Wild Side

by Cynthia Ayman

  Reese nods approvingly. “Yeah, that’s a good one. Great choice. I already asked her for the Baileys cheesecake for mine.”

  “What the fuck?!” I exclaim. “You guys want her for yourselves!”

  “Hey, now that’s a great idea,” Lee says. “You don’t want to claim her and that’s good, but Reese, if you do, it solves all our problems.”

  I jump from my chair and grab Reese by the collar. I should have gone for Lee but he’s my president and a vicious fighter. “Don’t even think about it,” I snarl.

  “Jealous?” Reese smirks.

  Fuck. Yes. Yes, I am but I’ll be damned if I tell them. I let go of him then grab my beer and stalk my way out of the kitchen while the three fuckers continue to chirp like a bunch of schoolgirls. A chorus of “Apa is in luuuuuv” follows me as I head to the stairs and back to my girl.

  Abby is still sitting on the bed when I walk in, but she is now wearing one of my T-shirts and braiding her hair. I notice she does that when she is nervous or something is bothering her. It’s cute, because I usually end up messing it up when I help her work through whatever shit is going through her head. I have a feeling I better not think about it tonight, though.

  I join her in bed after my shower, and I’m surprised when she rolls toward me before I even have the chance to spoon her like I usually do. She settles against my side, her hand roaming over my chest and tracing my tattoos. “Why the dragon?” she asks as her fingers move to my shoulder and neck.

  I’m not sure what brought this change of topic but I’m not about to complain. “I don’t really know,” I admit. “I thought it looked badass. When I was a kid, I always promised myself I’d get a dragon. So I did.”

  “And your arm?” She is focusing on my right arm, which is a full sleeve of intricate designs. I added some personal things but mostly let the artist work his magic.

  “Well, the poppy is for my mom,” I explain.

  “Aw, that’s sweet.”

  I snort. “Not really. She asked me to get it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she said she had raised me well. When I got into the club, she was afraid I might turn wrong. She said the poppy was to remind me of her and of how I would want a man to treat her and to make sure I treat girls that way, too.”

  Abby lifts her head with a smile. “I like your mom.”

  I realize I’m screwed because I’m positive my mom would like her too.

  ***

  Abby

  Valentine’s day at the clubhouse is interesting, to say the least. In the last five years, it mostly meant a busy day for me, and that doesn’t really change. It’s late afternoon, and I’m making chocolate strawberries while Apa is fixing my car. He’s been working on it for a few days, and when I told him it was an expense I couldn’t really afford at the moment, and that I preferred saving money to buy a new one - whenever that happens - he just looked at me like I had personally offended him.

  Apparently, it’s a matter of pride or something masculine I don’t really get. He mumbled about how his woman should drive a decent car and since she is too stubborn to let him get her a new one, he has to find another way.

  My stomach did a little flip when he said “my woman,” I’m not gonna lie. He says it more and more often, too. Alright, usually it involves the word stubborn or a slap on my ass to prove his point, but I’m taking it. I think he’s trying to show he cares about me in his own caveman way.

  I am decorating the last dozen strawberries with white chocolate pearls when he walks into the kitchen with Jackson, who is all dressed up. I do a double-take because I’m so used to seeing him in ratty jeans and an old T-shirt that I don’t recognize him right away. He’s still wearing jeans, but these are new and clean. Instead of his battered sneakers, he has a pair of dark brown Chukka boots and he even picked a buttoned-down shirt. It’s denim, but still.

  Apa behind him winks at me, and I understand that Jackson probably has a date. It takes everything in me to not coo at him because he just looks freaking adorable.

  “Come on, ask her,” Apa says as he pushes him forward.

  Jackson blushes, and my motherly instincts are blasting. I’ve never really been into kids, children or even babies but somehow, in this big, slightly dysfunctional family dynamic, the youngest member awakens that in me big time. “Something wrong?” I say to encourage him. The way he avoids my eyes tells me that complimenting him on his outfit will only make things worse, so I hold back.

