by R. J. Lewis
He got up and moved slowly out of the room, tossing back a glance over his shoulders at me. “If you need anything before then, let me know,” he added right before he disappeared.
Typical of Jesse to want to be there for me, and I should have asked him to stay so I could explain the heavy feeling in my chest I was carrying from last night, but I didn’t want to burden him with it. He’d just order me to stay and the clubhouse was the last place I currently wanted to be.
I needed work.
I needed to put my head down and forget.
I was thinking of all that when my phone rang off its tits. I groaned again, grabbing it off the night stand and opened my eyes to read the name on the screen.
Mother.
I frowned and ended the phone call. Five seconds later it erupted again. Christ, she was persistent. I’d been dodging our monthly call for days now, and really, the best thing to do was get it out of the way.
Glaring at the phone, I finally answered it. “Hello?”
“Tyler, this is Mom,” she said, her voice already slurred and it was…what, eight in the morning?
“Yeah, I know that, Mom. I don’t know why you always tell me that.”
“In case you forget my voice.”
“Believe me, nobody forgets your voice.”
She ignored my bitter tone. “You’ve been avoiding my calls.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Well, I just wondered when you could come around and meet Paul.”
“Who?”
“My other half. I met him at the church and he is the one, Tyler.”
“You go to church?”
“They had this free baking event on, and I love that religious bitch’s cupcakes from down the block. It’s great how they let anyone in, isn’t it? I just have to make the sign of the cross and they’re forgiving me and shit.”
“That’s not morally right, you know that?”
“Fuck morals. You know better than anyone else that’s not how we lived.”
“Dad would never have crashed a church and made the sign of the cross to get free baked shit.”
“Honey, Gandhi would have cut a bitch for those cupcakes. On that note, your fuckin’ father really messed up my reputation.”
“You were a stripper when you met him, Mother.”
“And then I moved to High Gate to start over and live an elegant life.”
“On his dime working for the club.”
“Look I’m not complaining. It’s not all bad. When people look the other way, it just makes it easier to steal, am I right?”
She cackled on the other end and I just…didn’t say a word. Like…what could be said?
People harped on and on about a low life father being a sperm donor, but I had yet to hear an equivalent term for the mothers who didn’t give a fuck.
“Womb donor?” I whispered under my breath, wondering if that worked. Or… “Egg donor? Fallopian tube donor?”
“What?” she asked, confused. “Are you drunk?”
“Uh, no, because that would mean I’m an alcoholic if I’m drunk by eight in the morning, wouldn’t it, Mother?” I said pointedly. “I’m just trying to figure out an all-encompassing word to define your parenting. I’m reflecting on your qualities, things like being an absentee mom who only cares about her tequila and calls me up to tout her good news but never asking me what is going on in my life. That sort of thing. Do you have any suggestions, Mother?”
“Fuck you, Tyler Wilson, you’re just like your father.”
I nodded. “Your compliments are so sweet, per usual.”
“That’s not a compliment. He was an unfaithful jackass.”
“You fucked my karate instructor.”
“How the hell do you know about that?”
“Because you forced me to watch fucking Maury of all shows in my karate suit while you took him into the next room!”
“Why are you talking to me like that?” She suddenly played the victim card the second I cornered her about something she couldn’t get out of. “I was a struggling mother. I had no shoulder to lean on! How dare you? Turning into an animal like the rest of those chimps at that club.”
“Great, well, wow, this was a great conversation. I look forward to having it again next month with Christopher being the one instead of Patrick.”
“Paul!” she screamed.
“Have a good day, Mother dearest.”
I hung up and angrily threw the phone back on the night stand. It slid off and landed on the floor. Ugh.
