Jake 2

by Hilary Storm

  I pull up in front of the store as if I own the place. I won’t say that's all by choice though, I couldn't fit my big ass truck in the tiny parking spots. It's the story of my life!

  The instant I step through the door, her high pitched voice squeals. "JAKE!" She comes from around the counter, all 5' 10 of her in her 4 inch heels; she is unexpectedly nimble in those heels, by the way. Her client damn near faints as she bolts and he realizes just how high that slit in her skirt goes. I'm embraced with a huge hug and kiss on the cheek. Lipstick in the beard, great.

  "Hey, Girl! You never disappoint!"

  "You better let me meet this Addi! I'd love to hear the story behind this!"

  "Ok, ok! I'll see what I can do, Pep. You just text me and let me know when you want worked on and the day is yours, ‘lil lady. I gotta get goin, pretty sure I'm in the fire lane!"

  Pepper hands me a brown bag with a brown leather knot tied around the handles. "Here ya go, Stud! I'll be getting a hold of you soon!"

  "Sounds great! Now go put those glasses to work on that old man. I think you damn near killed him with that slit!" My laughter fills the shop.

  "Oh, Jake, you hush!" She pounces forward and plants a kiss on my other cheek. "Now you match. It's a good look. You should keep it!" she can barely get out over her uncontrollable laughter. "I'll be in touch!" she yells from across the room as she scampers back to her customer.

  "Thanks again, Pep!" I turn to walk to my truck. Really, what are the odds that she'd have the book? Damn.

  I'm sitting in my truck admiring the bag, trying to peek inside to see the book. I have untie the leather to really see it. Pulling it out of the bag, I touch it with caution as I open the pages. This book is very old and very used. You can tell by holding it that there are many memories surrounding it. Hell, he must've read it to her a million times by the looks of it. It makes me worried I'll break it, so I put it back in the sack and attempt to tie the leather like she had it. I guess it's better than some curly ribbon.... At least I'm used to leather.

  I start the truck with its usual rumble just as a text comes through.

  Golden: Hey, head over this evening whenever. 24 Sunset Lane. Gate code is 0214. Only house on the road.

  Jake: Got it, man. See ya later.

  I need to get back to the shop and get started on this piece. Hopefully he's there already and I can get started right away. Luckily it's the third session for his piece and it won’t take too much prep time.

  Chapter Twelve

  "Looks like that's gonna do it." I look down at my phone and see that it's already eight o'clock. Hell, time flew by today. It's a short work day, but it really felt like we just got started. I can hear the buzz of another machine coming from one of the booths up front. Guess I'm not the only one taking some Sunday clients. That buzz sounds like money to me, so I'm happy.

  It's time to get home and grab the bike before heading to Golden's crib. I'll probably grab a jar of that shine that one of my clients brought me from Alabama. Those boys sure know how to make their moonshine, seems like an appropriate welcome back gift for G.

  As I pull up to the house, I notice Rikki's car isn't here. I guess that means there's a pretty good chance the beefcake isn't ether. I see a Post-it Note on the table as I walk in the house.

  BRUTUS SAID HE WANTED TO STAY WITH ME ~ LOVE YA... RIKKI

  I swear she spoils that dog rotten. At least she left a note this time.

  Now, where the hell is my bag? I swear I lose that fucker every time I get back from riding. I love the bike, but there's no room on there to put a damn thing, so I have to have the backpack to travel with.

  I find it right next to the cabinet. Looks like a sign to me! Hmmm, apple pie or cinnamon? I'm feeling like cinnamon tonight. This should put some hair on G's chest. I decide to shoot him a text to let him know I'm on my way. I find myself hoping this guy parties like he goes in the gym. If so, this is going to be one hell of a fucking night.

  Jake: On my way

  Message sent, now it's time to enjoy the cruise to the beach. There's nothing better than feeling the wind in your face and hearing the roar of the bike. I think I'll adjust the carbs a bit before I get there. It's a good night to throw some flames from the pipes.

  Shit, I need gas! Every damn time I ride. I swear. Fuck it! I'll just top it off with this 114 octane fuel I have here in the garage. I normally only run it in the rat rod, but might as well use this up.