  It’s a struggle… but I hold back. If the girl doesn’t treat him right, I swear I’m gonna go full biker bitch on her ass.

  “I forgot to get her a present,” Jackson admits sheepishly. “I have flowers, though,” he rushes to add as if he’s afraid he is going to be judged on his lack of dating skills. “But Apa told me that on Valentine’s day, a little extra is always good.”

  “Did he, now?”

  “Yeah. What, it’s not true?” Jackson asks, his eyes going from me to Apa.

  I smile at him. “Yes. I’m just wondering where the hell are my flowers and my little extra.”

  “Hey! I fixed your car,” Apa protests.

  “And?”

  “And you’re a baker, nothing I could get you will be as good as what you make.”

  Good save. I’m a little bit impressed, to be honest. “Fine. You win that round.” I sigh and grab a box, then fill it with chocolate strawberries. “Here. Tell her you made them yourself.”

  “Oh, come on, Abby,” Apa exclaims. “You’ll make him look like a pussy.”

  “My high school boyfriend once made chocolate lava cakes for me.”

  “He was a loser, then.”

  “Well, the loser, as you say, got my virginity that same night,” I say smugly.

  Jackson beams as he grabs the box of strawberries, and I realize that maybe it wasn’t a smart thing to say in front of him. He’s a sweet kid, very respectful, and it took him two weeks to stop calling me “ma’am.” It’s hard for me to picture him as a biker, to be honest. But from what Apa told me, he learned to deal with a lot of aggression, probably born from a difficult family situation. The club is good for him, as weird as it sounds.

  “Wrap it up,” Apa bellows as Jackson all but runs away. I slap him with a towel.

  “What?”

  “Don’t embarrass him!”

  “Baby, with everything he’s seen around here, you really think that reminding him to wear a condom is going to embarrass him? You’re such a mama bear, I swear.”

  I gasp. “I’m not!”

  He steals a strawberry before I can stop him and bites half of it. “You so are,” he says, his mouth full. I roll my eyes as I lick my thumb and wipe the chocolate at the corner of his mouth.

  “Fine. I am.”

  His arm goes around my neck to pull me close, and the next thing I know, his lips are on mine. He tastes like strawberry and chocolate, and it invades my senses.

  So much that I don’t even notice when he’s slipping something around my neck.

  “What-”

  He winks at me then makes me turn around so he can fasten it. It’s a thin silver chain, and I let out a tiny squeal of delight when I see the small pendant in the shape of a green wrapped candy.

  “You told me at the wedding that flowers weren’t your thing,” he murmurs in my ear before pressing a kiss right on the spot that drives me insane.

  I smile. It’s impossible to hold back. Because he remembers. And that’s worth all the roses in Edmond, and maybe even in California.

  “Thank you,” I say as I turn around, tilting my head back for a kiss. He smiles as he leans in, and I love the way his arms pull me snug against him. He touches his lips to mine, softly. It makes me all warm inside, this tenderness he is showing me.

  “You’re welcome,” he whispers mid-kiss. His hand has already traveled south, but I’ve gotten used to it now. It made me feel embarrassed at first, his hand on my ass in public, but here in the clubhouse, it’s rather tame
as far as PDA goes. “I should let you finish, I guess,” he adds after one last peck.

  I sigh, nodding as I stroke his cheek. His scruff is long again, almost like a small beard. It’s softer now, which I enjoy, too.

  Apa grins and presses his forehead against mine. “You’re playing with fire, babe.”

  “Jeez, Apa, could you please stop corrupting our baker?” Reese’s exasperated voice breaks us apart, and I chuckle when Apa doesn’t even turn around and flips him the bird.

  I push him away and he gives me another of his little winks, the ones that make me weak in the knees every. Damn. Time. He grabs a couple beers from the fridge, hands one to his best friend as they both sit down at the table while I try to focus back on my strawberries. I was almost done with them, and it’s a good thing too because I’m basically swooning on my feet right now.

  For one who doesn’t do romance or relationships, Aaron sure has good instincts. It just really sucks that his life is the way it is because, damn… the guy is boyfriend material.

