DON’T HURT MY BABY

by Zoey Parker

  I washed my hair and shaved, making sure to catch all the difficult spots and that there wasn’t any lingering stubble. Since I was staying in his house and he seemed to be just as horny as I was, I thought I would try to look my best at the least.

  When I finished getting washed up, I toweled off my hair. Then I went downstairs wrapped up in a towel. I’d left all of my bags there in a hurry to get my clothes off and let Asher have his wicked way with me. As a result, everything was downstairs, tag still on.

  I padded downstairs and went to my purse first. I rummaged around until I found my cell phone. After agreeing to stay for a week, it seemed prudent to exchange numbers. I checked for messages. There were two.

  The first was a voicemail from my father, which I promptly ignored. He probably hadn’t even called himself, but rather had his secretary do it. What a jerk. I deleted it without listening to the message, though I knew I wouldn’t avoid him for much longer. I was going to have to give him some reason for why I was going to be out of the house for the next week.

  He wasn’t all that invested in me most of the time, but he would notice this. Especially since this was an election year, as he so frequently liked to remind me. He couldn’t afford to have me gallivanting around like a loose cannon. Which meant he was going to keep slightly closer tabs on me until the summer, at the very least, was over.

  Which is why I can’t go home, I thought, feeling a weight on my shoulders all of a sudden. If my father figured out I was pregnant, there was no telling what he’d do to avoid that scandal.

  The second message was actually a text, and it was from Asher.

  Went to the shop. Back in a while. Food in the fridge.

  It was the equivalent of a note left on the fridge, which I hated, and all it was missing was “stay out of trouble”. It shouldn’t have irked me. The note was just being considerate, letting me know what was going on, but it reminded me so much of my father always being absentee, treating me like a child in the attic, that I felt miffed. And when I got miffed, I got rebellious.

  Tossing my phone on the couch, I checked to make sure my car keys were still in my bag. They were. Then I went to the bags I had hastily left on the floor by the door. I rummaged through them to find clothes to wear, then yanked off the tags.

  I dressed right there in the living room, still annoyed about the text message, even though I knew it was unreasonable. I tossed the towel on the couch, making a mental note not to leave it there. It was still wet. Then I grabbed the red panties—the only ones that weren’t thongs—and slipped them up over my legs.

  I settled on the matching bra, which had black roses on the red fabric, then grabbed the jeans. They were tight enough that I had to wiggle a little to get them on, but it was well worth it. They made my ass look like a million dollars, and the black was slimming. I went with a red shirt that was halfway to sheer, but you only noticed it if you really looked. It was sleeveless and button down.

  When I was dressed, I realized I didn’t have any socks to go with the pair of boots I’d picked up, so I decided to go with the black heels instead. I’d have rather had the boots, but I wasn’t about to have sweaty feet. Gross.

  Fully dressed, I grabbed my bag and my phone. I was out the door when I remembered the towel. Cursing, I doubled back and hung it up in the downstairs bathroom.

  My hair was still damp when I left the house, but there wasn’t much I could do about that, and I wasn’t going to wait for it to dry. So, I’d settled for a toweled dry, messy look in the hopes that it would look wild and deliberate, then did my make up a little dark and smoky so I hopefully just looked like I was going for carelessly sexy instead of like I was living out of someone else’s house.

  I slid into the front seat of my car and started her up. I was pulling out of the driveway before I realized that I’d already decided where I was going. Did Asher honestly think I was going to play little housewife for him and wait at home until he got back?

  No way, bub, I’m coming to you.

  ***

  The Black Opus had some parking in the back, and if that was full, you could park across the street in the lot that was available for the strip mall. A lot of people parked there just so no one knew they were going to the tattoo parlor, but it was mostly just for overflow parking.

  I parked there because I remembered as I was pulling in that I was driving the new BMW that my dad had bought me for my last birthday. Not a huge deal, there were plenty of BMWs in the area, but if Dad were looking for me, he would definitely notice the car here. I didn’t want him to know which shop I was in, so parking in the general lot afforded me a little bit of anonymity. Just enough anyway.

  I did a quick glance around the area to see if there was anyone I knew walking around. I didn’t see one. Deeming it safe, I left the place and headed across the street to the Black Opus.

  When I pushed open the door, the little bell overhead chimed. My heels clicked as I walked across the checkerboard-tiled flooring. Tossing my wild hair over one shoulder, I scanned the area quickly in search of Asher. I didn’t see him, but there was a younger man, maybe younger than me even, behind the rounded counter. He was staring at me curiously.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, sounding friendly, if a little uncertain.

  I smiled at him, then sauntered up to the counter. I settled my elbows on it, then leaned over towards him. “Maybe. I’m looking for someone.”

  The kid’s eyes darted down, and I knew he was looking at my breasts. The shirt didn’t have a lot of cleavage, but thanks to its see-through consistency, my bra was likely visible through it, and that meant so were the outlines of my breasts. “Uh, right. Who are you looking for?”

