by Emma James
In love?
Brother?
Get married?
Good. Lawd!
Bowie turns his head toward Torque. “Hey, big man, I don’t think, I am. I know I am. What is so hard for everybody to understand?” he says sounding perplexed, which has me wanting to break out in a fit of giggles at the boy’s vow.
I don’t doubt the boy is all talk and will continue to be a gentleman around my daughter—Edge on the other hand might not be as casual as I am.
Evelyn assesses Torque’s overall appearance. “What’s the damage?” She’s bided her time and now there’s no need to beat around the bush.
“Fu—a ruined shirt and probably a grazed back, shoulder, and butt,” he reels off his checklist. “I can clean myself up.”
“I know, but I’m in professional mode, so you’re going to let me take a look at you before we all get in the Hummer, so don’t argue with me, I’ve got a wedding to get to.” Evelyn is in don’t-mess-with-the-doctor mood, raising an eyebrow warning him she’s about to jump straight to I’m-the-boss-don’t argue-with-me.
I watch Torque go to argue about medical attention and then think better of it.
Finally, Boxer arrives holding the back of his head. “Ev, love, I might need a couple of stitches once you’ve seen to Whisper. Back of my head feels like it split like a tomato.” He grimaces, taking his bloody fingers away from the wound, turning around so Evelyn can inspect him.
“You don’t say, darling?” Evelyn kisses Boxer on the cheek. “Hand over the cash.”
He slips a note into her palm, folds her fingers around it then guides her hand to his lips. This is their thing they do. He gets beat up, and she pretends she isn’t upset when he gets hurt.
“I’ll come inside shortly,” I tell them all. “I think I better go talk with Bowie’s mother, first.” I look down at myself, re-checking my dress is intact and clean. Bowie looks clean, considering. “I can assure his mom all is well and that we are going to be running a little late to leave.”
“Ooh, no, you don’t, missy. You’re gonna go inside and get yourself attended to, and I will go talk to Bowie’s mother.” Torque’s tone is all president of a biker club, and from the look on his face he isn’t in the mood for an argument. “The kid needs to be on a leash,” he grumps under his breath as an afterthought.
I won’t press him to get my way, but I worry he will frighten Flora. “Torque, can you be gentle on Bowie’s mother, she’s a wonderful neighbor and a great friend.”
“I’ll do my best. Which house does this kid live in?”
I point to their home.
Torque grabs Bowie’s shoulder and gently steers him toward the house without anymore comment.
Before they get very far, Bowie forcibly halts his steps and looks up at Torque. “The skateboard… um... Mom’s gonna be upset with me. You don’t have to walk me over. It will be better if I go by myself.” Bowie’s trying to shake his chaperone.
“Not a chance, kid. Keep walking.”
“But—?”
“But. Nothing. Kid. I told you, I’ll buy your brother a new skateboard, no harm, no foul. He’s family, he’ll get over it, but you’re gonna have to owe me. I’ll think of something by the time I’m finished talking with your mother.”
What’s with the brother?
“Oh, boy. I really should go over there and assist Bowie with the whole skateboard thing,” I stage-whisper to Evelyn on my right.
“Not gonna happen. Torque can sort it all out with Flora,” Boxer whisper’s back on my left as he guides me with one hand to keep walking in the direction of my front door.
I can only hope Torque uses a little tact with Flora.
My steps slow down. “I really should go help Flora with Torque.” I bite my lip, feeling a little nervous for her.
“Love, keep those legs moving.” Boxer’s reminding me I have a groom waiting, not to mention friends and family and I’m also messing with Juan’s schedule.
“But, Flora has no idea what Torque can be like,” I explain out of Torque’s earshot.
Boxer shrugs. “You keep walking, love. Bowie needs a life lesson, and Torque’s about to dole one out.”
That’s what I’m afraid of.
“Bowie, honey, where are you?” A husky female voice calls out.
“That’s my mom,” the kid groans. “I sorta told her I just wanted to take a few quick selfies out the front with my friends,” he says sheepishly, “and then I told her I would come back when I finished to say goodbye to her.”
