All I Want for Halloween

by Marie Harte

  A poster there for a Honda Africa Twin CRF1000L, and next to it, a Gold Wing F6B—a touring bike rich assholes bought to travel between five-star hotels. What the hell? Next they’d be showcasing Harley Road Kings, which no self-respecting hard-core biker would ever ride. They were too comfortable and too classy for Otis, for sure.

  The place was undergoing a remodel. They’d changed the MM colors from black and gold to green and red. Sahara’s choice, no doubt. She’d tried to change them a while back, but they’d felt too Christmassy to him. Still did.

  He snorted. A bad decision he had no part in making or living with.

  Speaking of which, he needed to talk to Sadie soon. Damn it. He missed her. Though she’d acted as if it was perfectly fine with her not to see him until tonight at the gym or even tomorrow evening for dinner, he refused to wait. Like Thor had said, Sadie had some cool insights when it came to work. She seemed to genuinely love her job and thrived on being low-key. Low-drama. What he wanted his middle name to be.

  “Well, well. It’s Friday the 13th, and look who walked in. How appropriate.” Sahara’s bitchy tone made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

  “Yo, Sahara.” He nodded, trying to remain professional. Detached. He’d spotted the new cameras mounted near the ceilings. Saw the camera guys staying back, out of the way as Sahara sauntered toward him. She wore tight jeans and a clingy pink shirt that showed off her ample cleavage. Her hair had been pulled back, and silver earrings dangled from each ear.

  Yeah, she looked fuckable. But she had nothing on Sadie, who wore her sensuality so naturally. He felt nothing but disgust with himself for wasting three perfectly good years of his life on Sahara, who was little more than a user.

  “Like what you see?” she asked, her voice low, seductive…but loud enough to carry to the cameras.

  “Nah. Been there, done that.”

  She glared.

  Near them, a few of the mechanics who’d come closer to greet Gear snickered.

  “Fuck off,” she said to them.

  He noticed Smoke leaning back against his workbench, arms crossed over his broad chest, his face mostly hidden by that ball cap he almost never took off. “Yo, Gear.”

  “Smoke.”

  “What’s up, man?”

  They ignored Sahara as if she wasn’t there. Gear saw Smoke’s subtle grin, knew the guy couldn’t stand her and probably did it on purpose.

  “Not much. Just came to get the last of my stuff.” Gear nodded to the box under his arm.

  “So word has it you’re gonna open your own shop.”

  The silence in the place was telling. Everyone—including Gear—wanted to know what he’d be doing with himself in the future.

  “Maybe.” He refused to commit on air, giving Madnezz any more ratings than they deserved.

  “Well, if you do, let me know. If I work for this can’t anymore, I’m gonna lose my shit.”

  Gear blinked. “This can’t?”

  “If I use the c-word I mean, the censors will cut the segment. You hear me though, don’t you, Gear?”

  Gear started laughing. “Can’t. Oh man. Yeah, I feel you.”

  Sahara started screaming for Brian, Torch, and a few of her favorite dickheads in back.

  Gear shook his head and walked toward the exit. “I’ll call you, Smoke.”

  “Good. Do that.”

  Before he got to the door, someone wrenched the box out of his arms and shoved him face-first against the wall.

  Gear spun and automatically engaged. A fist to his assailant’s belly, and Brian bent over with a whoosh.

  “Not cool, siccing Brian on him, Sahara,” Smoke said in the trademark smoky voice that had garnered him the nickname. “Torch, man, get off.”

  Gear heard a scuffle. Saw more men involved as three of the new guys came to Brian’s defense, circling Gear.

  “Kick his ass,” Brian yelled, still holding his belly. The pussy.

  Gear had been waiting to expend his anger for so long. Despite knowing this free-for-all would likely net Madnezz its highest ratings to date, the opportunity to get back at Brian and Brian’s loyal followers was too good to pass up.

  Going with Sadie’s defense, Gear let himself be hit, just once, then let them have it. And God, it felt good.

