THE MAN WITH ALL THE HONEY: Sweet & Dirty BBW Romance #3

by Cathryn Cade

  They trooped into Keys' TV room, a room taken up with black leather sectional sofa with ottomans, bright cushions and throws, and a huge wide-screen TV.

  Kit grabbed the remote, and soon the screen filled with a handsome, muscular, blonde man in a cape and a snug, Lycra suit, wielding his deep, smooth voice along with a huge hammer.

  "Thor," Sara and Lindi sighed happily.

  "Munchies," Kit called. "Be right back."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The next morning

  Sara sat hunched on a stool, chin in her hands, and her eyes barely open, elbows propped on the cool, smooth granite of Kit, Keys' and Remi's kitchen island. Kit and Lindi sat on either side of her, equally silent, while Remi moved around on the other side, between the coffee-pot and the stove.

  "Caffeine, ladies," he said, and set a steaming mug before all three of them with a flourish.

  Sara winced as her stomach did a slow roll. She picked up her cup—in both hands to be safe, and sipped. Hot, strong and black, the coffee slipped over her tongue and down her throat. When it settled there without protest, she took another drink.

  "Creamer," Remi offered. "And sweetener."

  Kit mumbled something. Sara shook her head.

  "I'm thinkin' plain toast for you three," he said, his eyes twinkling. "Sits easier on the belly after all that wine and shit you three consumed during your Thor-a-thon."

  Sara shuddered at the mere mention of wine. She did not care if she saw another bottle of the stuff for a very, very long time. As in, maybe until she was fifty.

  Booted footsteps thudded behind them. Keys moved into sight. The handsome biker braced his hands on the end of the island and smiled at the three of them. "I don't remember when I've seen three beauty queens laid this low," he said. "Remi, you get any pictures? Make great blackmail bait."

  Kit growled without raising her head from her hand, and both her lovers chuckled. Keys bent and pressed a kiss to her tumbled auburn curls. "You'll feel better after a shower, Red. And then you should all go into town, get your nails done and shit. Gotta get gorgeous for tonight. It's 4th of July—gotta celebrate livin' free."

  Sara paid no attention. Her friends might have plans, but she did not, unless it included her bed, antacids and painkillers.

  It was Lindi's turn to moan. "Oh, damn. I wish I'd remembered tonight's the 4th when I was having those last three glasses of wine. I'll never make it."

  "You will," Remi said. "Here, have some toast. Made with just a little butter and extra salt, to settle your bellies. It works."

  To Sara's surprise, he was right. After a cup of coffee and the toast, she felt much better.

  And, after a shower and change of clothes—a blue checked sun-dress, fresh panties and flowered canvas flats borrowed from Kit, because they wore nearly the same shoe size—Sara felt good enough to walk with her friends down to the BeeHive for lunch, which Remi and Carla had opened. The little cafe was full of patrons, many in patriotic tee shirts and red-white-and-blue ensembles. Some were bicycling along the lake-side path, some were fresh from the downtown parade.

  Lindi made the three of them ham sandwiches and a scoop of potato salad, with extra pickles for Kit, and a frosty Coke for each of them. After eating and draining her soda, Sara felt even better. "Although I'm not drinking again until Christmas," she announced. Her friends nodded their agreement.

  That afternoon they painted each others’ nails, napped on lounge chairs on Kit's porch, and then looked at home decor and hairdo ideas on Pinterest. This naturally segued into looking at photos of their favorite actors and from there to anonymous beefcake that caused a great deal of giggling and snorting at each other's tastes in men.

  "Here's one for Sara," Kit teased, clicking on a baby-faced actor.

  "Euww," Sara protested. "No. I like a man with some mileage on him, thanks very much."

  "Like these?" Lindi asked, clicking over to a display of men in their thirties and forties in various casual poses.

  "That one." Sara indicated a lean, bearded guy gazing at the camera with a twinkle in his eyes. "He looks intelligent, serious, but like he has a sense of humor. And he looks ... strong."

  "Strong is good," Lindi agreed, smiling softly.

  "And so is smart, and a sense of humor," Kit agreed.

  As if signaled, Jack chose this moment to walk in the front door, followed by Keys, who was wiping his hands on a shop cloth, a bandanna around his head. "You girls about ready to get all fixed up?" Jack asked.

  "Ready for what?" Sara asked no one in particular.

