by Bijou Hunter
“Shane gets you,” she says as her tone changes, reminding me of her earlier weirdness.
“What did you talk to him about yesterday?” I ask and breathe in the flowers’ fragrant scent.
“He said you suck great dick.”
“No, he didn’t.”
Kelsi shrugs. “He said it with his eyes.”
“Stop looking in my man’s eyes,” I demand, pretending to be tough. “Like do you think he could be my man, though? Like not just for a week or two. Like a real relationship and love and all that real stuff? Is that stupid? I feel as if I’m being stupid.”
“No, it’s that Ellsberg thing,” Kelsi says as if she’s in the know. “People there are soft and cuddly and romantic and crap. It seems weird to us, but Shane grew up with that kind of thinking.”
“Did he tell you that yesterday?”
“No.”
“What did you talk about?” I push, trying to force eye contact while she studies the ceiling.
“Nothing.”
“You lie as bad as I do.”
“Okay, fine,” she says, and I know she’s about to lie again. “He wanted to know how to make you super obsessed with his hot body. I told him to shake his ass a lot, and maybe he should remove his shirt as much as possible.”
Studying Kelsi, I know she won’t tell me the truth. She’s stubborn. It’s why she won’t stop hanging out at the Saloon despite hating many of the Skullz turned Reapers. She knows people think she should stop. Some have mocked her for going. I’ve even given her shit about it. All that pressure just makes her want to do the opposite.
That’s why I don’t push Kelsi to tell me what she talked about with Shane. Whatever it was couldn’t have been anything bad since he sent me flowers, and she isn’t warning me. I choose to believe her because I’m too happy to believe anything else.
THE ROMANTIC
Unable to relax last night, I ended up watching shlocky B-horror movies with Shelby. Hearing about Ramona with the Executioners put her in a bad place. We doze all night in the living room while River spends time at the Saloon. When he finishes messing around with the sweet butts, he shows up, sees us half-dead to the world, and goes to bed.
Shelby probably sleeps a little better, having me nearby. I study her sprawled out on the couch and realize I’m a dick for not wondering how she’d do with this move. Much like I bully Ramona, I do the same shit with Shelby. They’re both fake tough chicks with painfully vulnerable hearts.
Even knowing Shelby’s miserable in Shasta, I don’t know what other option we had but to move here. There’s no space for us in Ellsberg. The old guys aren’t ancient enough to move the fuck out of the way. The young guys have nothing to do. We couldn’t breathe there, and River was restless as fuck.
But maybe we volunteered too quickly. Then there was no going back. Much like Ramona agreeing to Fuse’s bullshit. Once the ball got rolling, nothing could stop its momentum.
I wish Ramona was with me right now. I’d feel better to have two of the most important women at my side. Then I can protect them, entertain them, whatever they need.
The next morning, I yawn while calling up my mom on the laptop. Shelby is still asleep in the living room while River drinks coffee on the back porch.
“Shane, you look like you need a hug,” Mom says as soon as she settles in front of her laptop’s camera.
“I’m just tired.”
“Trouble in paradise?” Dad asks from behind Mom somewhere.
“I might be in love. That’s the good kind of trouble, right?”
“Love,” Mom coos. “With Ramona.”
“It’s been a week,” Dad calls out again without actually appearing.
“How long did you know Mom before you were hooked?”
“Touché, kiddo,” he says, and Mom smiles in the direction behind the laptop where Dad must stand.
“Is she there?” Mom asks, scanning behind me.
“No. She spent the night on Sunday. It was hotter than the sun.”
“Does she treat you right, Shane?” Mom asks, trying to seem worried. “Is she kind to your feelings? Does she listen when you speak?”
I think Dad must give her a look. She snickers before her face returns to the concerned expression from before.
“Ramona is messed-up, Mom. Fragile. Sweet. Delicate. I might be too tired to come up with more descriptive words.”
“Messed-up, how?” Mom asks, pouting now. “Did someone fuck with her? Do you need to unleash the whoop-ass?”