It took everything in me to finally throw the covers off and slide out of bed. I took a quick shower, scrubbing myself everywhere and feeling horrified to find I was still sensitive and throbbing between my legs. I was half-tempted to take care of myself, but just as I brushed my fingers along my clit, pleasure formed along with nausea. I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t masturbate when my body still shook from the aftermath. I let out a few tears, trying to shake off that immobilizing fear, and made the water hotter so my muscles didn’t tense so much. When I finished, I dug up my grey work overalls and threw it on. I avoided looking at the pink rag on the counter, opting to stare at myself in the mirror instead. I cringed at my raccoon eyes. Now I not only felt forlorn, I looked every bit of it too.
It was pitiful.
This was all Yuri’s fault. If he hadn’t pulled out that gun, he wouldn’t have died and I wouldn’t be feeling traumatized. Selfish bastard. Something about him niggled at the back of my head, though. His demand to have me just didn’t make sense, and I knew Hawke was aware of it.
Again, the rejection ran through my mind, and I swallowed a groan. Humiliating. So, so humiliating.
Move on, Ty. So what if he rejected you? He’s a fugitive and his beard is ridiculous.
That pep talk worked, and I began to feel a little better.
I tried applying a medium coverage of foundation on my face, but gave up two seconds in. I couldn’t pretend to give a shit what I looked like. So I skipped that step and lazily removed my pink nail polish and trimmed my nails short until there was barely anything left of them. This was always the sucky part: finishing another theory block in the classroom and then returning to the grime of the auto repair shop. I was always gone just long enough that my hands were back to feeling smooth as silk.
I did my make-up, tied my hair up, and then sat on the toilet seat for a very long time, trying to breathe through the distress that made my heart squeeze and my breaths short and fast.
Yuri’s dead and you’re alive. It happened. It’s over. Move on.
I walked out of the bedroom. The clubhouse was still. This was the only time of day it wasn’t noisy as hell. All the bedroom doors I passed were shut. I stopped at Hector’s room and knocked. When I didn’t get an answer, I opened the door and glimpsed in.
I rolled my eyes at the sight: Hector butt naked on his stomach with Shay’s naked body sprawled over his back, cradling him like he was her lifeline. He must have been desperate for a lay because he knew how clingy she was and he’d claimed on more than one occasion that she did little to push his buttons. Regardless I knew the drill: he’d toss her out the room the second he opened his eyes, but she’d carry on wanting his babies and striking when he was desperate to get his dick wet again.
This place was a broken record sometimes.
“Hector,” I whispered to him, still standing in the doorway.
He didn’t budge. I moved into the room, tiptoeing quietly. I stepped over articles of their clothing they’d aimlessly tossed around them. I tried not to snoop too hard, but really, it was hard when his used condoms were haphazardly strewn in plain sight and I didn’t want to fucking step on one.
I should have worn a hazmat suit for this shit.
“Hector,” I whispered again, shaking him by the shoulder. “You told me to come to you for the ointment.”
I shook him a few more times, but he still didn’t wake up, much less move. Jesus, how much had he had to drink?
&n
bsp; On a sigh, I went to his bathroom (it was a goddamn bombsite) and searched his cupboards instead. I found a container of ointment under the sink and I tucked it in my pocket, wondering how I was going to apply it myself. Jesse would have to do it. I hurried out seconds later and strode down the hallway.
Jonny wasn’t in the living room anymore, hallelujah, but I did notice the head of Mercy, a black mutt the club had adopted years ago. He was a vicious motherfucker, and his name had little to do with his personality. When Mercy was around strangers and he felt threatened, the last thing he showed was mercy, but I guess that was the joke. I patted his head once on my way to the kitchen and he lazily wagged his tail in response. Our merciless beast had a soft spot for me, probably because I smuggled him treats more than what was allowed.
“Where you goin’?” a voice sounded.
I jumped and spun around. It took me a moment in the dark to find where Hawke’s voice had come from. He was seated on the couch recliner in the corner, arms crossed. He looked tired as hell, like he too hadn’t slept a wink last night.
“I didn’t see you in here,” I said quietly, my cheeks warming up quickly thinking of last night. “Could have taken the couch.”