  “Asher? Maybe you’ve heard of him?” I asked coyly, batting my eyes.

  The guy lifted his eyebrows in surprise, then looked me over completely just once. This time it wasn’t so much checking me out as considering me, weighing the likelihood that I might know someone like Asher. After a moment, he said, “Yeah, uh, he’s in the back. He’s working on a guy, but they should be done soon.” He hesitated. “Are you…? I mean, I’m Bane. Collin Bane.” He offered his hand politely. I noticed that there was a curling tattoo across his knuckles.

  Smiling sweetly at him, I took his hand. We shook, his grip light. “Pleasure. I’m…” I hesitated. If I gave my last name, everyone would recognize it immediately. Lautner wasn’t the most common name in these parts, and even if he didn’t recognize me, he’d recognize the name that is usually attached to mayor. Recovering quickly, I finished, “Carol. I’m Carol.”

  “Carol…?” he prompted, clearly looking for a last name.

  “Just Carol. You know, like Madonna?”

  He laughed at that, then winked at me. “Works for me. Tell you what, I’ll call you Carol if you call me Bane.”

  I grinned, deciding I liked the kid. “Deal.”

  He looked me over once more. “You look kind of familiar. Did we go to high school together or something?”

  I hesitated. I was right; this guy was definitely young. There was a chance that we did, in fact, go to school together, but I doubted it. Despite being relatively small in terms of population, Mount Cherry had two high schools. One was the obligatory public school, which most kids attended, but the second was a private school, complete with ridiculous schoolgirl uniforms. I still had a few, knowing the schoolgirl fantasy was pretty prevalent with men these days.

  After a moment of thinking it, I decided that no, I probably hadn’t gone to school with him. I shook my head. “Probably not. I didn’t go to Mount Cherry High,” I told him honestly. I didn’t mention that I had in fact gone to Mount Cherry Prep, but that wasn’t the point.

  “Oh, okay, then. I’ve probably just seen you around or something,” Bane decided with a shrug of his shoulders, explaining away my familiarity. I didn’t mention that he’d probably seen me on television last week standing next to my father while he gave his press conference. But maybe this guy didn’t wat
ch those boring old things anyway.

  “How long do you think he’ll be?” I asked, redirecting the conversation back to Asher. I didn’t want this kid to keep wondering about where he’d seen me before.

  Bane waved a hand. “Maybe ten minutes. If you want to wait, the bench seat really isn’t that uncomfortable. I’ll let him know you’re here as soon as he’s done.”

  I smiled gratefully at him. “Thanks.”

  I made a round of the room, looking at all the tattoos on the walls. The artwork really was remarkable. Most of the examples on the walls were roses, and almost all of them included some kind of skull worked in, too. A definite theme, although it seemed like an almost odd choice given the rough and tumble nature of things like motorcycle clubs.

  Eventually, after I’d looked through all of the examples, I took a seat on the bench as Bane had suggested. I crossed my legs and bounced the top one as I waited. There was a small table with a book of tattoo examples and a stack of tattoo magazines beside it. There were a few motorcycle ones in there, too, but I didn’t care to glance through those. Instead, I focused on the tattoo mags, flipping through them and occasionally stopping to check out an article. Mostly, they just seemed to feature a lot of barely clothed babes with huge breasts, corsets, dyed hair, and tattoos covering most of their body.

  Not that that’s a bad thing, I thought curiously. Most of them were incredibly sexy, with a sort of vintage pinup feel to them that I found very attractive. But I didn’t think I would ever want quite so many tattoos. Talk about painful.

  Still, I idly considered getting one at least. Maybe something on my hip or on my shoulder blade. On some level, those places seemed almost clichéd, but I acknowledged the usefulness of getting one in either of those places. Easy enough to cover up.

  As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I felt moderately disgusted with myself. I tossed the magazine back on the table, crossing my arms over my chest. What sort of jerk was I that was so scared of others knowing that I had a tattoo? The kind that’s been playing by my father’s rules for too long, I thought bitterly. And that was what it was, too. The idea that a location should be picked for the sake of being able to cover it up was entirely my father’s doing. He was all about propriety and appearances and what you should do to fit into society.

  Things I told myself I didn’t care about. But thinking about the women in the magazines and my own personal choices, I was starting to think, maybe, I wasn’t as open as I thought I was.

  Bane disappeared from the counter for a minute, and when he came back, I noticed a tall, handsome man trailing him.

  “Asher.” I unfolded my legs and stood on the tall heels I’d picked for the day. Giving him a sultry smile, I sashayed my way over to him, making a point of swaying my hips. He seemed a little nervous at the sight of me, but then his eyes locked on to my swinging hips and I knew I had him. I went up to him and put my palms on his chest, then slid them up over his taut muscles before sliding them around his neck. Leaning up, I kept my lips millimeters from his and whispered, “I missed you.”