  Chapter 13

  Sadie opened the door to Gear, having expected him to stop by. They needed to talk about dinner at her dad’s tomorrow, and she wanted to prepare him.

  But she hadn’t anticipated the bruised giant standing on her doorstep. “What the hell happened to you?” She stepped back to let him inside.

  He didn’t limp or seem too injured to move with his usual smooth stride. But he had a split lip and a bruise on his cheek. Other than that, he looked like her Gear. To be honest, the bruises enhanced his tough-guy appeal, which, sadly, turned her on.

  “Went to the garage today,” he said in a low voice. “Picked up the rest of my stuff. It’s all broken now.” He sighed. “Got anything to drink?”

  “How about some hot cider?”

  “With whiskey?”

  “I don’t have any of the hard stuff. But I could spit in it to make it a tough-guy drink if you like.”

  He smiled, then winced. “Very funny. The cider will do, thanks.”

  “Sure.” She put some on the stove to warm up, wanting a glass herself. “So did you win? Because from your face, I can’t tell.”

  “I kicked some ass, got one of my guys fired, and probably sent Madnezz ratings into the stratosphere. So though I technically won, I’m a loser.”

  “I don’t sleep with losers.”

  “Again, I technically won.” He leaned against the counter and smiled at her, pulling his hurt lip. He looked her over, his grin widening.

  “What?”

  “I like the look.” He nodded to her hair, which she’d thrown up into a clip, leaving the dark-brown stuff to trickle down the back of her neck. The way she wore it softened her face, and she’d wanted to look her best for Gear. Which in turn pissed her off and amused her. Sadie was Sadie. No amount of makeup would put her in the same class as slutty Sahara.

  “No bra?”

  “I thought it would save time later. No underwear either,” she said, sounding chipper.

  He chuckled. “I had a shitty afternoon, but two seconds with you and I’m happy. Weird.”

  She nodded. “Totally weird.” She poured them both some cider, than added the molasses-and-cream cupcakes she’d brought home for him. Working at Sofa’s was both good and bad. Good, because she got to take home a lot of their creations, sampling new ideas to see what worked and didn’t. Bad, because if she didn’t constantly work out, she’d weigh a bazillion pounds.

  Not that Sadie cared so much about her looks, but twenty pounds over her fighting weight turned her into a slug and made it difficult to sleep. And Sadie prized her ability to sleep anywhere, in any condition.

  She led him to sit with her at her dining table just off the kitchen. “So give me the details.”

  He sat without protest and sipped from his mug. “That is damn good. Tell Elliot he’s a master.”

  “He knows he’s good. Adding to his colossal ego gives me nothing but headaches when he starts bragging.” She nudged him to eat a cupcake. “Tell me if you like it.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “Imagine a soft Mary Jane rolled around cream and touched with caramel.”

  He nodded, looking hungrily at the treat. “So like Bit-O-Honey and Cow Tales?”

  “No, I said Mary Jane.” She looked down her nose at him. “Quit acting like you know your Halloween candy to impress me and take a bite.”

  He did and moaned, and his food-gasm was as sexy to watch as Gear shirtless. Yum.

  “Can I have yours too?” he asked as he licked his fingers.
/>   She blinked. “Did you even chew? It’s like watching a dog gobble down a treat.”

  “Gimme.”

  She slid the cupcake his way and watched him down it with pleasure. Sadie had always liked watching people eat her creations, but seeing Gear enjoy them made it even more satisfying.

  “Last bite’s for you.” He held out a small piece. “And trust me, I’m not really wanting to share. Hurry before I change my mind.”

  She ate it off his fingers, licking one clean of the creamy frosting.

  His gaze darkened, but he merely wiped his hands on a napkin.

  “It’s good,” she agreed.

  “It’s delicious. But you need better decorations. That’s too plain to add to Sofa’s Halloween treats.”

  “I’m going to make spiders out of them. Or big ghosts with lots of cream cheese frosting.”

  “Nice.”