He jerked his head in Mercy’s direction. “That dog wanted to tear my face off.”
“He doesn’t know you very well.”
“Yeah, well, he’s a fucking asshole.”
I smiled and it felt genuine. God, just the sight of him made all the fears disappear. “Then he’s doing his job well.”
The corner of Hawke’s mouth quirked up. I stood awkwardly for a few moments, unsure if that was the end of the conversation or if I was meant to end it in a different way. Truth was, I was elated to see him here. Part of me thought I’d step out and find his bike gone along with him.
However, another part of me would have totally been okay if he was gone. I mean, having to face him after I made him touch my vagina last night when I was needy – and I was still currently needy – horrified me.
I wondered if we were thinking the same thing. About last night. About his hand there and me panting like a fucking porn star and telling him I wanted him. But he was acting normal, so…I felt normal…ish.
Suddenly remembering the original question he asked me, I pointed to my overalls and said, “Oh, and I’m heading out for work. I’m back at the shop after my block of classes.”
He nodded once. “Right. Have fun at work.”
Now that was a conversation ender. I nodded back, a little disappointed at his blasé mood. Yeah, he was totally turned off by me. And it was definitely because of the vagina grope. Or more accurately, the coerced vagina grope of motherfucking doom.
I cringed the mother of all cringes and entered the kitchen. I stood there for a while, trembling at the awkwardness before I grabbed a breakfast bar from the kitchen cabinet. I almost cursed that my box of twelve was down to two. Bastards never replaced what they ate, ever.
I stared down at the bar for a few moments, wondering how I could face him. I reasoned that if I didn’t act normal, it would make the situation that much worse. I needed to just…relax.
I took a deep breath and nodded. Yeah, relax and just…act normal.
I walked back out and just the sight of his sexy fucking face and I was thinking about the fucking coerced vagina grope of doom.
Goddammit, what’s wrong with me?!
I stopped in my tracks and turned to him for a second. He was still staring at me, intently I might add, and I couldn’t handle it. I made to turn away when I stopped again and turned back to him. Fuck I looked like a human revolving door. I was making things worse and –
“You need anything, Ty?” he asked me.
My heart sped in my chest as I tossed his question in my head. I should just say no and walk away, but then…what if he was gone when I came back and I could have used this opportunity to talk to him and…
Feeling uncertain, I pulled out the ointment from my pocket and raised it to him.
“Hector won’t wake up,” I explained, avoiding his eye. “Do you think you can help me out?”
“You want me to rub it on you?” he asked, his voice lower than before.
You know, I was around filthy people every single day, but fuck, when it came to Hawke, my face couldn’t resist burning up. And I didn’t even think he was trying to be filthy.
“Yeah, Hawke,” I answered, fighting my blush, “that’s what you do with ointment.”
“I’m just asking you to clarify, Tyler.”
I just looked at him because my head was empty and I would have said a bunch of stuttering “ums.” So I just raised my hand and gave him a thumb up.
A fucking thumb up.
What the fuck?
He stood up and stretched his arms out on a loud yawn. The act caused his chest to expand, and by god, he was broad and hard and that black tight shirt rocked his body to a tee. He came to me and took the ointment from my hand. I was a bit shaky when I turned around and unbuttoned my overalls, sliding it down to my hips.
At least you’re not looking him in the eyes.
“The tank top too,” he told me, his voice still unusually low.
“What?” I asked.
“Your top. Take it off.”
Right.
I peeled it off, holding the fabric against my chest. I felt exposed all over again, and strangely enough, not looking at him made me instantly relax.
“Is telling me to undress your thing now, Hawke?” I cheekily asked, trying to make light of the situation.
I felt his fingers on my back, rubbing the cool ointment over my tattoo. “Only when you’re covered in blood or need your tattoo lubricated, Tyler,” he answered.
