interest the longer they stared.
They didn’t look like they were in trouble with the way Wes reclined back in his seat, an unbothered look on his face. If anything, they looked like they wanted to be out there, but something held them back.
“Hey, man, you’re still here, huh?” Jackson nudged my arm with his elbow. “I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised since you spotted Maze,” Jackson said, earning a warning glare from me.
“Don’t read anything into it, Jackson.” The guy looked all too happy to be gloating in the gossip seeping from every corner of Galloway Bay. Just whose side was he on anyway?
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, rocking on his heels and just one step away from a jaunty whistle that might make me throat punch him.
“Does she come in here a lot?” I’m a fucking idiot. Hands down, the dumbest shit on the planet. The guy who couldn’t resist a temptation, or in this case, a stupid challenge.
I’m the guy. The guy who’d lay his tongue on the 9V battery. The dude who’d stick his tongue to the metal flagpole during recess when it was twenty degrees out. The idiot who’d take the dare to grab on to an electric fence because how bad could it be? Oh, and that puddle I stood in while doing it? That just made me more of a badass when I pulled it off.
I’m a drowning man and this asshole sidles on up next to me to help hold my head under water.
“Yeah, but usually the team rotates and she was here just last week. They all volunteer over at the youth center. Actually, they do time at the food pantry and created a mobile library too with the help of Marty’s cousin London who came up for a visit from New York and helped with the logistics.”
“What’s the deal with the boys sitting with Wes?”
“They said skating is for girls.”
Not my problem.
Don’t do it, Bishop. Don’t you fucking do it.
I pushed away from the locker and turned to him. “And you didn’t set them straight?”
“They didn’t seem to care what I had to say. Too bad they weren’t here fifteen minutes earlier.” Jackson glanced at the orange cones he’d put around the edge of the wall I’d crushed. “Maybe half an hour earlier,” he said, barking out a laugh. “You were a bad example fifteen minutes ago.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I’m a bad influence all the time,” I muttered.
“That’s Lana’s parents talking. What do you say? You up to setting the boys straight after the hit you took, old man?”
“Old man? I could kick your ass right now.”
“You could, but unfortunately I know for a fact your sense of honor won’t let you.”
“Half the people in this town want to skin me alive; the other half of you want to pin some sort of saint medal to my chest.” I glanced over at the boys one more time and knew I was screwed. Absolutely fucking screwed.
“That’s a small town for ya.”
“You up for one more round out there? Maybe we can reprogram the little guys.” My legs and lower back ached like a son of a bitch, my own body even trying to tell me this was a shitty idea, but my listening skills were hibernating for the winter apparently.
“Sure, let’s do it.”
The song that had Mayhem’s hips swaying faded away and for the life of me I couldn’t decide if I was relieved about that or not. Didn’t matter, I was going to be seeing her body every time I closed my eyes now.
The beat kicked up and I grasped for the freedom and oblivion on the rink. The lights flashed in time with the remix, a decent blend of hip-hop and funk, and Jackson and I fell into a casual shuffle. Nothing too fancy, just a good dose of speed and a few slick moves of our feet that looked a whole lot more complicated than they actually were, but would entice kids to strap on some wheels.
The best part, all moves these kids could be doing in short order if Mayhem managed to get them all out there at one time.
I took the lead and added a few turns and dance moves, knowing Jackson would follow along and then take the lead himself as we switched off.
Mayhem ushered her crew to the side wall and lifted each of them onto the edge, while the boys scrambled over from their seats, smiles on their faces. Hell, even Wes got some pepper in his ass and joined them.
Three laps in, all the kids had smiles and one of the boys had started tugging on Mayhem’s sweater to snag her attention.
And in another hit to my pride, just like that I was jealous of a kid who hadn’t even reached the double digits.
She nodded down at him and pointed to Jackson and me on the floor before turning back to us, that smile on her face once again, but this time, aimed at me.
I wanted her on the floor with us.
I wanted my hands on her.
Skating had a way of liberating something inside of me. The freedom in the speed, in the movements, the way my heart and soul aligned acted as a balm on my turbulent past. A temporary fix, a sliver of relief for old wounds, and a euphoric moment of absolution prompting me to do something incredibly stupid.
I crooked my finger in her direction from the straightaway across from her.
She turned to Wes, said something that had him nodding, and the minute we turned the corner and headed for her she was ready.
Dangerous territory and still I couldn't muster up a bit of common sense.
She slid between Jackson and I, gliding seamlessly into our rhythm, leaving me in the best and worst position.