  The second I fire up the bike, I smell the familiar smell of the race fuel. There's something about it that just gets me going. Probably because it's a sign of good times to come.

  As I let my bike warm up a bit, my neighbor pokes his head out of his garage and gives a wave. Poor bastard. The only time I see him smile is if he can get over here before his wife notices he's gone. Man, she's a bitch and tries to keep him on a short leash. He can't even have a beer without getting in trouble. Shit like that is exactly why I'm single. I'll do what the fuck I want, when the fuck I want. The day a woman starts controlling what I do, is the day I quit living.

  I figure I'll give him a little show as I pull away from the house. I hold in on the clutch and hit the throttle, instantly shooting flames from the pipes and lighting up night. Tossing him a wave, I can see the smile as I ride off. Maybe one day I'll ask him if he wants to ride. He has that old ass bike that he tinkers with on the weekends.

  The view is beautiful. There's so much peace riding this close to the coastline. I can smell the ocean the closer I get. After a twenty minute ride, I arrive at the gate. This motherfucker must be having one hell of a party. I can hear the fucking music from here and I can’t even see the house. I enter the code and watch the gates open. I see that my dude, Golden, has done very well for himself. Damn.

  As I cruise down the drive, the line of luxury imports have made their way halfway to the gate. I see an Audi, BMW, and Porsche right off the bat. I've got a feeling I might be a little out of place here. Ah, fuck it. I'm Jake Fucking Wilson. I'm gonna show these guys how we do.

  Just then, I see G jogging out to the drive. There he is, no shirt, all tatted up, with a drink in hand and a damn pink umbrella in it.

  “Hey Bro, you wanna put that in the garage? It's right around the side here. I don't want anyone fucking with your bike and your rep precedes you, so I know you don't want anyone touching it either!"

  "Hell ya! Thanks! I brought ya a little welcome home gift as well, my man!" As soon as he opens the garage door I see the infamous red Audi and behind it a lifted Jeep, and a brand new Hayabusa street bike.

  "Ah shit, I didn't know you rode, man! Nice Busa!"

  "Oh, I ride alright!" He winks and slaps me on the shoulder, trying to get a reaction out of me. "Ah, I'm just fuckin' with ya, man."

  "Haha! Good one, Fucker. Welcome back!" I reach inside my bag and grab the Mason jar of shine. “Have a sip of this, just promise me you won't put that damn umbrella in it!”

  "Oh shit! Is this real moonshine?" His eyes light up and a huge smile spreads across his face.

  "Yes, Sir, it is. Some cinnamon from a client in Alabama. They call it Fireshine. Now, I only brought one jar, so you better try it now. Fuck, man, I didn't know you were having half the city out, damn."

  "Ah, you know how it is. A few close friends turns into a hundred when you mention a beach house party."

  I hand G the Mason jar, he gives a short giggle and then cracks open the top. The next thing I know, he hands me the jar back, only it’s missing a third of the liquid.

  "Holy Fuck!" He lets out a deep breath, "That has a bit of a kick to it."

  Fuck. I can't look like a ‘lil bitch now. He gives me the nod and I tilt back the jar, taking in my own share of the liquid, trying to keep my manhood in tact. Instantly the warmth goes down my throat and I can feel my face turn red and go flush. Exhaling my own deep breath,

  "Tastes like cinnamon doesn't it? Fuck it, let's finish this bitch off before I show you around the house," Golden says.

 
I already know that driving myself home is completely out of the fucking question. I'm feeling like it's time to party. "Do you mind if I leave my bike here overnight?"

  "Yeah, Bro. No problem at all. There's no way you'll be driving by the time the night is over. This is a fucking celebration, and that is a guarantee."

  Within the next few seconds, we finish off the Mason jar, leaving only the three cinnamon sticks at the bottom clanking around. Golden grabs the empty jar out of my hand, puts a cinnamon stick in his mouth and says, "Follow me, let's show you the rest of the fuckin' house and be social."

  "Right on, man. I'm down." Stepping out of the garage, we take an immediate left down the hall into what is the biggest fucking art studio I've ever seen. The walls are completely covered with amazing drawings. All done by Golden himself, I would assume. Who the fuck else will he have doing sketches in here? The room is fucking massive with vaulted ceilings and one wall is completely full of bay windows overlooking the beach.

