Snuggling deeper into the cushions, gun on the end table for safety, the light still on, I’m transported to a fantasy world of snow. All my thoughts scatter, and here I am, trudging through the cold tundra with my latest heroine. The frigid air tickles my nose, and time fades to nothing but an idea upon the wind.
Ryker
Bitin’ her bottom lip, lost inside a fictional world, Kat’s eyeballs dance side to side, soaking in the pages of her latest book. She’s so fuckin’ adorable, and oblivious as all get out. I’ve been standin’ here watchin’ from her peripheral for the last ten minutes. She hasn’t moved once. Not sure if I should interrupt my content Tiger or not. I don’t want her claws to come out.
Fuck it.
Needin’ to hear her voice after the shit show today’s been, I clear my throat roughly to alert her of my presence. Kat’s shoulders startle for half a second before her gaze flits in my direction. “Ryker,” she gasps a sexy little breath.
My cock takes that as an invitation, chubbin’ to a semi. Down boy.
Havin’ already removed my cut and boots in the mudroom, I sprawl out on the couch, even though I’m itchin’ to hug and kiss my lady after an exhausting day. There’s nothing better than her lips on mine to make the world less bleak. Sadly, that ain’t gonna happen so her mere presence will have to do.
“I didn’t think you’d be back,” she admits, a crinkle forming between her pale brows. She looks cute as hell in another pair of my sweats and a vintage Guns N Roses shirt. Her golden locks fall in thick waves over her shoulders, touching the peaks of her braless breasts. Kat must be chilly ‘cause there’s some definite THOs greeting me. Not that I mind.
Playin’ it cool, I tuck a hand behind my head to show off my bicep. If I didn’t know how attracted my little Tiger is to me, I wouldn’t deliberately tempt her. But don’t think I didn’t notice her ogling me last night. It feels damn good knowin’ she still wants me on some level, even if it’s physical. I’ll take scraps at this point.
“I told you I’m gonna be around as much as I can. If that means gettin’ here late, wakin’ up early to make my daughters breakfast, and then take ‘em to school, I’m gonna do it. Unless you have a problem with that.”
Kat sets her Kindle on the end table beside the loaded gun and pulls her blanket high enough to cover those luscious tits. “I don’t mind. That’s fine. I just assumed you’d stay with Vanessa.”
I bark a humorless laugh. “Uh. No. I spent too much time with her today as is.” Breakfast. Doctors. Clubhouse. Market, after I saw Kat leave with Rosie. And the rest of the night at her place watchin’ Project Runway so I could keep an eye on her. Babysitting your soon-to-be ex, who’s young and immature, is annoying. Add the fact I gotta do the same tomorrow, and I’m not sure I’ll survive the week. There’s only so many baby name conversations you can argue through before you wanna end it all. It’s worse when you can’t agree on a single one. My brother and I have strong names. Dad gave ‘em to us so we wouldn’t need road names when we got older. But she likes sissy unisex crap like Taylor, Madison, and Juniper. Who the fuck names their kid Juniper, unless they want them to get the shit kicked outta them the rest of their life?
“Did you eat dinner? Because if you’re hungry, there’s leftovers in the fridge. If you can find them. We … um … Rosie and I went a little crazy at the store today,” Kat says.
She’s quite the clever subject changer. Evidently, she doesn’t wanna discuss Vanessa, which is fine by me. We’ll pretend she doesn’t exist.
“What is it?” I ask, genuinely curious. I’ve always enjoyed my old lady’s cookin’. Anythin’ her hand's touch turns to gold—food wise.
“Kade didn’t tell you?” Her sweet, fluttery tone peaks a few decibels.
My other hand joins his brother behind my head, givin’ her a double gun show. Was that lame? Yup. Pretty fuckin’ lame. Remind me never to use that term again. “Was he supposed to?”
“I figured he would.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I made him eggplant lasagna.”
I’m jealous. That sounds goddamn amazing.
“And?”
Is there a point here I’m not gettin’?
For whatever reason, Kat shifts on the chair, flustered, and combs fingers down her hair. “Does he not send you purple eggplant texts?”
“Is he supposed to?”
What’s she—
An alarm of police sirens and flashing lights goes off in my brain.
He better not have done what I think she’s referring to. Knowing my brother, he did. Red hot rage suffuses my veins. I’m gonna murder that motherfucker.
“Why the hell is Kade sendin’ you dick emojis?” I grate. Who sends their brother’s old lady pecker texts? I don’t give a dirty rat’s ass if they’re friends or not. You don’t do that shit.
Kat’s eyes round as she lifts a cautious palm to tame the beast. Nope. I can’t be tamed. I’m gonna call this disloyal bastard right now.
On a mission, I jerk the phone from my front pocket. Kat’s frantic voice intercepts my intent. “It was a joke. They were jokes. Don’t call him, Ryker. Please.”