  Chapter 19

  Apa

  After the crap Pinkie pulled, things settled down better than I thought. Pinkie got her warning loud and clear, and the other girls seem to be behaving as well. Abby still hasn’t run away, which I consider a win. We both settled into something that looks awfully like domestic routine. She wakes up super early, I join her downstairs a few hours later, we have breakfast together, then we head back upstairs to get ready when the brothers invade the kitchen. She bakes, I go to the workshop, or handle whatever club business needs handling - mostly delivering weed or giving a hand to Reese at the strip club. Abby often takes a nap in the afternoon now, so she can go to bed a little later. Well, she still goes to bed at the same time, but we don’t go to sleep right away. My room has been seeing a lot of action lately.

  We had a great Valentine’s day, and an even greater Valentine’s night. When I told her I chose a green necklace because it reminded me of her eyes, she practically violated me. I just wanted to make sure she knew that I’m aware her favorite color is purple, but apparently I was very well inspired. It’s been ten days, and I’m still not over the titty-fuck she gave me. The party got really wild downstairs, as usual on Valentine’s day, but all I can remember is how she indulged in one of my fantasies, stripping from her innocent baker outfit and showing me the sexy lingerie she had picked just for me. It does something to me, knowing I’m the only one who gets to see her that way.

  Today, I have to go on a small run with some of the guys. Not exactly looking forward to leaving Abby, but I don’t have much of a choice. I always make the run to Lancaster, and I’ve been itching to get on the road with the brothers. I left Abby in our bed - one of the only days she didn’t have to be up early, and we only fell asleep late into the night. So late it was almost dawn when I finally had my fill of her.

  I have to admit I wanted to make sure she also had her fill for the next couple days. I’m leaving her alone in a house full of men who would only be too willing to get into her pants, after all. It’s not like she would have a hard time finding a partner if she wanted one. I’m reminded of Reese’s nagging over claiming her as my old lady, and for the first time I’m actually considering it. Is it my birthday approaching? I have no fucking idea. I always pictured myself eventually taking an old lady to take care of me in my old age or some shit, but one who knows the club life and who’s been with it as long as me.

  Not a cute as fuck baker with big innocent green eyes who moonlights as a paparazzi.

  We ride past Lancaster and pull into a small town called Camden, where the Renegades have their main clubhouse. Our clubs have been tight since the beginning, and we know each other well. It’s always a fun trip to visit them.

  We’re welcomed the usual way, with pats on the back. I like their clubhouse. It’s smaller than ours and we always have to share rooms, but they also have a pool. There is nothing like taking a dip after being on a bike for hours.

  “You’re still dealing with Stokes?” Samba, whom I consider a friend, asks me as we sit down in front of a beer. He was also in the Marines, and we crossed paths occasionally even before I joined the Sinners. He’s a few years younger than me and is originally from Brazil - hence his nickname. The asshole is a great dancer and usually manages to snatch all the chicks first.

  Good thing Abby didn’t come with me.

  I nod. Stokes is the asshole who stole some weed a few weeks ago. The Renegades found him for us and, as we speak, he is still being held in one of our warehouses. Teaching him a lesson.

  “You know it would have been easier to let us handle it,” Samba says smoothly as Reese joins us.

  “Yeah, I know. Wasn’t my call, though.” Lee made the decision because he knew what the Renegades would do, and we figured we should first try something that didn’t include killing the son of a bitch. Not that we never had to do things like that. But we are trying to stay away from the things that could cause issues for our club, and that is one of them. Only in case of extreme necessity is our new rule. A few bags of weed, no matter how much it pissed us off, didn’t make the cut when we voted.

  Keeping the asshole in a cell for weeks and making his life hell will hopefully be enough to make him reconsider his life choices.

  “It’s just weed, and he’s an idiot kid,” Reese adds. “Only twenty years-old.”

  A girl, whom I fucked a few times I think, sashays her way to our table. Her boobs are spilling out of her tight top, and she is wearing a pair of those cut-off jeans. “Hi, Apa,” she murmurs in a throaty voice, her arm slipping around my shoulders.