I hear Dad laugh in the background, but Mom’s worried expression isn’t fake this time. She admires men who stick up for women. Kirk Johansson saved her. Dad loves and protects her. Those kinds of men have honor in her eyes. If I protect Ramona, I’m like them. My mother really needs to believe that she raised a good man.
“I told you that her dad was the old president. Let’s just say he was no Kirk Johansson.”
Mom’s expression changes, and I regret mentioning that name. I see the tears prickling in her eyes, but she doesn’t cry. Dad distracts her with a question from somewhere in the void behind the laptop camera.
“Can we meet Ramona?” Dad asks.
Snapping out of her sadness, Mom smiles at me. “Is it too soon? We don’t want to scare her, and your dad is very intimidating.”
“I promise not to flex my muscles around the girl,” he says, and Mom looks at her hubby as if she’s starving for some naked hubby time.
“In a week or two maybe. Ramona doesn’t think big. She probably assumes we won’t be together by next month. Her view of men isn’t great, and she really doesn’t trust bikers.”
“You’ll show her how good a heart you have, baby,” Mom coos. “Your strength can help her be brave and dream bigger.”
A lot of moms wouldn’t push their son to make big moves with a strange woman. They would warn me about all the pitfalls. How I don’t even know Ramona. That I should play things safe. My mom always supports me, though. Even when I do stupid shit, she’s right there cheering me on because she wants me to be me. Right or wrong, she can’t tell me no. And when I fail—which I do from time to time—she is the first one to help rebuild my tattered ego. Mom is why I’m fucking fearless, even if she’s probably one of the most fearful people I’ve ever known.
I see that with Ramona. Her soft heart needing to be protected. Her wary view of the world. Her need to make me happy, even if my happiness isn’t always the best for her.
My dad has spent half his life making my mother as happy as possible. I see her strength when he’s near. He might not be the top dog in Ellsberg or the Reapers. He isn’t the richest businessman. But he found his woman, and he did all he could to claim and keep her. That’s what I want for Ramona and me. I know she’s the one. The shit with Fuse and the Executioners cuts me deep, but there’s nothing that’ll make me turn on Ramona.
One day, with enough time and patience—like the kind my father has for my mother—I’ll convince Ramona that I’m not her dad or any other man she’s ever known. She’ll trust in my words and dreams that I have for us.
THE LEGACY
Before heading to work, I take a dozen pictures of my flowers. They’re in a fancy little vase that Kelsi buys from our elderly neighbor whose garage is full of old crap she can’t use. In exchange for the vase, we promise to help work on her lawn in the spring.
At the radio station, I pull up the images of my roses in between songs. I never get nice gifts. My friends and I just pool our money to buy what we need or want throughout the year. We never get a tree for Christmas or have a big dinner for Thanksgiving. I only went trick-or-treating once, and that was as a teenager to be “edgy.” As a kid, my birthdays involved one gift. As an adult, I don’t even celebrate my birthday. The nicest stuff I have is what I buy with the Band.
These flowers, though, are extravagant. They’re probably no big deal to Shane, but they leave me feeling both giddy and uneasy. I can’t afford to get spoiled. When I expect too much
from life, I get hurt. When I’m happy with my fun job and my awesome friends, my days are relaxed.
Shane doesn’t do casual. He makes big gestures and promises. When we ate out, he glowered at all the men as if staking his claim on me. That’s how he works—big, strong, unyielding. Shane doesn’t half-ass things. When we fuck, he’s completely focused on me. I’ve had guys stop in the middle of a thrust to check their phones. When we’re together, though, Shane is blind to everything else. When he stands in a room, he sorta takes it over. Not just with his large, muscular build. There’s also a quiet hostility toward any threat, even when none is around.
I admit I read him wrong that first day, thinking he was a jock or a normal hot guy. Then I couldn’t really wrap my head around how he and River—who I’d heard was prettier than sin—could push Fuse out of the club and force the Skullz to bow to the Reapers. Shane seemed too young and handsome to intimidate older, meaner men.
