He grinned. “Really?”
“No.”
He shook his head, and then smiled. “That was phenomenal. For me, anyway.”
“More than anything,” I said. “More phenomenal than anything.”
“More than pecan pie?”
“Any. Thing,” I clarified. “I have no idea how I’ll ever make it through life without that dick, or the guy that’s attached to it.”
“That was some good pie,” he said. “I can’t believe I topped it.”
I slapped my hand against his bare ass, and then wished I hadn’t. It was harder than I wanted it to be.
“Stop it, or you’re going to get it,” he said.
I didn’t know what getting it meant, but I knew I wanted whatever Porter had to offer. So, I slapped his ass again, only harder.
He rolled me onto my back and kissed me deeply. The kiss took my mind where sex simply couldn’t. It was a place where nothing else existed but the two of us. A place where passion thrived. Where hearts faltered. Where a magical sense of belonging to something bigger than life took control of a person’s very being.
It was there that I realized Porter was special.
So special, that I could never let him go.
14
Ghost
It had been eight days since Abby and I made love for the first time. In that time, I’d all but abandoned my brothers in the MC, only seeing them during our mandatory Wednesday meeting. Abby had become the most important element in my life. From what I could see, I’d become an equally important part of hers.
I was fascinated with my unquenchable desire to spend time with her. My mother had explained that when I found the love of my life I would know it. Although I hadn’t fallen in love with Abby yet, I had my suspicions that she was that woman.
I opened the diner door and held it open. No less than fifty eyes ratcheted toward me. After Abby walked past, I released the door and sized up each of the men who seemed to be more interested in us than their food. Eventually, they all went back to eating their meals.
“Does this place only serve Marines?” I whispered.
“No,” she responded. “But a lot of them come in here.”
We took a seat at an empty booth. A matter of seconds after were seated, a middle-aged man approached our table. He wore a buzz-cut, was built like Rambo, and possessed the ability to burn holes through solid objects with his glare. After warming my skin with his stare for a few long seconds, he shifted his eyes to Abby.
“Has he been feeding you?” He looked her over. “You look like you’ve lost weight.”
“He has a name,” she said in a snide tone. “It’s Porter.”
I felt as though she was introducing me to a member of her family. One who was angry about her decision to bring me into his diner for lunch. Nonetheless, I put on a smile, stood, and extended my hand.
“Porter Reeves,” I said. “Pleasure to meet you, Sir.”
“I was an enlisted Marine,” he barked. “I’m not a Sir.”
“Geeeooorge,” Abby said. “Be nice.”
He looked me over as if we were preparing to fight. He cocked his head to the side. “This is as nice as I’m going to get,” he responded, directing his comment to Abby, but keeping his eyes locked on me.
“Sorry,” I said in an apologetic tone. “Ma’am and Sir. It’s habit.”
“The military, a Boys Ranch, or upbringing instill such habits.” He looked me dead in the eyes and shook my hand firmly. “Which is it?”
Through that handshake, he let me know what Abby meant to him. Any mistreatment of her would be dealt with harshly. As a reassurance that he had nothing to worry about, I held his gaze and returned his firm grip.
“Upbringing,” I said. “I was raised in Montana by two women. My mother and my grandmother. If I wasn’t polite, I got my ear twisted in a knot.”
He released my hand. “Damned fine country, Montana. Been fishing there a few times.”
I grinned. “I grew up on a hundred and sixty acres. We had four ponds and a stream that ran through it. I’ve pulled many meals out of those ponds.”
He pursed his lips and shook his head lightly. “A fresh stream trout on the grill is about as good as it gets.”
I nodded. “I’ll agree to that.”
George sat across from Abby and gestured toward the seat next to her. As directed, I took a seat at her side.
He lowered his chin and looked Abby over. “You look tired.”
“I am. We were up all night,” she said. “Talking.”
His eyes shot to me. One eyebrow raised. “Talking?”
“We talked,” I said with a nod.
It was true. We had talked. While we were having sex.
His brows knitted together. That look of disbelief remained locked on me for a moment, and then he shifted his gaze to Abby. “Talking?”
Abby rested her forearms on the table’s edge and returned George’s glare. Locked eye-to-eye, they stared at each other for an uncomfortable amount of time. Then, Abby drew a long breath through her nose and leaned against the back of the booth.
She crossed her arms and exhaled through her teeth. “I’m not going to do this with you, George. I’m thirty years old. You are well aware of how many men have tried to take me on a date in the last six years. Of those, how many have I gone out with?”
He stared.
“How many?” she demanded.
“None,” he said. “That I know of.”
“That’s right,” she huffed. “None.”
He glanced at me and then at her. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“After six years, I’ve found someone that likes me because of me. And, it just so happens that he’s honest, genuine, funny, and has a big heart.” She said, her voice laced with attitude. “Now, if you’d be so kind as to get us a few menus, I’d like to eat. I’m so hungry I feel like I might pass out.”
“Up all-night talking made you hungry?” He shifted his eyes to meet mine. “While you were talking, did you wear protection?”
