by Drew Elyse
“And you think I need his money?”
“That’s not what I’m saying, babe. I think you’re a fuck of a lot better off anywhere that’s away from him, and I think you know it. Still, that’s a life I can’t give you. It’s not in the cards. Wouldn’t be unreasonable for you to want it now that you’ve had it.”
“But you were pissed when you accused me of staying with him because of his money.” I could feel my temper rising. Why were we going around in circles?
“And I’d be pissed if you tried to go back for it. Never said I wouldn’t, and don’t think for a minute that’s not the truth. I’m not letting you go, and if you try to leave me for some other fuck, I’ll lose my damn mind.”
“I don’t understand.”
He rolled over me, pinning me to the bed. “I hated wanting you while you stayed with him. It made me fucking crazy. Might take a while for me to let that shit go. You gotta deal with that, babe. I’ll get over it.”
I wasn’t sure I liked that answer, but I could not fault him for his honesty. It was my own fault. I’d been unwilling to face the reality of my life with Nathaniel, but I’d also selfishly held onto Gauge all the same. I had made my bed, and I was lying in it.
“This…us…it isn’t going to be easy, is it?” I voiced the thought aloud.
“Not by a long shot,” he answered, though neither of us needed it.
Nothing about what we were doing was going to be easy. We just had to see if it was worth the fight.
“Hey, Gauge. It’s Stacey. I’ve called a few times. I really need to talk to you. Please call me back.”
I listened to and then deleted another voicemail from Stacey. She’d started texting, then came the calls. This had to be the tenth message—or more—she’d left. I’d deleted every one. Why the hell she was contacting me, I had no clue, but I didn’t need that shit. Part of me felt a bit like shit that she’d lost her job at the garage over what went down, but that was mostly because she started throwing attitude. I probably shouldn’t have tapped that drunk, sure. Still, like I’d told her, she knew how shit went down with the club. She made that decision herself. I never made her any promises.
The next voicemail started. “Hi, honey,” Mom’s voice came through the line, “just wanted to check in. My car’s making a funny noise. Can you come by and take a look at it when you get back in town? Thanks, sweets. Give me a call when you can. Love you.”
Shit, couldn’t have Mom’s car going haywire. I’d have to get over there tomorrow. Maybe I’d bring Cami along and make Mom’s day. Of course, that depended on whether meeting my mom was going to be the sort of thing that set Cami off on one of her neurotic freak-outs. She might think it was too soon. I had no idea what too soon was. I hadn’t dated a girl since high school—if you count what Mandy Jenkins and I did as dating—so I had no idea when the “meet the parents” deal was supposed to happen. It didn’t help that I’d known her dad longer than I’d known her. She’d never have to be the one to propose an awkward meeting.
Speaking of Tank, he and the rest of the boys would be back within the hour, which meant there was probably going to be a reasonable amount of awkward around the clubhouse for a while. Sure, I’d gotten the man’s permission to go after his girl, but approving the concept and seeing the result weren’t exactly the same thing.
“Hey, baby. What are you doing?”
Speak of the devil. Cami strode into the main area of the clubhouse in a pair of tiny cut-off shorts and the Disciples’ Supporter tank she’d been wearing when I got back from Sturgis. Damn, she looked fucking good. So good, I wanted to drag her back into my room, strip everything but that tank top off, and take her. She moved to sit next to me on the couch, but I reached out and grabbed her hips to settle her onto my lap.
“Love this shirt, babe. We’ll have to get you some more,” I told her.
She leaned in and pressed a kiss to my lips while I stroked her exposed thighs. “Glad you like it,” she said, but I muffled the end of it when I chased after her sweet lips.
“You two oughta knock that shit off before Tank gets back,” Daz warned as he sat on one of the nearby couches.
I flipped him my middle finger, trying to hold Cami still as she pulled away. “You aren’t going anywhere,” I growled. Then, I looked around her. “As for you, asshole, she’s my old lady. I can do as I fuckin’ want.”
“All you fuckers with your old ladies. Why shackle yourself when there’s so much sweet pussy out there?” Daz kicked back and grinned like he was imagining some of that pussy getting busy with him right there.
“I’ll ignore the inherent insult in that,” Cami sassed.
“No insult meant, Cam,” he shot back. “I’d gladly see how sweet you are, but I ain’t gonna keep sampling the same dish when there’s a whole buffet in front of me.”