  Sadie sat sipping her cider, waiting for Gear to talk. They watched each other in silence, each beginning to smile more, until they both started laughing.

  “I like our staring contests,” he teased. “But I won that one.”

  “Like hell you did.”

  “You blinked.”

  “I did not.”

  “Yep, you did.”

  “So is this your way of avoiding talking about the fight?”

  He groaned. “No. But it’s more fun staring at your face than taking a fist to mine.”

  “Man. Who’d you let hit you?”

  He laughed. “I totally did. I took a page from your book. If it was self-defense, they can’t come after me later. Except it turned into an all-comers brawl. I went to pick up the box Smoke told me about. I had a few things left I wanted. A cup Iris gave me, some papers of my brother’s he wanted back. Nothing major. Stuff I could have let go, to be honest.”

  “But you wanted to see the shop,” she said for him.

  He nodded, his look one of grim satisfaction. “It looks terrible. All the girlie posters are down. They have Honda posters up. That’s sell-out material right there.”

  “Huh?”

  “We’re—we were—a real shop, crafting our own bikes. You don’t put up factory pictures in your own house unless you’re specializing in rebuilds, which we didn’t. That’s bullshit. They should have had pictures of our old bikes up, the great stuff we’ve done.” He shook his head and said slowly, as if the idea had just dawned, “Except they won’t, because I helped build them.” He chuckled. “Classic.”

  “So what else happened?”

  “They changed the colors to red and green.”

  She frowned. “Those are Christmas colors.”

  “Yep.” He clinked his mug against hers and took a long swig of cider. “Sahara’s great with fashion, terrible with bikes.”

  Sadie didn’t want to ask but couldn’t help herself. “So how was Her Bitchiness?”

  He grimaced. “She walked out wearing tight jeans and a low-cut shirt that had to be hurting her boobs it was so tight.”

  “So trampy.” Sadie wanted to punch the snotty blond again. “Bet she flirted with you, huh?”

  “Yeah. It was gross.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I ever dated her, let alone got engaged. If I ever do something that stupid again with a user like that, deck me.”

  Her mood brightened. “I’m happy to hit you any time, Gear. Just for fun, even.”

  He stroked her cheek. “Aw, so sweet.” They grinned at each other. “A funny thing happened just before the fight. Smoke asked if I’m setting up my own shop, because he wants a job. I get the feeling he hates it there.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, Smoke called Sahara a can’t. Because he said if he’d called her that other c-word, he’d have been censored. Needless to say, she didn’t find that too amusing.”

  Sadie grinned. She liked this Smoke guy. “A can’t? That’s awesome. I love it. And I really hate the c-word, by the way. But she is soooo it.”

  “I know. Anyhow, everyone jumped in the fight. Even a few of the camera guys. I could hear the director in the background telling us to keep rolling, like we were faking. I don’t know. Maybe some of them were. Not me. I took Brian down hard. He tried using his poseur mechanics to drill me, but after I went through three of them, I nailed Brian. Now his face looks like I steamrolled over it, and I hit him hard enough in the gut to leave a mark.”

  “My hero,” Sadie said drily. “Might I remind you that you can be charged with aggravated assault?” At his raised brow, she said, “Hey. I watch Law & Order reruns.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay, DA McCoy. Bottom line is no charges will be filed if I don’t file them first. Soon as I left, I got a call from the network lawyers. Dicks,” he muttered. “Sahara was shrieking like a banshee through it all. Smoke did good, punching the lights out of Torch—who I think is also screwing Sahara, though I can’t be sure. Chains just watched from the sidelines, laughing and kicking back anyone who tried to run from the fight.” He smiled. “It was kind of awesome.”

  “I’ll bet. You know, you guys have the best names. Gear, Smoke, Chains, Torch. Is there a Wheels? A Handle? Oh, I know, how about a Kickstand?”

  “You’re hilarious.” Gear glared. “We’re men, damn it. We can’t go around being cool if we’re telling Larry and Francis to pass the wrench, please.”