  Jack looked to her, his gaze soft. "Hey, Sara. Sorry I didn't get to talk to you yesterday, honey. Heard your news. Bad deal, but you ask me, a smart woman like you is better off outta that place. Buncha tight-asses like Bartlett and his crew obviously don't appreciate good people."

  "Um ... thanks," Sara said, unsure how to feel about his frank words.

  Keys gave her a gentle smile. "You'll find somethin' better, gorgeous. Just gotta figure out what feeds your soul."

  "I was kinda hoping for something that will feed me, and my car’s gas tank," she muttered. Both men chuckled, and she had to smile back. They managed to be sweet and macho.

  "You can have both," Kit said, lifting her hands. "Just look at me. I'm a book-keeper now, and I barely finished high school."

  "'Cause you're smart as a whip, diploma or not." Keys moved behind the ottoman to grasp the rehead’s shoulders and pull her back against him. He leaned down and kissed her, upside down. "Now get your smart, pretty ass upstairs and get ready, yeah?"

  "Ready for what?" Sara asked again, this time a tad impatiently.

  Her friends all looked at her, Kit wrinkling her nose, Lindi biting her lip.

  "Ready to party," Jack said. "Big 4th of July barbecue at the Flyers' clubhouse. We're all goin' and you're with us."

  Having handled the announcement, he accepted a cold beer from Keys, and the two men moved off toward the TV room. Sara looked from Lindi to Kit, hoping they would laugh and say Jack had only been joking.

  Instead, Lindi gave her an apologetic shrug, and a wince. “It’ll be ... fun?”

  "It will," Kit added quickly. “Also, I wanna introduce you to Rocker.”

  "Ohhh, no," Sara said, waving her off with an upraised finger. "Thanks, but no thanks. The last thing I need is—"

  As both her friends' eyes fastened on her, Lindi's widening and Kit's narrowing in warning, Sara swallowed the words she'd been about to say, although they were true.

  The last thing she needed was a dirty-talking, hard-partying, alpha biker thinking he was the boss of her. Not to mention she could never introduce a man like that to her mother, or her oldest brother. Her youngest brother would no doubt love him.

  Realizing she was worrying about a guy who did not—and would not—exist, Sara rolled her eyes at herself. Sheesh, not like she would ever hook up with a biker, even if she did kind of love her friends’ three men. They treated Lindi and Kit like gold—in between bossing them.

  Kit's eyes narrowed in displeasure. "The last thing you need is to stay home alone and think."

  "Or feel sorry for yourself," Lindi added. "'Cause I know that's what I'd do in your shoes."

  Kit nodded, her auburn curls bouncing.

  "Just come with us," Lindi went on. "And if you're worried about any of the guys hitting on you hot and heavy, don't. Jack will look out for you."

  "And so will Keys and Remi," Kit added. She grinned. "Not to mention me. I may not be as tough as the guys, but I'm hella sneaky."

  Lindi turned a horrified look on the redhead sitting next to her. "Do not start anything at this barbecue, Kit Weeks! We don't want another jello-cream salad fight."

  Kit laughed. "Why not? It was hilarious! Well, at least, it's funny now—at the time, I was too freaked out to laugh."

  She flinched, and Lindi gave her a dirty look, both of which meant Lindi had pinched. Older sisters had nasty habits like that. Sara should know, she’d pinched her pesk
y younger brothers a time or two.

  "Okay, fine," Kit rephrased. "But it wasn't that bad. Just another biker party. The sheriff never even came."

  Sara snorted. "That's your yardstick for a peaceful evening at the Flyers' club house—no one had to call the sheriff?"

  Kit wrinkled her nose. "Pretty much, yeah."

  Lindi tipped her head to one side, giving Sara a pleading look. "Please come, Sara. Who knows, maybe you'll want a few of the guys to hit on you. Rocker's a hottie. T-Bear parties there when he has someone to fill in at his bar—he's a big, gentle ginger."

  "And Stick," Kit added. "The pres is sex on a big, Russian stick." She snickered. "See what I did there?"

  Lindi smacked her arm. "Not Joystick! Geez, Kit. We don't want her anywhere near that man. He's a big, Russian iceberg, and he chews up women like—like they’re the Titanic."

  "Ow," Kit complained, moving out of the blonde's reach. "He is too sexy. Just ask all the women who hang around the club hoping to get a piece of him."