  I felt his muscles tense as I pressed my body against his, reaching for him. I closed the space between our mouths and gave him a slow, lingering kiss. Bane stared at us, I could feel it, and part of me felt a rush of pleasure at showing off that I could just go up and kiss him like that.

  When we broke the kiss, I grinned up at him. His eyes looked hazy with lust, and he had to cough to clear his throat before speaking. “Carol, what are you doing here?”

  I lifted my shoulders nonchalantly. “I came to see you, baby. You weren’t there when I woke up.”

  He tensed, and I saw his eyes dart over to look at Bane. I looked at the kid, too, and saw he was grinning goofily at us like he thought we were adorable or something. It kind of made me want to laugh, making me feel like Olivia Newton-John in Grease, but I resisted the urge and returned my focus to Asher.

  “Sorry. I’ll… wake you up before I go next time.” It sounded like he was trying to be mean or snarky or something, but instead, he just sounded husky. It made his statement dirtier than he’d intended and this time I actually did laugh.

  “Good,” I told him, tapping him on the nose. “’Cause a girl’s got needs. I hate taking care of them myself.”

  He groaned, and I winked at him. I heard Bane mutter “Holy shit” under his breath right before he cleared his throat and hurried to put himself behind the counter again. He seemed a little surprised, flustered, too, and I took pride in the fact that all this fuss was over me.

  “You shouldn’t tease the poor boy,” Asher admonished, but it was light and teasing; he was probably just as amused as I was.

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” I answered, winking at him.

  Bane just shook his head.

  “I didn’t know you’d find someone like her.”

  I frowned. Someone like her? What’s he talking about? But before I could voice my questions, another man came out from the back. He was big and gruff in a way that the other two men were, looking every bit the part of a man who spent the better part of his life on a motorcycle. He looked between Asher and me, then grinned.

  “Is this the little lady?” he asked, his smile turning him into a friendly, boisterous giant instead of the intimidating man he had been a second earlier.

  I pulled away slightly from Asher and put my hands on my hips, raising an eyebrow at him. “Little lady?” I repeated, more amused than anything else.

  Asher let out a sigh, then threw up his hands. “Fine. Winston, Bane, this is Carol. Carol, this isn’t even half of everyone. We good now?”

  “Not even close, boss,” Winston replied gruffly. He winked at me. “I think we spoke on the phone.”

  I stared at him blankly for a long moment before it clicked. “Oh! You’re the one who told me where to find Asher.” Instantly, I blushed and realized that I probably shouldn’t have said that. Maybe Asher would be mad that someone had just given out his address like that. It didn’t seem very professional. But when I snuck a glance at Asher, he didn’t seem perturbed by the information.

  Winston nodded. “Yep. That was me. I figured our boss here could use a little nudge.” He clapped a heavy hand on Asher’s shoulders, looking larger than life.

  Asher just gave him a look, then said, “Right. I’m sure this is all going exactly as you planned.”

  Winston just laughed. The phone had rung, and Bane was talking to whoever was on the other end, so he was excused from the conversation, and a minute later Winston’s next client walked in, so he disappeared into the back once more. But not before winking again and telling Asher, “Got yourself a real looker. Don’t fuck this up.”

  I giggled a little at that. Asher came over to me and slipped his arm around my shoulders, spinning me so I was facing the front of the shop and the door once again. He walked with me. “Want to get some breakfast?” he asked me.

  Looking over at the clock on the wall, I answered, “A little late for breakfast, don’t you think?”

  He shrugged, reaching for the door and holding it open for me like a real gentleman. “Lunch, then.”

  I smiled. “Okay. You talked me into it.”

  Asher escorted me down the street to a little shop. It was a café and bookstore both that I had been to only a couple of times because most of my friends were a little insulted by the whole bookstore thing. They spent too much time in classrooms being forced to read classics and learn Latin to really care about something like reading for fun. I was mostly in agreement, though I’d been known to indulge in a raunchy romance novel every now and again.

  Asher put in an order at the counter for two bagel sandwiches and some coffees, then found a little table in a nook in the back for us to sit in. I quickly decided I liked the ambiance of the place. The walls were dark hardwood, finished with a nice shiny coat. There were dimmed lights with shades that looked like they were dual-toned stained glass, though they might have only been coated plastic.

  Th
e tables were small and mismatched, so the whole place looked eclectic and a little eccentric rather than overly refined like so many places here in Mount Cherry. I appreciated the warm smells and the soft, toned down feeling of the whole place, though I thought it was a little weird to come here with a biker, of all people.

  “Have you been here before?” he asked, sipping his coffee.

  I nursed my own, then shook my head. “No. I mean, I’ve been to the bookstore portion of it. Just to pick up things for class,” I explained quickly, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. “But I’ve never stopped at the café.”

  “Not even for a coffee?” he asked, surprised.

  “Nope. Not even.”

  He smiled at me, a strangely sweet smile. It wasn’t filled with the same insatiable lust or the cockiness I was starting to associate with him, though I was sure those things lingered there, too. Instead, he seemed almost… sweet. Tender.