Behind her.
Perfect for my hands that itched to touch, absolute nightmare for my voracious eyes and the part of me wanting to satisfy a recent hunger I couldn’t shake.
Backwards, to frontwards, toe jams into snake walks, she followed along, never missing a switch, her arms swinging, her fingers snapping along with the beat, and a goddamned laugh bubbling from her that branded itself inside me.
With an extra push, I launched myself closer and curled my fingers around her hips.
Her fucking hips.
Remembering her fall from the week before, I made sure not to dig my fingertips in and hurt her, but damn the effort it took to resist.
My hands, the treacherous little bastards, memorized her o
n contact. My fingertips flexed until they brushed over her waistband and found warm skin.
I wanted her by her hips. I wanted her pinned to a wall all panting breaths as I devoured her. I wanted my name on an oath from her lips.
Not Priest.
Cain.
Just Cain.
I pulled her back and took her hand. Raising my arm, she ducked under and slid right into the spin.
This.
If we didn’t have to leave this moment, I could stay in this town and just do this for the rest of my days.
Dangerous fucking territory.
I needed to remember what I was. What I’d done. What I cost the people I love.
What I could cost her.
Taking her hand, I propelled us ahead of Jackson and handed her off. I needed the distance. To make sure she didn’t get the wrong idea.
Okay, to make sure I didn’t get the wrong idea.
Jackson touching her grated on my nerves and in the span of a dozen beats, I was snatching her back from my friend, glaring at the fucking knowing grin on his smug face when I did.
Bastard.
We skated off the floor when the song ended. I avoided the table and made my way to the other side where I dropped into a chair and started tugging at my laces. The boys shot over, their avid gazes on my feet.
“That was awesome. I wanna skate like that.” The dark-haired boy peered down at me with fire in his eyes.
The minute he got on skates, he’d never get off them. “Have Jackson get you fitted with some skates and get out there then.”
“I want skates with flames like yours.”
I glanced at the kid full of enthusiasm now, but a stubborn little shit not ten minutes earlier. “You have to earn the flames, my man.”
“Sounds like you little dudes had a change of heart. Why don’t we go take care of that. Ladies, you want to help me show them the ropes back there?” Jackson ushered the boys and girls to the counter, leaving Mayhem and I alone.
Subtle.
I hope Jackson took a wheel in the taint.
Mayhem sat down next to me, her arm brushing mine. “Thank you for that.”
“For what?” I muttered, trying to ignore her heat as it seeped into me just from our proximity alone.
“You know for what. When someone says thank you, you then say, ‘you’re welcome.’”
“Is that right?” I didn’t look at her. Couldn’t look at her. So I focused on her skates. I expected her to be out here in her derby skates, maybe a set of Moxies, not the classic high-top white skates with a low heel.
I yanked off my first skate and wondered about her choice to wear those when there were so many better options out there.
None of my business.
“What’s the deal with the lace?” Tie-dye laces ran up the leather and through the eyelets, but on the right, a faded, frayed green lace that looked like it had snapped a decade or two ago ran alongside the new one.
Her startled gaze met mine before her eyes darted down to her skates. She fidgeted on the seat and tucked them under her.
Like she was hiding.
“It, uh—” Her normally confident voice stumbled. “They were my mother’s.”
“The laces?”
“The skates. The last time she took me skating the lace snapped. I didn’t—couldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away.”
I tugged on my boots, her words squeezing in my chest impossibly tight. Plagued with this feeling that some other force was writing this story between us, and we would be helpless to change the plot, I crammed my toes in so hard, my foot stomped on the floor.
Propping my elbows on my knees, hunched over, her invisible pain so fucking palpable it washed over me and tried to mix with mine. “Your mother’s skates?”
“Yes.” Her voice turned soft, laced with an unexpected sound of longing.
I couldn’t leave her hanging like that alone as much as I wanted to. As much as I needed to get away from her, from whatever this was, or wanted to become. “I get that.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I used to spend a lot of time here as a kid with my mother. At that same table over there.” I glanced over to the corner table, closed my eyes against the slice of pain, and turned back to her again.
“Where is she?” Mayhem swallowed. “Your mother.”
“She died.” I had to get out of here. I didn’t want this heart-to-heart. I didn’t want to give a shit. And I definitely didn’t want to bond over two dead mothers.
I stood, grabbed my skates, and turned away from her without a glance.
“You don’t have to leave.” Her words came out in a rush to my retreating back. Like she was desperate to hold on to something.
Only I was a bad bet and the worst possible anchor in any damn storm.