“Yes, Sir. I did,” I responded. “Always.”
His jaw tightened. His muscles tensed. I prepared to block the punch I was sure he would throw.
Instead, he gave a sharp nod. “Let me get a few menus.”
While he stomped to the back of the restaurant, I moved to the other side of the booth and let out a sigh. “That went better than expected.”
“Basically, I have two dads,” she replied.
I motioned toward the kitchen. “Does he always walk like that?”
“All the time.”
“So, he’s not mad?” I asked.
“Oh, I think he’s mad,” she said with a laugh. “But he always walks like that.”
“What’s he like?” I asked.
“He’s just like he is right now, all the time,” she replied.
“No,” I said. “What does he like. What does he do in his spare time?”
“Well, he likes to go up north and hunt. And he likes to fish. Oh, and he likes fast cars. Old-school fast cars, not the new stuff.”
The easiest way to win a man over was to have something in common with him. If there was one thing I liked almost as much as fucking, it was driving a fast car. The rumpity-rump of a carbureted engine with a racing cam in it was music to my ears. As he made his way back to the table, I grinned and cracked my knuckles.
“Watch this,” I said.
George handed Abby her menu, and then held mine in front of me. When I reached for it, he pulled it away.
“One hair. Just one,” he said through his teeth. “That’s all you’ll have to harm on her for me to hunt you down and put my thumbs through your eye sockets.”
“George!” Abby shouted.
“That’s all I’ve got to say,” he said. “I made my point.”
I reached toward the menu and paused. “What’s your recommendation?”
“Depends on what you like,” he snapped. “I can’t decid
e for you.”
“I was taught to eat what’s put in front of me,” I responded. “Just send me whatever you think your specialty is.”
“I’ll have the Abby and a glass of water,” Abby said, handing her menu across the table. “I see you’ve got it on the menu now. Thank you for that, by the way.”
“If you didn’t abandon this place, you’d know it was on the menu,” George grumbled.
“You named something after her?” I asked.
“Best sandwich on the menu,” George gloated. “According to her.”
I raised my index finger. “Bring me your specialty and one of those, too. I’d like to try it. Water to drink, please.”
“Isn’t that cute,” Abby said. “Porter’s going to eat an Abby.”
George took a step away from the table and crossed his arms so violently air shot from his lungs. “We don’t allow sexual innuendos in the diner,” he said though clenched teeth. “They’re inappropriate.”
“So’s dropping the f-bomb, and you toss it around like you’re saying hi,” Abby responded.
“Your food will be up in a minute.” He turned away with a huff.
When he was out of sight, I looked at Abby. “Jesus. You’re being rude as hell. Are you trying to piss him off?”
“No, I’m just trying to let him know this is real. That it’s not a fling, or whatever. Throwing it in his face is the best way to get him to accept it, believe me.”
I shrugged. “You know him better than I do.”
“You asked me what George liked to do with his time, and then you said watch this. You didn’t do anything. What was that about?” she asked.
“I was going to say something to him, but I never got a chance,” I explained. “I will, though.”
“What were you going to say?”
“I was going to tell him about my Mustang.” I reached for my phone. “I just finished building it.”
“An old one, or a new one?”
“Old.”
She smiled. “I love old mustangs.”
“I wondered if that was the case,” I said. “Based on a comment you made in one of your videos.”
She squinted. “Which one?”
I had yet to talk to her about it. After getting to know her more, I really didn’t see much value in it.
“The gym rat video.”
“You saw that?” She covered her face with her hands. “You’re not mad?”
“I was. I’m not now.”
She lowered her hands. “I was just…it was parody, or whatever.”
“I figured as much,” I said as I scrolled through the photos on my phone.
“What about that video made you think I liked Mustangs?”
“You mentioned Gone in Sixty Seconds.” I selected a photo from my gallery and handed her my phone. “The star of the show was Eleanor, the sixty-seven Mustang.”
She chuckled as she accepted the phone. “Eleanor wasn’t a Mustang. Eleanor was a sixty-seven Shelby GT500. Eleanor is my all-time favorite--”
I cleared my throat and nodded toward the phone.
Her eyebrows raised. “What?”
“Take a look at the picture.”
She looked at the phone. “The screen’s black.”
“Zero-nine-one-seven,” I said, giving her the unlock code.
She unlocked the phone and swiped her thumb over the screen. When she saw the photo, her eyes went wide.
“Holy F-ing Moses” she screeched. “It’s her!”
“Exact reproduction,” I said with a smile. “Built it from the ground up with my bare hands.”
She took another look. “Oh. My God.”
“Four-link suspension, a stroked four-twenty-eight, six-speed, roll cage, the whole enchilada. Almost nine hundred horsepower. Drives like a dream.”
“You drive it?” she gasped.
“Every chance I get.”
“Gone in Sixty Seconds was my dad’s all-time favorite movie,” she said excitedly. “I was thirteen when he took me to see it. He bought in on VHS when it came out. We wore out the tape, watching it. Then, he got a DVD. I’ve seen that movie a hundred times.”