I grabbed the nearest non-fragile item—a pillow from the end of the couch—and chucked it at him. “You talk about my woman’s pussy again, I’ll fuckin’ make you wish you were back in lockup.”
“And that,” Daz kept right on. “You spend too much time with the same pussy, you start to turn into one.”
I was about to shuffle Cami off my lap and show him just how much of a pussy I was when she spoke. “Hey, Daz?”
“What, babe?”
“When’s the last time you got laid?”
“Cami,” I interjected. I wasn’t liking where this conversation was headed. She shushed me.
“Last night,” he answered.
“Hmm,” she got a look on her face, like she was pondering. “Not bad. Gauge, baby, when’s the last time you got laid?”
I smirked. “You know the answer to that, darlin’.”
“You’re right.” She snapped her fingers like she just realized it, and I suppressed a chuckle. My woman was a goof ball, and it was fucking adorable. “It was this morning. Once when we woke up, and then again in the shower. Not to mention, everything last night. Wow. So, since the last time Daz got laid, we’ve probably had sex…what? Four, maybe five times?”
Daz laughed and shook his head. “Your woman’s a fucking smart ass.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Cami feigned being affronted. “I was simply trying to consider the validity of Daz’s argument,” she snapped.
“Were you on the debate team in high school?” I asked.
“No,” she stated emphatically, then backtracked, “not for long, anyway.”
“Oh?”
“I might have been asked to quit because of my ‘over-competitiveness’, ‘short temper’, and ‘inability to allow others to finish their arguments’. I mean, excuse me for not wanting to lose because Jerry Simmons’ talking points were always terrible and unsubstantiated. There was a reason he didn’t get into law school.”
Daz and I laughed before he said, “Don’t worry, you can start any spirited debate you want. I’ve got another we can tackle. Anal or vagin—”
“Alright, brother, you’re fuckin’ done,” I cut him off.
“Buzzkill,” he muttered, getting to his feet. “That’s alright. I’m going to find one of the girls and get her to make me a sandwich.”
“Seriously?” Cami called at his retreating back.
“Hey, I’m all about feminism. Especially a woman’s right to choose whatever lifestyle she wants. Particularly if that lifestyle involves her making me a fucking sandwich,” he shot back as he left.
“So you know,” Cami started, but I jumped in.
“You aren’t going to make me a sandwich on command?”
“Nope. I cook. I’ll make you pancakes, cupcakes—”
“Anything that’s not a cake?”
She gave me a glare. “I can cook most things relatively well. But if you want a sandwich, I think you’re solidly capable of that on your own.”
“Guess I’ll be cutting sandwiches out of my diet.”
She rolled her eyes. “Asshole.”
“What about trading sandwiches for sexual f
avors?” I suggested.
She looked at me with one brow raised. “You think you are so gifted in bed I would do menial tasks for you just to be on the receiving end of your impeccable skills?”
I shrugged. “It’s worked before.”
Shit. Way to stick my foot in my own mouth. The teasing glint disappeared from her eyes as they turned cold. “Dammit. That was fucking stupid.”
“You think?” She made to get up, but I held her tighter.
“Wait, darlin’. I’m sorry. We both know I was no saint, but throwing that shit out like that was a fuckin’ bonehead move.” She looked at me, surprise on her face. “What?” I asked when she didn’t speak.
“Did you actually just apologize?”
Alright, maybe that was kind of surprising. “Yeah.”
“I didn’t think big, bad bikers were capable of apologizing,” she said. I wasn’t entirely sure whether she was teasing me or not.
“Might be a dick, babe, but I can admit when I fuck up.”
“You didn’t apologize the other day.”
“When?”
“When you got upset about me going to the mall.”
“I won’t apologize if I don’t mean it. I might have gone a little far the other day, but I was serious about being pissed over that. Won’t get an apology for voicing my opinion or telling you when you piss me off. Don’t hold your breath for that. If I actually do something uncalled for, I’m man enough to own up to that shit.”
While I was speaking, she looked like she might protest my statement, but by the time I was done, she looked placated. “Okay,” she said.
“And, for what it’s worth, I won’t expect you to apologize for shit if you get fired up. You fuck up and don’t own it, we’ll have problems. We get in a fight because we’re both stubborn and get pissed easy, I don’t expect you to offer up apologies to fix it.”
“Fair enough.”
Not long later, the rolling thunder of engines carried in from outside. Slowly, the guys, looking haggard and road-worn, made their way inside. Some stopped to greet us while others immediately went back to their rooms to crash. A few missing faces told me some of the guys had elected to head straight to their own places. Tank came in with Stone. They approached, and Cami stood to offer her dad a hug.