Exhaling harshly, I toss the cell on the floor to get it away from me before I do something rash. The last thing I want is Kat pissed that I handled her business for her. Been there, lived through that. She’s a grown ass woman. It’s hard to remember she can take care of herself for the most part. If she was upset that Kade sent those texts, they wouldn’t have had dinner together. As logical as that may be, it ain’t enough to make me forget. My bro and I will have words, some fists, and a whole lotta bruises by the time the score’s settled.
Tucking my arms across my pecs, I grumble through clenched teeth, “Enlighten me on these jokes.”
By the way Kat’s eyeing my face, I can tell she’s surprised by my reaction. As if there’d ever be a different one. “I used to ask him what’s up, and if he was gettin’ busy, he’d send me a purple eggplant emoji and water splashing.” She shrugs as if it ain’t a big deal.
“I see.” Yeah, I’m not findin’ the humor in this. “So my brother sends you an ejaculatory dick emoji to mess around, and to get back at him, you cook eggplant lasagna?” To me, it sounds like she’s rewardin’ him for bein’ a d-bag.
Kat pinches the bridge of her nose above her glasses, where the skin’s still discolored from the kidnapping. “It’s not like that. Forget I said anything. There’s leftovers in the fridge if you want some. If not, that’s cool. I was offering. Not trying to start another fight with you.”
“Babe, I’m not fightin’ with you. I’m just mad at my jackass brother. If he had a woman and I was talkin’ to her like that, he’d put a knife to my throat.” Truth.
Kat perks right on up. Fire blazes behind her eyes, and my dick goes insta hard. “Guess it’s a good thing I’m not your woman then.”
“Think whatever you want.” That’s her right.
“Facts, Ryker. Facts. I’m not thinkin’ anything. I’m explaining facts.” Kat snaps her fingers and does a little whirly motion with her pointer. “The fact is: your brother and I are friends. He teases me with stupid texts. So what? What do you consider to be a larger offense? A man who doesn’t have kids with me, who loves me platonically, who happens to send me silly perverted texts. Or … the man who—”
“Stop right there,” I interject, raising a hand to circumvent the treacherous path this is about to travel down. “We are not gonna go around and around and around with this. Not again. I love you. You don’t love me. I get it. But I’m not gonna sit here and have you constantly give me shit for the past I can’t fix. Hate me. That’s your choice. But what’s that doin’ for you? Does that make you feel better? Sure, I don’t fuckin’ like my bro talkin’ like that with you … the only woman in the universe I’ve ever thought of as mine. You may not agree. Can’t say I blame ya. That doesn’t matter in here, though.” I thump a fist over my heart. “This beats and will continue to beat f
or one woman. That’s the facts, Tiger, whether you choose to acknowledge them or not.” Squeezing my eyes shut, exhausted by this conversation that’ll never lead to a damn thing, I expel a tiresome groan.
Why do we keep doing this to ourselves?
Giving myself a three-second reprieve to feel sorry for my aching heart, I reopen my eyes, get off the couch, ignore Kat’s wandering gaze, and get myself some delicious food from the fridge. There’s not much left, so I take it all. There’s no way I’m sharing these leftovers with anyone else. One thing’s for certain, I’m a greedy asshole.
Dumping the garlic-scented heaven onto a plate, I shove it in the microwave and nuke it for two minutes. Watching the time tick down, I lean against the countertop, cross my ankles and arms, and revel in the domesticity. A year ago, if you would’ve told me I’d be standin’ here in my kitchen, eatin’ a home cooked meal, watchin’ my old lady not so subtly peek at me out of the corner of her eye with deep concern, I would’ve had you committed. I may have built this cabin with her and the kids in mind, but that was a pipe dream. Year after year, I’d change the girls’ bedroom to keep up with their ages, likes and dislikes, on the off chance my dreams would come to fruition. I’d pay close attention to the surveillance videos and pictures. Anything to give me a sense of who they are. The fairies and glittery girl crap came to me around Christmas. And because I couldn’t be with them, I designed a brand new room instead. Made the sign for the door. Built the bookcase by hand to keep me busy. The beds were tricky, but I can follow instructions well. YouTube has some great DIY tutorials.
Food piping hot, I take it outta the microwave, snag a fork from the drawer, stuff a bottle of water from the fridge under my armpit, and retake my seat on the couch. Save for my obnoxious chewing, the room remains quiet as Kat tries not to watch me but fails. I’m halfway through the dish before she finally cuts the mounting tension with a knife.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ll stop projecting my issues on you. You did make piss poor choices in the past. We both agree with that. I’m gonna try to let the past stay where it belongs. But you need to realize I have a lot of hurt stuffed inside that I’ve repressed for a long time. It’s going to want to smash a beer bottle over your head sometimes. That can’t be helped. You get under my skin. I’m trying not to let you. But it’s impossible.”
Around a bite of gooey cheese, I mumble, “You get under mine, too. So we’re even.” Swallowing down the bite, I then add, “By the way, this is the best home cooked meal I’ve had in ages.” The last one I can remember enjoying was also cooked by her. Coincidence? I think not.
A burst of cherry paints Kat’s cheeks, and she looks away. “Thanks. Sorry you missed dessert.”