I grinned. “The guys I ride with and I went to see it when we were fourteen. That movie got me interested in cars. I wasn’t old enough to drive at the time, but I told myself while I watched the movie that one day I would have that car. Took me almost eighteen years to get it built, but there it is.”
She stared at the phone’s screen. “Can I go for a ride in it?”
“You can drive it.”
Her mouth flopped open. “You’ll let me drive it?”
“Sure.”
She lurched across table and gave me a kiss.
The clank of plates being against the end of the table caused us to break the embrace. Before Abby was back in her seat, George shot her a glare. “Public displays of affection are frowned upon. It makes the customers uneasy.”
Abby cleared the screen on my phone, turned it to face George, and cocked an eyebrow. “He’s letting me drive this. That’s why I gave him a kiss.”
George looked the picture. His eyes shot from the phone to me. “That’s yours?”
“Built it with my own two hands,” I said proudly.
He reached for the phone, and then hesitated. “May I?”
“Sure.”
He admired the photo for a moment, and then handed it to me with reluctance. “I’ve got a sixty-three Mercury Marauder fastback I’ve been working on for years. One of these days, I’ll have that ole girl done.”
“I’m handy with a wrench,” I said. “Might be able to teach you a few tricks when it comes to horsepower, too.”
He waved his hand toward the restaurant. “All the men I know are handy with a rifle, and that’s about it. Tough to find anyone these days that knows how to build an engine. That’s what I’m down to. Motor and transmission.”
“A weekend’s work,” I said.
He chuckled. “For you, maybe.”
“Well, I’ll volunteer to help.” I reached for my plates and then met his gaze. “If you want it, that is.”
“If you can build a car like that,” he said. “I’d be honored.”
“Just say the word,” I said. “I’ll make the time.”
“I appreciate it.” He looked at each of us and then grinned from ear to ear. “Let me know if there’s anything I can get you. Enjoy your lunch.”
“I love you, George,” Abby said.
“I love you, Abby,” he replied.
After he walked away, Abby looked at me and smiled. “Well, you won him over.”
“A way to a man’s heart is having a common bond with him,” I said.
“And, the way to a woman’s heart,” she picked up her sandwich and took a bite. “Is by trusting her.”
“What do you mean?”
“When you gave me the code to your phone?” A soft smile formed on her face. “I melted.”
“Transparency is the only way something like this will work,” I said.
“I agree,” she said. “Thank you.”
I knew, however, there were some things I’d never be able to tell Abby. And that, more than anything else, bothered me.
15
Abby
We’d reached the two-week milestone. It wasn’t much by most people’s standards, but by mine, it was a huge accomplishment. Excluding Kelvin, I hadn’t been with a man long enough to realize what his eye color was.
After staying up and watching two episodes of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, we fell asleep in each other’s arms. It seemed Porter was looking for exactly what I thought I wanted, which thrilled me to no end. But, because I was a girl, I twisted the fact that he liked to lie by my side in bed into a potential problem with our quickly developing relationship.
“Do you like sex, love sex, or see it as something that, I didn’t know, kind of has to accompany a relationship or whatever?” I asked.
He looked up from lacing his boots. “What do you
mean?”
“Sex. Do you like having sex?”
Boot laces in hand, he gave a slight shrug. “Love it, why?”
An involuntary sigh escaped me. “Just wondering.”
He finished tying his boots and stood. “What’s on your mind, Abby?”
“Nothing.”
It was Saturday morning. On the previous night, we’d been on a dinner date. When we got home, we watched television and then went to bed together, all without having sex. I was thrilled that he often stayed all-night and loved sleeping with him. I probably didn’t want to worry about his sincerity, sexual appetite, or his loyalty, but I did, nonetheless.
I worried that I wasn’t sexy enough to cause him to want me. I wondered if there was someone else. It was also possible that we weren’t sexually compatible, me desiring sex on a more frequent basis than he was willing to give.
In fact, the possibilities of potential problems were endless.
“You’re standing there with a blank look on your face,” he said. “And, you’ve done that thing with your hair twice in the last thirty seconds.”
I started to object to his statement, and then realized I was scratching my nose with my index finger.
“I just. What,” I stammered. “What happened last night?”
His brow wrinkled. “What are you talking about? What happened with what? We watched that show, and you fell asleep with your head on my chest.”
We were getting ready to leave in an all-day motorcycle ride, and I didn’t want to ruin it. I desperately needed to know why he didn’t like me enough to have sex and had to ask.
I prepared for the inevitable. I was too short, had no boobs, and talked too much. In anticipation of the reasons he was sure to give, my gaze dropped to the floor between us.
“We didn’t have sex last night,” I whined.
His eyes narrowed. “And?”
“Well, I’m wondering if you’re attracted to me like that? You know, sexually.”
He spit out a laugh. “You’re being serious?”
I bit against my lower lip and nodded. I was on the verge of tears and hoped I could manage to keep from crying. I desperately wanted things between Porter and I to work, but not if he didn’t want me as much as I wanted him.
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