“Is that all?” I pressed, more out of curiosity than anything. “Because I saw the way you looked at my body last night, and it didn’t feel clinical.”
“I like to admire a beautiful woman when I see one.”
“Oh, I’m a woman now.”
“You sure as shit look like one.”
I bit my lower lip and, thinking of last night, asked, “But not one worth touching?”
His fingers slowed and he let out a soft chuckle. “Fuckin’ hell, you’ve grown some balls here, haven’t you?”
“I’m surrounded by dudes. It comes with the territory.”
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Don’t know if that’s a good thing.”
There was a few seconds of silence, and I knew I needed to acknowledge the obvious elephant in the room, or else I would never escape this awkwardness.
“Um, Hawke” – here we go – “about last night when I took your hand and put it between –”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he cut in, ending my would-be apology before it even began.
I smiled to myself, thankful that he was burying it.
“Now what the hell is up with your occupation? Motorcycle mechanic? Where the fuck did that come from?”
I laughed. “Jesse. He wasn’t being serious, I don’t think. Probably taking the piss. I was struggling after high school because I didn’t know what I wanted and he jokingly invited me to the car shop. I took him up on it just to take that shit-eating grin off his face.”
“And then what?”
“And then I decided I’d give it a go because I was bored and had nothing to lose.”
“Girls don’t usually do that.”
“Do what?”
“Work on cars.”
“Yeah, I think we know by now I’m not like most other girls.”
Thoughtfully, he muttered, “No, you aren’t.”
After a few silent moments, he dropped his hand and screwed back the container. I quickly threw my tank back on and turned to him, trying to gauge his mood.
“Do you disapprove of me working there?” I asked him curiously.
He looked me over again, this time lingering on my fingers buttoning up my overalls. “I liked the pink nails.”
My fingers slowed and I glanc
ed down at my short nails, feeling a little regretful for removing the nail polish. “Yeah, I did –”
“I like the greasy look too,” he cut in, his lips shooting up in a heart stopping half-smile. “Women who get their hands dirty rile me up, darlin’. You’re capable, and that’s sexy.”
Heat rushed to my face. “You find me sexy?”
“Why do you look all constipated? It’s what I said, isn’t it?”
I bunched my lips to one corner to keep from smiling. Using his words, I replied, “I’m just asking you to clarify.”
He smirked at me, and my heart picked up at the sight. He knew what he was doing to me. He knew how beautiful I thought he was, even with all that damn facial hair.
He took a step closer to me and I felt his hand at my hip. The touch was so unexpected, I went still. I looked at him all wide-eyed as he neared me, eyes on mine and never straying. He closed the gap between us, and I was starting to wonder what he was going to do when something hard hit my side. He slowly slipped the container back into my pocket, the sneaky bastard. Leaning his mouth to my ear, he said huskily, “Yeah, you’re sexy as fuck, Tyler. You’re also a club brat that needs to move out of my bedroom.”
He gave me a final look – and I swear there was something there in his eyes that was far from neutral – and then he brushed past me, his arm touching mine. I stared after him as he walked out of the room and down the hallway.
I felt this urge to follow after him, to try the coerced hand-on-vagina thing again, but I resisted, knowing Jesse would be outside waiting to give me a lift to work and…knowing I couldn’t survive another humiliating rejection.
I walked out of the room and stopped in the hallway, noticing my bedroom was partly open. I tip-toed to the room and, stopping just outside it, I peeked in and saw Hawke standing with his back to me, phone to his ear.
“I need to get ahold of Abram. Have him call me as soon as he gets this.”
Then he turned the phone off and peeled his dirty shirt off, discarding it on the ground as he walked in the direction of the bathroom. Christ, he was built, and it was a sexy kind of built, not the nasty kind when guys popped steroids and their muscles looked like inflated balloons.
Fuck, I felt like a horny teenager all over again. The excitement, the maddening tingles just the sexy sight of him brought on, was all too much.