  She chuckled and rested her chin on her hand, elbow on the table, actually envious of his altercations. “You’re so lucky. The closest I ever got to a brawl was last year on Black Friday, shopping in a Victoria’s Secret. I didn’t even want anything. I just went with Ava to spice up her life. So much I could tell you about my cousin, but I’ll save it for a rainy day. There was a sale on thongs, and it turned shockingly ugly. I mean, twenty bucks for dental floss that gets stuck up your ass, and these women were fighting over them.”

  He chuckled. “Bet you won.”

  “Bet I did.” She paused. “Unfortunately, one of the security guards got a little too grabby breaking us up. After I belted him, Ava had to drag me away, promising she’d get me counseling for my anger issues—which I don’t have, by the way.”

  “Yeah. Right.”

  She glared at him. “Hey, I didn’t go to my old job and start bashing heads. Shopping is a whole other animal.”

  “If you say so.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Smoke got canned. A few other guys quit on the spot. Good guys. But I’m not opening up a shop to employ people.”

  She just sat and waited, knowing he needed to talk it out.

  Gear sighed. “This should be a simple answer, you know? Start a new shop. Get back to doing what you love. Build bikes. But I started that before, and it all got fucked up.”

  She nodded.

  “You bake.”

  “And cook and prepare food. All that.”

  “Right. Whatever.”

  “Not whatever.”

  He sighed. “My point is that you’re doing what you love. And you get paid to do it. So what’s your advice, because you seem happy?”

  Sadie shrugged. “I made a deal with myself a long time ago not to get bent about money. I have enough. This apartment isn’t huge, but it’s home. To be honest, I can afford it because my dad bought the building, but he doesn’t let me skate on rent.”

  “He bought the building?” Gear’s eyes widened.

  “Not the point. Money isn’t a huge motivator for me.” Frankly, I’m not sure what is. “Gear, I’m a pretty boring person. I don’t have many expensive habits. I like movies and TV. I have a thing for a chocolate shop in Queen Anne that has the best white chocolate raspberry truffles.” She licked her lips, saw him fixate there, and felt a moment of satisfaction that she could distract him. “Lingerie, a nice soap or candle, and I’m happy. Simple pleasures. But I’m also not looking to advance, which makes me the bad seed in my family.
”

  “How’s that?”

  “My father is a money man. He’s a bigwig accountant who flies around the world, at his clients’ expense, to fix their books. Not fix them, as in illegally. But settling up their accounts and looking for flaws in accounting. He’s legal,” she emphasized, still hoping that was true. “Anyhow, he makes a lot of money, and he’s constantly disappointed I’m not trying to climb the next rung in the corporate ladder in my quest for success. But I don’t measure success by dollars. I like baking.”

  “And cooking and preparing,” he said, his gaze intent.

  “Yeah, that. I love working with family, making Sofa’s into something. I turned down chances to be interviewed after that mess with the reporter. And aside from a small raise if the business does better, I’m good with my life. Well, my material things. I don’t need a bigger car, a bigger house, or a hot tub. Though if you gave me 24-7 access to yours, we could be best friends forever.” She winked. “I do like soaking in my own tub. It’s the little luxuries for me. Knowing I have a roof over my head, that I love my job, that I have sex with a tough guy when I want.” She teased, saw him nod, and felt warm that the statement was true.

  “That’s what I want, except the part about the tough guy. Make mine a tough woman, and I’m there.” Gear smiled.

  “Yeah, but my needs aren’t yours. You like making bikes, right? And you like selling them.”

  He nodded.

  “So do it. But do it for you. Not to give some dope a job. Not to outsell Sahara and Brian. But because you’re happy. An old friend of mine once told me that doing what you love for money can take the joy out of it. Since I’ve never pushed myself that hard—I admit, I’m kind of like a sloth or a cat when it comes to being slow and enjoying my downtime—I haven’t hit too many challenges I haven’t overcome.” Which, come to think of it, put her relationship with Gear in an all-new light.