But I see him better now. Shane’s complicated. A hard, outer shell with a soft heart that needs me to want him. He even seems a little insecure at times when he thinks I’m unhappy. Shane is more than I ever hoped for. That’s why the flowers inspire both hope and icy dread. I have the chance to be close with someone amazing, but I also have a long history of fucking up. It’ll kill me a little when I ruin things with Shane.
An hour from the end of my shift, I catch sight of his Harley parked across the street from the station. I ask if he wants to hang out with me while I finish up. Seconds later, he texts back with a yes. Three minutes later, he walks across the street with two coffees in hand.
Marata lets him into the building while I play a few local commercials. By the time I’ve started a requested song by the Interrupters, Shane is on the second floor and standing outside my booth.
Diving for him, I nearly knock the coffees out of his grip. He adjusts to my crazy attack and kisses me while holding the drinks out of reach.
“Your ability to multitask makes my panties wet,” I murmur and shut the door to the booth while he settles into a chair next to mine. “Thank you for the flowers.”
Shane hears something in my voice and frowns as if he’s worried. “I know the card was mushy.”
“There’s a card?” I ask, sitting in my chair and checking where the song is at currently.
“Did the place not write it down?”
“I didn’t know to look for a card,” I mumble, losing my smile. “I’ve never gotten flowers before. Is there some kind of proper etiquette?”
Shane leans forward and takes my hand. “Did you like them?”
“I jumped up and down like a fucking idiot,” I admit, grinning again. “I felt like a damn princess.”
Smile warming his handsome face, Shane kisses my hand. I wish I could sit in his lap and show him how appreciative I feel, but I need to read from the news sheet Marata left for me earlier.
Shane sits back and watches me work. His lustful gaze makes me feel like I’m so cool just to be reading about the weather. Once another song plays, he asks a bunch of questions about the playlist and what the buttons do. His curiosity inspires a dangerous sensation in my chest. First the flowers and then showing up early because he missed me. That’s what he said he put on the card. He missed me. Shane’s fearless affections stir a deep longing to have him be mine.
That Ellsberg way of thinking feels dumb. Of course, his dad has a side piece. No way does a biker give up all other pussy. Yet Shane believes his father doesn’t cheat, meaning Dylan Campbell does a good enough job of hiding his side piece that even his son and club brother doesn’t know. No biker in Shasta would put that kind of effort. It’s just not done here.
Is that what I want? To have a husband who sneaks around so well that I can lie to myself about how he’s not fucking someone else? What if the woman gets pregnant like my mom did? Are they just sneakier in Ellsberg about their abortions? I feel like I’d know if Shane was cheating. Like maybe his mom is just more trusting. I know she’s messed-up and fragile, but that doesn’t mean she’s jaded. She could be so sweet that she believes lies easier. I’d love to have that talent, but my brain always goes ugly eventually. I’d think about how Shane’s dick has been somewhere that isn’t inside me.
Though I’m falling in love with Shane, I don’t want to be an old lady. I can’t pretend he isn’t cheating. Of course, he’ll fuck other people. Men get bored. What if I get fat from a kid? That’s what will happen. Then when he gives me flowers, I’ll assume it’s from guilt over fucking someone else.
“What’s happening in your head?” he asks after I finish up my set and get ready to leave. “You were looking at me one way, and then it changed.”
“The thoughts in my head are dumb, and I don’t want to share them.”
“But I want to know them.”
Holding his gaze, I say, “Well, then one of us is about to be disappointed.”
Shane frowns darkly when he realizes he’s the loser in this situation. No way am I explaining my feelings to him. Men don’t want to hear that shit. What good would it do anyway? He’ll just lie and tell me that I’m special.
No, it’s worse than that. He’s at the beginning of a relationship when things are fun. Right now, I am special. He’ll be forced to make promises about stuff that happens way later. By then, he’ll be bored, I’ll get on his nerves, and some sweet butt will make him feel sexy in a way that I can’t anymore. Whatever he says now doesn’t matter because the Shane saying the words isn’t the Shane who will cheat.