  "Jesus, man. This is like Heaven in here."

  "Yeah, it definitely gets me in the mood to draw and is my favorite room in the house, but enough of all this.... Let's get to the party."

  "Well fuck. I'm not gonna say no to that." Just as we make our way out of the room and turn down the hall, I hear the clatter of multiple conversations drowning out the music from outside. There's fucking women everywhere. I feel like I've died and gone to Heaven. Anyone knows that a party at a gay dude’s house means the women to straight men ratio will always be in the men's favor. Especially since most of the men aren't there for the women.

  "Alright, alright, alright." I watch Golden jump onto the kitchen counter, stumbling just a little and almost busting his ass. He starts waving his hands and the room falls into complete silence.

  "Our special guest has arrived, ladies and gentlemen. Now I know most of you know who this big ass beefcake is, but for those of you who don't, let me introduce him. This is Jake Fucking Wilson. He's the man that I'll soon be working with at his shop while I'm in town. I want everyone here to help me show this man a great fucking time tonight, because tonight we celebrate. Tomorrow, we start business." Everyone begins to move toward me to introduce themselves and immediately I know this is going to be a great fucking night.

  "Alright, Bro... Let me give you a hand to get your ass down from there. I can't have my star artist falling and hurting himself before I ever get him in the shop."

  "Here let me... just, just, just grab me." I grab him by the legs and throw him over my shoulder, pretty much like a caveman would do. Immediately, I feel a hand grab my ass. I glance back, checking to see who's bold enough for that shit. It's a younger blonde with her whole hand full of me.

  "Oh my god. You have to feel this. It's like a fucking rock." Her friends giggle and immediately I'm covered with hands.

  "Hey, a little help, man. Come on, Golden. Look at what you started." Hanging over my shoulders, he starts to shoo them away.

  "Get back, ladies. He's not a toy, he's not a piece of meat..... Well, not yet anyway." That's funny and I can't help but laugh at his joke.

  As I set him down, I grab two handfuls of fake tits from the blondes that are near me. I mean shit, if they get to touch, so do I. That's only right. Both women move in close and just like that, I'm standing with a female entourage at my disposal.

  It's overly apparent to every man here that I'm not here for any of the guys. In fact, I'm not seeing too many guys here in the first place.

  "So, Jake. Are you single?"

  "I just grabbed your tits, what do you think?"

  "You never know." Her eyes are so blue, she has to be wearing colored contacts. There's no way that blue is real.

  I start to notice most of the crowd disappearing from the kitchen. All of a sudden, a loud crash followed by the sound of glass shattering comes from the direction of the patio.

  "What the fuck was that?" I glance over at Golden and quickly see he's way drunker than I am at this point. He slurs his words.

  "Ah shit! It's probably Marcus." I know that name. Marcus owns the shop Golden previously worked at. I follow Golden to the patio to see who the fuck needs to be put in check. Sure enough, it's Marcus and one of his shop hands shoving a few people, breaking bottles against the house and anything in their path. I'm guessing it's because of the announcement Golden just made. A bottle crashes right next to a group of women and I lose my shit.

  "Fuck this, man. I can't allow this shit. Please let me get them the fuck out of here!" He doesn't argue with me as I make my way over to Marcus.

  "What the fuck is your problem, man? You need to fucking leave. There's no need to act like a fucking baby about this situation. Take it like a man and find a new fucking artist." These words only seem to infuriate Marcus more. His shop is number two in the area, behind mine of course. I'm guaranteeing that's 100% because of Golden. To call Marcus an artist is an insult to every artist out there. He's just an old biker who scratches on people and tries to get girls naked to do every fucking tattoo.

  As I stand face to face with this scum bag, I get hit on the side of the head with a fucking bottle by one of Marcus' little bitches. The next thing I feel is the warm, wet trickle of blood running down my neck and face. I turn to see what piece of shit did this, and there he is with an unbroken bottle in his hand.

  "Ah, you fucked up now." I grab this ‘lil piece of shit by the throat and the back of the neck, lifting all of his 150 pound ass off the ground and taking him out to the beach, where I throw him into the sand. As soon as I do that, my attention was taken by a sharp pain into my left quad and I feel my pants instantly go wet. I looked down at my side.