I grunt a nonverbal reply because I’m feeling sore and growly at the delay caused by this kid as we move closer toward his two-story, much older home than Whisper’s place.
Because of how big Edge’s property is, I’ve never really paid the home any attention before. Both houses’ front doors aren’t that close together. Looking at it now with renewed interest I observe it could do with a face-lift on the outside, maybe a rendering over the dark brick. The front garden is well-kept, which helps to smooth out the house’s older bones. The views from the back of the house would keep the price tag high.
“Boowiie...” she calls out again. I can just make out the mom’s head over the tidy front garden as she heads toward the front gate. She hasn’t noticed the two of us walking up the sidewalk.
The female hits the boundary of her property and turns onto the sidewalk not looking much older than mid-twenties.
Hoooly hell!
She looks like a model who has stepped out of a shampoo commercial all bright and sunny with long, shiny, golden-blonde, thick hair styled into a braid on one side of her head that flops over one shoulder like a mermaid’s tail.
My heart does a girlie pirouette.
She’s fucking gorgeous.
My current physical appearance should not be a priority as we draw closer, but I know sweaty strands of untamed blond hair stick to my forehead and my formal white shirt has wet perspiration marks bleeding out from my armpits where the shirt meets my gray vest.
My objective is to return what belongs to the owners, adding on free of charge some sage words of advice about their kid’s infatuation and then leave. But, I find myself running a hand through my hair, trying to tame-the-mane because there’s a ray of sunshine that I’ve not had the good fortune to lay eyes on before staring at me with the prettiest blue eyes, before her focus drops to her son who I’m marching toward her with a hand sitting firmly on one shoulder.
A look of raw panic temporarily creases her porcelain skin.
Instead of verbally easing her fears, I get sidetracked zeroing in on her lips, which have drifted slightly apart, involuntarily inviting me to want to take a closer look at the soft, plump pillows.
Jesus! Dennis-the-Menace’s mom is hot!
Her skin is tanned just enough to compliment the bright, yellow cocktail dress which falls to just above her delicate kneecaps. If she twirled in a circle, it would flair out around her, showing off a shapely set of pins in heels. A sunflower comes to mind. I don’t know why exactly, just that it does.
I ease off the growly throttle, making me more receptive to the kid’s mother just as Sunflower schools her previous facial expression into that of a determined lioness ready to go to battle for her cub.
Good girl.
“Flora is her name, if you don’t know already,” Dennis-the-Menace reports under his breath, completely unaware of my adult interest in his mother.
The kid’s got good genes flowing through him. Sunflower’s stunning eyes got cloned onto her kid’s face, and they both have thick blonde hair. He’s gonna be bowling the women over when he gets older—hopefully not on a skateboard.
“Bowie! Oh, my gosh. Are you all right, sweetheart?” She keeps glancing at me with a disapproving look.
“I’m okay, Mom,” the kid says sheepishly, “just on my way back to talk to you.” Oh, we are gonna be talking, kid.
The woman seems satisfied with her son’s answer because then she rolls her baby blues up to my height
as they assess me more thoroughly.
“Excuse me, but could you please let go of my son?” Little Miss Sunflower’s eyes are now shooting laser beams while she continues to berate me. “I don’t think it’s appropriate to be touching my child.” She tips her head back and scowls at me.
I let go of the little menace raising both hands in surrender.
In heels, she’s about half a foot shorter than me. I’m curious to know how far up my body she would stand without shoes.
“You must be one of Edge’s biker friends?” She knows I am, but she still needs confirmation because she’s not expecting the friend to be a disheveled looking male who is fronting up to her place with her kid. Flora can see her son’s not hurt or scared of me, but there are questions she needs answering. Numero Uno: Why am I escorting her son home looking like I am in need of a shower?
“Can I help you with anything?” She kicks a hip out, crossing her toned arms under her breasts, drawing my eyes to their swells.
I stand soaking her up like a hormonal teenager, ignoring the sexy heeled foot that’s now tapping impatiently.