“Pres,” I greeted Stone.
“Gauge,” he answered. Stone tended to be a man of few words and fewer emotions—hence the name, given to him by his unit while he was in the marines—which only made every word he said more powerful. Not many men could intimidate me, but that fucker had freaked me out the first time I saw him. Hell, he still could even though I’d known him for years. He was about my height, but outsized me by at least fifty pounds. He was solid, still rocked the same high-and-tight he had since enlisting even though it was above a thick beard, and had a gnarly scar he never fielded questions about down one side of his face.
“Stone!” Cami exclaimed, turning to him. She actually walked right up to the scary motherfucker and hugged him.
Hell, I wasn’t saying the Pres wasn’t a good guy. He was. Most loyal brother a man could have, which was why he held the position he did. Still, it was kind of shocking to see him embrace my girl and actually smile at her.
“Look who’s back. Tank told me you’d be around, but I wasn’t sure I believed him,” Stone greeted her.
“I’m back,” she answered. Her eyes came over to me and there was a shyness I wasn’t used to from her. “To stay, I hope.”
Fuck if that wasn’t a kick in the teeth. If things between us went south, it was going to be a nightmare. We were dealing with family ties. If I had half a brain in my head, I’d have cut and run already. This was the riskiest thing I’d ever done.
Then, I got a look at that damn smile on her face.
Yeah, I wasn’t going anywhere.
“Deni, you take another step toward those potatoes and I’m carrying you out of here, taking you home, and tying you to the damn bed until the baby comes,” Slick warned as he walked around his wife’s still-slender frame, grabbed the sack of potatoes she had been reaching for, and dropped it into the cart.
“I’m not an invalid!” Deni snapped in return.
Deni was a petite woman who looked more equipped to be scared off by a biker than sparring with one. I wondered if that wasn’t part of what had made Slick fall so hard. She certainly had it all going for her. What she lacked in height, she made up for in a huge personality. She was one of the sweetest woman I had ever known, yet she could dole out a tongue-lashing that could make any of the Disciples cower. A kindergarten teacher by day and biker woman by night, she had both roles locked down. Her long blonde hair, tiny, but curvy, frame, and sweet, innocent face were attention grabbing, to say the least. The full, but cute, baby bump she was sporting only served to make her look sweeter. Putting her next to Slick—six feet of muscle, shaved head, tattoos from his neck to his knuckles, and a face composed of angles sharp enough to look deadly—they seemed like the least compatible match ever, but Deni was a biker babe to the core.
“No, you’re pregnant with my kid,” Slick said as if she needed reminding. Then, he muttered to himself, “Should’ve made you stay home in the first place.”
“I am a month away from my due date, Slick. A month. We were at the doctor two days ago and he said I’m fine.”
I stood to the side while the two had their little lover’s spat in the middle of the produce department. The boys had been back for a couple days and they decided the night before to throw together a barbecue. That meant someone had to hit the store and get all the fixings. That “someone” meant a couple of the old ladies. I had been surprised when I heard Deni was going. By the way Slick had told me about her getting antsy sitting at home, I assumed she was on bed rest. As it turns out, she was still perfectly mobile—even if that mobility was more of a waddle than a walk. The only thing confining her to the house was a big ass biker who was clearly beyond over-protective of his pregnant woman.
As the couple continued to shoot verbal barbs at each other, fighting over who the better judge of Denise’s ability to get around was, I decided to finish off with at least the produce selections. There wasn’t much. After all, we were feeding bikers. A balanced diet rich in greens wasn’t exactly their thing. I did opt to grab a good amount of fruit when I noted how fresh it all looked. The boys would eat fruit salad if it were out.
I grabbed everything I could without taking the cart along and when I returned, the couple seemed to have dissolved into a silent standoff. I dumped the items into the cart and decided it was time to wade in.
“Alright, you two. As much as I’m sure the root vegetables are enjoying this little show, maybe we can hurry this along so we can get back.” The realization that she was carrying out this argument in a grocery store seemed to be all Denise needed to snap out of it. Slick, though, stood his ground like the broody beast of a man he was. “The sooner we get done, the sooner we can get back so she can get off her feet,” I pointed out to him. That did the trick.
“Fine, let’s get this over with,” he grumbled as he took the cart and started walking.
“Note to self,” I whispered to Denise, “no dragging the guys to the grocery store.”