  "Whoa." Sara threw up her hands, palms out. "That right there? A hard limit for me. I don't want a man-slut who's with a different woman every weekend. Thanks, but no thanks. And anyway, what kind of a nickname is that—Joystick?"

  Kit snickered. Lindi leaned in, her eyes twinkling. "It's because they're the Devil's Flyers. The club founders were Vietnam air force guys. And pilots used to—I don't know if they still do—steer fighter jets with a big stick-style throttle, also known as a ..."

  "A joystick." Sara rolled her eyes. "Should've known. Guys cannot resist the chance to brag about their equipment."

  "But you'll come to the party, right?" Lindi asked. "I want to see your Gran's place, and it's near the club, isn't it? We can go by on our way to the party."

  "Not really on the way," Sara said, frowning as she tried to think. "One of the roads in to Gran's place passes their compound, but it's across a big field—thank God. And anyway, her little house is a mess. I've been sorting, so every square inch is strewn with boxes, bags and stuff. Gran wasn't exactly into fashion, in clothing or home furnishings. It's going to take me several trips to a local thrift store to get rid of everything."

  "No cool vintage clothing?" Kit asked, looking disappointed.

  "Sorry, not unless you're into polyester stretch. The woman hadn't shopped since 1980-something. And then it was the granny department at Sears."

  "Darn. Oh, well, let us know if you need help. The guys will come and haul heavy stuff for you."

  Lindi nodded. "Sure, Jack, too."

  "Thanks," Sara said, giving them both a smile. "I'll keep you posted."

  "Meanwhile, par-tay!" Kit bounced in her chair, her hands up. "And dress sexy!"

  "Um ..." Sara's face heated. "Sorry, but you know I don't really—"

  "Yeah, yeah." Kit rolled her eyes. "Your mother raised you to be a lady. But guess what? You're not working for a stuffy lawyer anymore, girlfriend. It's time to shake it up."

  "I'll pass on that."

  Kit's green eyes narrowed, and a smirk twisted up her soft mouth. "Dare ya. In fact, I double dare ya."

  Lindi's eyes widened, and she gave Sara an 'eek!' look.

  Kit clucked like a chicken.

  "What are we, in middle school again?" Sara scowled as she rose to her feet. "Okay," she agreed. "I'll take your dare, biker chick, but I'm not—absolutely not—dressing skanky!"

  CHAPTER SIX

  That evening, in Airway Heights, Washington

  Which, of course, was how Sara found herself stepping down from the back seat of Jack's SUV in the parking lot of the Flyer's club house an hour and a half later, yanking at her extremely short, black skirt.

  "Never say never," she muttered, tugging at the skirt again. It was one of Lindi's, as was the cute black and white top, a clingy knit with wide straps creating a cleavage-skimming neckline in front, and crossing in back to reveal bits of her black bra, which luckily was one of her nicest. She wore Kit's black, strappy platform sandals. Her hair hung loose around her bare shoulders, along with a pair of Kit's dangling gold earrings.

  Her ensemble might not be truly skanky, but she was sure as heck teetering on the line. Lindi was a few inches shorter, so the skirt revealed more thigh on Sara, and as for the top ... it resembled her bathing suit more than any of her own summer tops.

  Giving up on hiding more skin, Sara surveyed the wide parking lot, nearly full of gleaming motorcycles, jacked-up pickup trucks and other vehicles ranging from sports cars to a shiny, black, 70's muscle car in one corner of the lot.

  The sun hung low in the western sky, and the heat of the day baked up from the parking lot, which was surrounded by a high-chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Made her wonder who the bikers were keeping out—or what they were protecting.

  Sara had asked on the drive over, because heck, everyone knew MCs dabbled in lawless activities and she didn’t want to get caught in a police sting or some incredibly embarrasing event like that. Kit had opened her mouth to answer, but Keys had given them both a look and changed the subject, asking Sara about her new car. He’d done it in a nice way, his voice gentle, but his intent was clear—no more questions about Flyers’ business.

  Now the throaty rumble of approaching Harleys drifted on the evening air, along with the babel of voices and laughter, the occasional shriek of a child. Over the scents of curing hay in the field behind them, Sara smelled vehicle exhaust, cigar smoke, and the enticing smoke of barbecue. Also, if she was not very mistaken, a strong whiff of marijuana. A small group of bikers and women stood a few vehicles over, smoke drifting over their heads.