  Fuck. I shake my head and pull her hand away. “Sorry, doll. Not this time.”

  Reese smirks as he pulls her on his lap. “No worry. I’m here and willing.” She giggles and forgets all about me. Good.

  “Still. He is old enough to know better,” Samba continues before taking a long pull of his beer. “You guys are getting soft. Next time I come see you, I’ll find you all selling Girl Scout Cookies or some shit.”

  Reese chokes on his beer, spraying some on the chick’s boobs. He glances at her apologetically then makes a show of wiping the few drops from her breasts while answering Samba. “Man… you have no idea how on point you are.”

  I throw him a warning look. It’s pointless. Reese is the biggest tattletale I know.

  “Apa found a girl,” he fake-whispers dramatically.

  “Fuck you.” I sigh and roll my eyes. I should have stayed in Edmond.

  “No way?” Samba laughs. “How is she?”

  Reese makes the usual hourglass figure with his hands. “She’s a baker. She’s been spoiling us rotten so he’s a little bit jealous.”

  “She hasn’t been spoiling you guys rotten,” I snarl. “She’s doing it for me.”

  “Oh yeah? And those chocolate chip cookies she sneaked into my saddlebag, they’re for you too?”

  I put my beer down and it bangs on the table. Abby told me she didn’t have any left.

  The girl on his lap must sense I’m pissed because she scrambles off. Her ass is barely up when I grab Reese and pull him out of his chair. He’s been annoying the shit out of me for weeks, and I don’t have to hold back for my girl since she’s a few hundred miles away.

  I’ll give her a piece of my mind when I get back because, damn, I should be her priority.

  Maybe I’ll hold off her orgasms or something.

  I manage a few good punches before Samba pulls me off. Reese is laughing his ass off as he takes my hand and stands up. “Dude, you’re pathetic. Claim the chick, have mercy on yourself and on us.”

  Easy for him to say. But I have to admit that all my reasons for not wanting an old lady seem to vanish one by one. Abby isn’t exactly old lady material, not in the traditional sense at least, but the more time I spend with her, the less I care. So what if she’ll never get wild during parties? She gets wild in the bedroom, and just for me. Being faithful isn’t problematic to me either. I thought I’d
miss the freedom, but now that I’m an exclusive relationship, I wonder why I thought it would be a hardship. When you’re attracted to someone and care about them, other women kinda lose their appeal naturally. And the sex is amazing between us. I love the intimacy we have now, I love knowing that as soon as we close our bedroom door, it’s only the two of us. If I’m tired, she lets me snuggle between her boobs. I can stay there as long as I want - and usually, I take my time because her boobs are fantastic - and I like knowing I won’t have to share her attention.

  Being responsible for an old lady doesn’t freak me out as much as it used to in the past. It has a lot to do with the fact that Abby is mostly happy living her life. She’s not the kind to cause trouble. As long as she has company, she’s content. She is a little more extroverted than me in that aspect. She is definitely a little shy, especially when it comes to PDA or sex, but she loves to have someone to talk to, or dote on.

  That kind of temperament is kinda necessary when you live in a clubhouse.

  So, yeah… making her my old lady doesn’t seem as crazy as it used to. I’m still not sure about it, though. It’s too soon, for one. It’s a fucking serious commitment, for two. And there is also that tiny part of me that can’t help but think Abby is just experimenting with me and will soon go back home, settle down, and find a nice guy who doesn’t live in a house full of girls he used to fuck.

  ***

  Abby

  I’m reading a book in one of the comfy chairs in the common room when I hear the purring of the bikes as they approach. I manage to hold back my squeal and behave like a grown-ass woman but it’s a struggle. Apa left three days ago to visit another club. At first, I was uncomfortable. Being a guest is one thing but when the one who invited you originally isn’t even there, it’s a little awkward. Bear made me stay to watch a movie with them the first night. I only managed to stay twenty minutes before someone decided they were in the mood for oral sex. Still. It’s the thought that counts and it didn’t freak me out as much as it would have some five weeks ago or so.