A pang of regret vibrates in my chest. Disregarding the sensation, I finish off the last three forkfuls and take a swig of water. Setting the plate on the end table, I get comfy on the couch. Hands tucked behind my head. My shirt rides up to my belly button on its own, so I leave it be. If it wouldn’t cause an issue, I’d take it all the way off. However, I know that’d make her uncomfortable. She’s always been kinda shy about bodies. Especially her own. Kat doesn’t see the same temptress I see when I look at her. It’s a cryin’ shame.
“What’d you have?” I eventually ask when I realize she’s not gonna tell me without a nudge.
“What do you think?” Kat fiddles with the A necklace, still fascinated by everything else but me. Shy Tiger.
“Hmmm. Are we talkin’ favorites here? Or favorite favorites?” Yes, there is such a thing with Katrina. At least from what I remember. Who knows. It’s been so long, tastes are bound to change.
“Favorite favorites.”
That’s simple then. She had three on that list.
“Then you guys had cheesecake without fruit, pecan pie with half a can of whipped cream, or…”
Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, brows furrowed, I contemplate the final dessert. I wanna go with something chocolate. Kat loves her chocolate. Years ago, though, it was microwaved s’mores on her list. Simple and cheap. They were a pregnancy craving at one point. Three a.m. s’mores when she couldn’t sleep. Followed by a foot rub that always led to a calf rub and up, up, up, all the way to that sweet spot between her thighs. Slowly, I’d tease her clit. Massage it as if it wasn’t turnin’ her on. When she couldn’t take it any longer, I gave her g-spot some two finger action. It never took much to get her off. A few pumps in her slickness and she was screaming my name.
Fuckin’ A.
Not carin’ if she sees, I adjust the raging boner in my jeans. Probably shouldn’t have trudged up those memories. They do nothin’ but make me hard and feel like shit afterward.
“S’mores,” I add belatedly.
“The second one.” Kat scratches the arm of the chair absentmindedly. “I can’t believe you remembered them all.”
“Are they still the same?”
“Yes,” she whispers so faintly I barely catch it.
“Do you get s’more cravings at 3 a.m. like you did with Rox?”
“No. I don’t get as many cravings this time. Sweets. Yes. But nothing as specific.”
“Did Ghost bring you the pie? I smelled someone bakin’ at the clubhouse today. Didn’t check to see what.”
“Yep. But he only brought one.” Kat sulks, and I grin at her sullen expression. Goddamn cute as sin, is what she is.
“Poor baby had to share,” I tease.
“Dad gave me his slice, and shared Bear’s.”
“Did they get grossly lovey-dovey?”
Kat chuckles quietly to herself. “Uh huh. It was mush factor to the tenth degree. Bear was fork feeding Dad. I even caught Bear nuzzling his nose to Dad’s, and they kissed so many times I almost told them to take it elsewhere. Are they always like that?”
“Not in front of the brothers. Ya know, reps to protect and whatnot. But when we get together, just us boys and them, they’re disgusting. And it’s all Pops. After his heart attack, it got worse. Kade usually eggs them on with lewd comments just to see how long it’ll take Pops to tell him to fuck off.”
I’ll never forget the first time I walked into Pops’ office and found him on his knees, blowin’ his man’s cock. We’d been discussin’ some club stuff, I’d left for maybe three minutes to take a leak, and he was throat deep by the time I got back. Knowin’ I hate bein’ interrupted mid-suck, I left them be and returned later. That was years ago. Since then, I can’t even count on two hands how many times I’ve witnessed worse. Trust me when I say, you don’t wanna know the depraved details.
Katrina sighs. “Our parents. The mushy romantics. Who knew? I don’t remember much from when my parents were together. But I don’t think Dad was ever like that with Mom.”
“Pops wasn’t either. And he’s had his fair share of tail. A slew of hairy holes and slippery pink ones. Not a one who stuck around all that long. He’d get tired of the same ol’ same ol’ and there’d be a different whore crawlin’ outta his bed.”
“Like father, like son?” she asks politely. Not at all tryin’ to get another dig in.
I nod. “Somethin’ like that.”
“What’s it feel like?”
“What’s what feel like?”
Don’t ask. Do not pose the question, Katrina Remington. Don’t you fuckin’ do it.
“Screwing random pussy all the time,” she says.
Dammit. Why does she have to go there? Here I thought we were havin’ a pleasant conversation about our folks. One that doesn’t cross a line, or tear open freshly healed wounds. Now she’s gotta go and ruin our night by askin’ about my sex life. This is not a topic we should discuss. Not now. Not ever.
When I don’t answer right away, Kat adds, “We’re talking as friends, Ryker. It’s okay to tell me the truth.”
It’s a trap. My brain seizes. Abort abort.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I let the words fall freely from my lips without hesitation. “It’s pussy. It’s wet. It gets ya off. Serves a pur
pose. Not much else to say.” There. Not so bad. The truth without crude specifics.
Hopeful Whispers Page 21