Those shapely legs make me wonder what it would be like to have them clamped tight behind my back while I—
I quickly shut down the inappropriate thoughts that come to mind. Instead, I incline my head in silent confirmation and announce, “Torque, President of the Lion’s Den MC.” Well, for another two weeks, anyway, then I’m stepping down for Viking to take over as club president.
“Oh, you’re the man who’s driving the stretch Hummer today.” And now I’m just a driver.
She doesn’t react to my title like some females do whereby they would then flirt up a storm. Come to think of it; she doesn’t look impressed at all, letting me silently know my biker status doesn’t interest her either way.
“That’s me. Driver and you left off bodyguard.” I pat the kid gently on the head, making a clear enough point.
I watch as the penny starts to roll down the slot as it gets ready to drop.
Perfect lips shaded in pink are now pressed tightly together as she gives my once pristine white shirt a bit more attention. It’s torn and wrinkled in places with a dirty sleeve and not tucked in neatly and my gray vest is dirty. I can see she’s starting to feel unsure of why I look the way I do and why I’m here escorting her son home.
“I’m making certain your son doesn’t cause any more trouble before he gets back to his home. He’s been very productive.” I couldn’t help adding that last part.
She takes the dangled bait, her expression changes to oh-God-what-has-my-boy-done as my appearance starts to clang warning bells in that gorgeous head of hers.
“Um... what’s been going on, Bowie? You said you would be back in a few minutes. You never came back, so I came looking for you.” Her face softens for the little menace when she sees the forlorn look on his face. “Err... do I need to know something, Bowie?” Her eyes nervously sweep over me again.
“Maybe,” he mutters. I knock the side of his shoe with mine. The kid actually has the guts to give me a cranky side-glance from under his lashes.
“Kid, you did it, not me, so you can cut the eye ‘tude.” Fuck’s Sake! He’s got no idea how patient I’m behaving with him.
Sunflower bends over, hands on her knees as she lowers herself to her son’s height. “What does Mr. Torque mean, Bowie?”
Mr. Torque? So it’s gonna be like that is it?
“I borrowed Toran’s skateboard, and now it’s broken,” The little menace ‘fesses up. I like he’s got the ball rolling, but he’s got a little more to tell.
Flora’s left hand slaps across her mouth in surprise before she regains her composure and places the hand back on her bent knee.
I note she’s not wearing any rings on her fingers and there aren’t any ring tan lines highlighting the skin.
How is this even possible? Hope flutters about like a caged butterfly.
“Aannd…” I prompt him, giving his shoe another nudge, folding my arms in front of my chest. I’m getting comfortable, knowing this is gonna take a while at this rate.
“Aannd I may have accidentally caused Whisper to fall over when I rode the skateboard, but she told me she’s all right when I got marched up to her by”—he cocks his head in my direction—”him.” I’m gonna let that comment slide because I know the kid has to be wishing the ground would swallow him up right about now.
Sunflower gasps in astonishment before her eyes become big and expressive. “Oh, is Whisper all right? Is she hurt? Is her dress ruined?” Worry pours off her in waves as she readjusts her pose, standing tall in front of me. “Wait... I don’t understand.” She looks down at her son. “Bowie you’ve never ridden a skateboard before.”
“Well, we worked that part out pretty quickly,” I deadpan under my breath. “Whisper has some grazed skin, but she will be okay. It was all an accident.” I find I don’t like this female feeling anxious. I want to soothe her worries away.
“Grazed skin?!” Her voice rises to almost a squeak.
“Aand...” I prompt the kid to keep the pages turning on this short story.
“And? There’s more?” She looks back down at her son, then she looks back up at me and then back down at her son and then back up at me. It’s like watching a tennis match. I think her skin tone just lost a little sunshine.
“Mo-om, can we talk about this inside,” the kid whines.
“Buddy, you need to tell me everything now.”
The kid bites his lip as he mulls over how he’s gonna break it to her.
“Away you go, kid; time to man up.” I might not be enjoying Flora’s discomfort, but I sure am enjoying Dennis-the-Menace’s.