  “I keep forgetting that’s legal over here in Washington,” Sara said.

  Keys chuckled. “You’ll see plenty of it around here. It’s all good, relaxes these hardasses. Whiskey’ll make a man feisty, but weed just makes him laidback.”

  “You wanna try it?” Remi teased.

  “Uh, no,” Sara said quickly. She guessed it wasn’t any worse than alcohol, but it had never appealed to her.

  Kit made a face. “It just gives me the munchies. I’d rather have a drink.”

  "Drinkin' and eatin' is why we're here," Jack agreed, pulling Lindi close. "Plenty of alcohol—although not the kind with fruit in it, sorry. I know you girls like that."

  "Yup, we're all set as long as we like beer, tequila and whiskey," Lindi agreed, giving him a wry look. "Because the bartenders here don’t do ‘foo-foo shit’."

  Lindi was rocking biker chic in a short denim skirt and a little red top, her honey blonde curls fluffed up and out, complicated silver earrings flashing nearly to her shoulders, with red platform sandals on her feet. Jack wore a blue, beer-logo tee and jeans, and his black leather cut with the Devil's Flyers' insignia on the back.

  "And barbecue," Kit added, inhaling deeply. "Webb has ribs on the smoker, I can tell—yum!"

  Kit had put her unique stamp on her own ensemble, in a short, purple-flowered sundress and black earrings, her red curls wild and free. With this she wore a pair of black cowgirl boots with vari-colored roses stitched on the soft leather.

  Jack hooked his arm around Lindi's neck and started walking. "Yeah, and let's go get a drink now, 'cause Pete Vanko's bringing kegs of his summer brew from The Hangar, and I don't wanna miss out."

  "What's the hangar?" Sara asked. The Spokane Airport was only a few miles away, along with an Air-National Guard base, but as far as she knew, they stored planes in hangars, not beer.

  "The Hangar is the brewpub Stick and his younger bro Pete own a half-mile east of here," Jack told her. "Pete runs the place, so the clubhouse scores some fan-fuckin'-tastic micro-brewed beer."

  "Yeah, and when that's gone tonight, it'll be the cheap brew," Keys agreed, holding out his hand to Kit, who took it with a smile.

  "Like most of the guys care what they're drinking or smoking after they've had a few shots," she said.

  He shrugged. "Can't argue with that. But I do care, so move it, Red." He wore his cut over a snug,
white, Henley tee, and jeans so faded they were nearly as silver as his braid.

  Remi, the only one of the three men who didn't wear a cut over his black button-up shirt and jeans, crooked his arm for Sara, and grinned at her. "Walk you in? It'll add to my cred to be seen with a gorgeous blonde."

  Kit smiled at them over her shoulder. "You two are pretty flash together, all opposites."

  Keys gave them an appreciative look as well. "True that. Light and dark, playing off each other, both long-legged, both hot."

  Remi chuckled, and Sara wanted to fan herself. She still wasn't entirely used to Kit's romantic triad, but there was no doubting the sizzle between them. Remi was handsome, with his raven hair and flashing smile.

  They wound their way through the vehicles to the open front doors of the low building. “What was this place?”

  "Used to be a carpet-and-flooring warehouse and sales center," Remi told Sara. "Business went under in the 90's."

  No wonder the long, low, one-story building had a paved parking lot in front. The plate glass from the showroom still made up the front doors and huge windows beside them, but now it was reinforced with steel bars, and shutters that looked as if they could withstand a military attack if need be.

  A big, old airplane propeller had been mounted over the front doors, and some joker had hung a lacy red thong from one end, a blue bra from the other.

  "Nice," Sara muttered.

  "Hey, that's patriotic," Jack said. "Any of you ladies wearin' any white lace scanties we could add, for the red, white and blue?"

  "Jack." Lindi smacked his arm. Then she gave him a naughty grin. "You know very well my undies are black lace."

  He laughed. "That's my bad girl. I’ll be checkin’ those out later, you can bet on that."

  "It'll be fine," Remi said to Sara, pausing inside the open doors. The voices grew louder, and smoke from cigarettes and cigars drifted from inside, but at least the marijuana seemed to be confined to outdoor use. "Family time for a while, so things won't get too wild till—"