I stopped but didn’t turn around. “I think I do. It’s not a good idea.”
“I thought you said you weren’t the enemy?” she said quietly, my words coming back to haunt me, like everything else in my past. Just one more reminder why this had to stop now, before it went too far. Before I lost the iron fist on my willpower and gave in to the attraction, immersed myself in her, until it soothed my loneliness or worse.
Until she became someone I couldn’t walk away from.
I turned to look at her one more time over my shoulder then. “And you said we aren’t friends.”
10
Addison, Ellie, Leo, and Noah fell asleep on their way back to Crossroads. Rylee stayed tucked against my side, her eyes wide open as I threaded my fingers through her soft brown hair, enjoying the quiet where I could replay the best moments from our afternoon at Rockabilly’s.
Yeah, that meant the heart-stopping ones too.
Like Priest on that floor.
God, the sight of him on skates, as if he spent more time on wheels than in shoes, sent a bolt of fire lancing through me that had every part of me capable of spine-tingling arousal standing to rapt attention.
And I had questions…so many questions.
Too bad we weren’t friends.
I could kick myself for tossing those words out there.
Actually, I could kick him for remembering them so well and tossing them between us like he’d just framed out a wall…with two-by-sixes instead of two-by-fours.
The boy wasn’t just building any wall. He was building one to withstand a hurricane.
Derby coach didn’t mean skater. It never had. But Priest was a skater through and through. He moved with sleek confidence but fueled with a deep-seated disquiet. Skates with red leather flames streaking along the sides that inspired so much adoration in Noah, told a secret story.
Only pieces remained out of reach…so many pieces.
He didn’t look like a cop.
He didn’t look like a disgraced coach.
He didn’t look like the bad idea he was…at least according to my team.
If being friends with him could ruin our chances with the WRDF, did I really want to be in the WRDF to begin with? Not that this was solely my decision to make. And if I stood my ground, and my team didn’t feel the same—nope, not going there. Even in my head…Not. Going. There.
Hot memories lingered on torturous replay of him skating ahead of Jackson, lean muscular legs in baggy blue jeans, his tank top caught on the edge of his thick black belt so whenever he raised his arms higher or swung them faster, he gave me a glimpse of hard abs. And that smile on his face with the way he bit his lip?
He was way more than a gooey cookie, more than an edible, way more than a snack, he was a whole damn meal.
A captain’s seafood platter piled high with fried haddock, whole-bellied clams, scallops, and shrimp with none of that pesky slaw on the side to take up space on the plate.
No lemon wedge either.
And fries? Fuck fries. He was a straight-out-of-the-sea-that-day, drool-worthy bag of yum fried in fresh oil.
And this bitch was hungry.
Joining him sent shive
rs through me, even now. His hand holding mine, the pads of his rough fingertips barely digging into my skin, making me want them on me harder and more insistent. The confidence in the way he guided me, spun me, trusting me to keep up, but confident just the same that if I couldn’t, he had this.
Was I really that woman? The one who wanted a guy who could take control and did so without asking first.
Yes, yes, apparently, I am.
The brooding man had all but disappeared except for a few glimpses here and there. Like when I caught him watching us from the shadows near the lockers, and later, when his eyes landed on that table in the corner.
His mother’s table.
Every revelation only made me all too aware of how much more there was to learn. A dangerous proposition with my team’s application to the WRDF, with Eve ready to snarl at anyone getting close to me, and with the kind of potential this had to annihilate my heart.
Cozying up to the controversial coach wouldn’t endear me to a good part of the town and these people were all I had. Sure, the sheriff liked him. So did Patti. But my team?
Lukewarm didn’t even loom on the radar.
Rylee wiggled next to me, her eyes wide open as she chewed her lip.
“What’s the matter?” I whispered down to her, giving her a snuggle.
“Nothing,” Rylee said quietly.
I nudged her little chin. “Hmmm, I don’t know about that. When a girl says nothing, it’s almost always something.”
“How would I get to spend time with you if I can’t go to the center anymore?” she asked, her voice small and broken.
I tipped her face up to mine, surprised to see the glistening of tears welling there. “Why wouldn’t you get to go to the center anymore?”
“Well, if it closed down or something.”
“Honey, the center is not going to close down,” I said, squeezing her close.
She glanced away, her voice barely a whisper. “Okay.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“It’s just…well, I heard…”
The tentative beginnings of a confession made me breathless. I swallowed against my suddenly dry throat in an effort to keep my voice strong and reassuring. “What? What did you hear?”