That’s why I just pack up and take his hand so we can leave. The crazy in my head needs to stay where it won’t cause any problems.
THE ROMANTIC
Ramona’s expression when she first sees me at the station soothes my raging heart. She looks so excited—relieved even. As she talks about the flowers, her smile is as bright as the fucking sun. Everything is perfect, as Ramona shows me what she does at the studio.
Then her mood shifts. Not in a huge way. Ramona does her best to pretend as if she’s still in the same bright, relaxed mood as when I arrived. But there’s something happening in her pretty head that makes her look at me a little different. Her entire demeanor deflates just enough for me to notice, but not enough to put my finger on the reason.
I make the mistake of pushing the subject when we’re waiting to be served at a restaurant.
“I’m moody, Shane,” she says, pretending to look at the menu. “I don’t know how we can work if you need me to be chill all the time.”
Her words kick me in the ego, and I ask like a sad fuck, “Do you even want us to work?”
The crestfallen expression she gives me erases my worries but also fills me with guilt. Ramona keeps being honest about how she works. I know she’s on edge at all times. I see her struggling. Her face does nothing to hide her fears. Yet I keep pushing for her to reassure me.
“I do, but I don’t know how to be what you want. I’m not good at faking stuff.”
Leaving my side of the booth, I slide in next to her and ignore her startled expression. “Ramona, I don’t want you to fake anything. I want you to be you, but you have to understand that I’m a very selfish asshole. If I don’t get what I want instantly, I feel slighted and need reassurance. That’s on me, not you, but you need to be patient with me.”
Ramona’s dark eyes study me. I watch on her face how she’s working things out. I’m the problem, not her. I see the real her. I don’t expect her to change. Ramona settles down when she realizes all she has to do is be sweet to me. A smile lingers on her lips, but her gaze remains unsure. Not necessarily from what we just spoke about, but that earlier issue she won’t share with me.
“Can you stay over tonight?” I whisper as I tug her into my body.
“I brought stuff, just in case. Like overnight stuff,” she mumbles, and I realize my public affections are making her uneasy. But when I think to add space between us, she instantly leans closer. “Actually, it was Hugh’s idea to bring my overnight stuff.
I never think about things like that.”
“Did you tell them about this weekend?”
Ramona’s frozen expression makes me smile. She rebounds and grins awkwardly. “First, they weren’t around. Then when they were, I forgot. Sorry. I think everyone is working this weekend. I bet if we scheduled it for the next weekend that they could get the time off.”
“When I talked to my parents today, Mom wanted to meet you.” Ramona’s expression freezes again. This time, she looks ready to take off running. “I told them to wait a little longer. Let you get used to the Foursome before we add parents to the mix. My mom understands what it’s like to get overwhelmed by new people.”
Swallowing with relief, Ramona tries to shrug off her earlier fear. “I’m not great with authority figures.”
I know Ramona is lying. She’s just afraid to meet my parents because she has weird ideas about Ellsberg and bikers in general. I know the Skullz were stupid, evil fucks, and her own parents are trash. However, I believe the real issue is that Ramona only understands Shasta thinking.
Here, people are trash, or they’re not trash. There’s no gray area. My neighbors don’t like us bikers living next door, but they’re scared. So, they smile and wave like agreeable bitches. Those same people wouldn’t feel welcome in the Railroad part of Shasta. This town is entirely too cliquey.
And Ramona assumes my parents are the Boulders type of people, so they’ll automatically hate her. In Ellsberg, there are cliques too, but it’s far more subtle. In Shasta, everything is flopping out in the open like that guy Mitty’s dick whenever he streaks. I remember laughing when I first heard about the idiot. Now I just wonder what the fuck is wrong with this town that he’s a thing that people accept.
“It’s just nudity,” Ramona says when I mention Mitty. “The church types act shocked, but they have pussies and dicks too. They just like pretending a little extra cash in their accounts means they don’t shit and piss like the rest of us.”