  "THIS MOTHERFUCKER JUST STABBED ME WITH SOME FUCKING JOHN DOEY KNIFE THAT HE CARRIES AROUND TRYING TO BE A HARD ASS." I can tell the alcohol has thinned my blood as I look down and my shirt is soaked and so are my jeans.

  "FUCK THIS!" I turn my attention to this knife and the piece of shit holding it. Having dropped to my knees from the surprised stabbing, I grab a hand full of sand and throw it in his face.

  "YOU MOTHERFUCKER. NOW THIS IS FUCKING PERSONAL." He stumbles back, wiping his eyes and drops his knife. I pounce on him. Rather than try to beat the shit out of him, knowing I'm bleeding, I wrap my arm around his neck and take him back. Within seconds, his body goes limp. Fucking piece of shit.

  The crowd has gathered around and Golden yells, "Someone call a fucking ambulance." The next thing I hear is a voice coming out of the crowd.

  "I'm a doctor." The crowd moves to let a small statured man, probably 40 years of age dressed in full Rave gear, sporting a white beard through.

  "Somebody give me your belt and wrap his leg. We need to stop the bleeding and get him inside now." He looks over at what I assume is his partner standing next to him, dressed in the same kind of shit he is. "Grab my bag from the trunk of the car and someone, for God’s sake, call the fucking police. Why the fuck is everyone standing around with their heads in their asses? Put your fucking cameras down and help this guy."

  Golden wraps his shoulder around me and lifts me. "Come with me. God damn, you're a tough son of a bitch." My adrenaline is beginning to wear off and I'm starting to feel a little light-headed.

  Wrapping my left arm around Golden, I use my right and give a nice little shirt lift. "At least he didn't get me here." Golden's giggle is almost unbearable at the moment.

  "Let's get you fixed up." As he stumbles to get my ass to the kitchen, the house guests have cleared off the dining room table. Apparently, we're making a make-shift hospital bed.

  "Get his big ass up there." Golden has a few of the others help to get me up onto the table top. By this time, most everyone has either left or has their phones back on recording.

  The doctor begins to apologize. "I'm pretty sure these jeans are ruined." Just then, he takes his surgical scissors and cuts up the entire leg of my jeans. The next thing I know, I'm lying there in a ripped up T and underwear. Shit, I'm glad I decided to wear some tonight a
nd forgo the usual commando style I generally represent.

  My shirt is the next thing to go. He's obviously looking for any other wounds. "I think it's just my leg and head. That's all I feel."

  "Ah, this is going to hurt a bit, because I don't have any pain medication with me. Somebody give this man a drink."

  "GIVE ME A FUCKING BOTTLE." I raise my hand and multiple bottles appear. All vodka. Of fucking course. I hate vodka, but fuck it. The next few minutes get a bit blurry, but apparently between me coming in and out of it, I become an Internet sensation. Supposedly, I’m even trending on Twitter and Facebook. Way to fucking go me. Halfway drunk and bleeding and I end up a fucking star.

  I sit up on the table... and there she stands.

  How fucked up am I? Is that really her or have I just lost too much fucking blood. She's like my vodka angel. So pretty. So fucking sexy with those dick suckin lips all tight and accusing me. I should just tell her about those fucking lips.

  "What the hell did you do, Jake?" Ah shit, I'm not dreaming, that's definitely her voice. I look a little harder. Sure enough, there she stands in blue yoga pants and a tiny tank, barely covering her huge tits.

  "I'm at the gym doing my cardio and then I see a video of you and two guys fighting. Then the next thing I know, I see you're getting stitched up by some guy in a Rave outfit. What the fuck is going on? Is that all you can do is fucking fight." By the tone of her voice and the veins coming out of her neck, I can tell she is beyond pissed. I'm stumbling and having a hard time grasping my words.

  Just then, Golden jumps up... "Whoa, whoa, whoa..... This guy here, he stopped these assholes from tearing up my place any more than they already had. That one little shit hit him in the side of the head with a bottle and then that motherfucker Marcus stabbed him. Talk about a fucking night. This guy here is a stand-up fucking dude. I'm honored to begin working at his shop and I'll have his back any fucking day. This guy is a fucking animal."