The kid takes too long to open his mouth, so I give him a helping hand. “Your son was just trying to impress the”—I make air quotation marks—”lo—”
“I can take it from here.” Bowie jumps in cutting me off.
And so the story begins from the start.
Flora listens without interrupting him, watching her son turn another page while toeing his polished shoe at the ground.
A few times I can see it is hard for her to stay quiet especially when Bowie got to—”... and Harper’s gramps’ head split like a tomato when he saved me from hitting a parked pickup, and Mr. Torque helped to keep me from getting hurt when we all landed on the road.”
While the kid keeps talking, she whispers, “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” Regret and concern for my well-being are written all over her face as my shabby appearance now makes sense. I give her the thumbs-up gesture, which I don’t think thoroughly convinces her.
Bowie gets to the end, and he still didn’t bring up the declaration of love that started this whole thing. “I messed up, Mom, and I’m sorry.”
“Oh, gosh. What a mess. What can I do to help? Can I do anything to help?” I don’t think she’s talking to anybody in particular. Sunflower’s eyes find mine. “I don’t know where to begin.” She’s overflowing with remorse for her son’s actions, no matter how innocent they were. “Is Boxer hurt badly? I’m so sorry I didn’t ask if you are hurt. Are you? I ignored your disheveled appearance earlier and that was wrong of me.”
She’s like a runaway train. Her thoughts aren’t staying on track.
“As you can see, I’m okay. I need some fresh clothes, and I’ll be presentable.”
“Are you sure? Can I get you anything? I’m sorry your clothes got ruined. I’ll happily pay for the damages to your suit, just send me the bill.”
“That won’t be necessary. Honestly, I’m good. Soon as I get back over to Whisper’s house, I’m sure the ladies will be able to straighten me out.”
Flora accepts my words, and then she’s off and running again. “Bowie and I need to go next-door and apologize straight away to everybody and see how Mr. Scott and Whisper are doing.”
Her fingers cover her mouth as she worries about the physical damage. Then she growls at her hand and uses it to fidget with her pretty dress bef
ore putting her fingers in her mouth and starts to bite down, but thinks better of it, tearing her hand away.
Nope. No ring tan lines.
“Darn nails,” she mutters, annoyed, which looks real damn cute on her.
“Whoa… Sunflower.” I hold my hands up, her anxiety starting to peak. “What’s done—is done. Doc Evelyn, Boxer’s woman, will be fussing over them right now. They are both in capable hands, and I’m sure I’ll get a once over from Doc who will declare me fit enough to get behind the wheel. I threw my suit jacket at Whisper before I took off running after your son, so her dress should be fine.”
“What’s done—is done?! Her dress should be fine?!” she whisper-yells. “A girl’s wedding day is sacred, and nothing can go wrong on it. No little boys with skateboards plowing through the street, no ruined dresses, no brides getting hurt, and no heads should be splitting like tomatoes, and your clothes shouldn’t get ruined. And so far that list seems to be getting checked off and Whisper hasn’t even gotten in the stretch Hummer.” She takes in a steadying deep breath before exhaling slowly. “And stop calling me Sunflower!” She raises her voice a notch. When she should sound angry, it comes across as exasperated because she’s feeling the weight of the kid’s mess square on her shoulders.
I ignore that last part because I enjoy calling her Sunflower. “Well, it’s not ideal when Whisper has a wedding ceremony to get to, but it’s nothing she can’t handle.” If only she knew about Whisper’s past and Boxer, who survived being almost starved to death.
“I need to get over there and see for myself,” she replies, her sunshine starting to dull into a cloudy day. Flora tries to push past me. She wants to make amends, even if it’s only with words of apology because that’s all the ammo she has on her.
I hold my hands up, palms facing her as a calming gesture. “Whisper needs to focus right now on getting to her wedding and not on her neighbor with the best intentions. Give them their space, for now. I can assure you Whisper won’t want you to worry. She will want you to enjoy her wedding day like she’s going to. She’s not going to let any of this mess with her day. Whisper got herself back up off the ground and was more worried about Bowie.” I know she’s not convinced, but she doesn’t push the issue any further.