It would be on my way to her house. “They’ve got shit that’ll fit me?”
She nodded. “Oh yeah. They carry everything from Ralph Lauren to--”
I took off toward the door in a dead run. “Appreciate ya,” I shouted over my shoulder.
Splitting lanes, I shot south on 5 at over 100 miles an hour. If anyone changed lanes or decided to open their door, I’d be splattered all over the highway. I grinned at the thought of how Tegan and I met, and couldn’t help but laugh to myself at how angry I was at first.
With twenty minutes left, I pulled into the empty parking lot.
A lanky saleswoman who resembled a Victoria’s Secret runway model met me at the door.
She looked at me and grinned. Her eyes fell to my boots, and then slowly rose the length of my frame. “Hi welcome to Casual--”
“Got an emergency,” I said. “I have to be somewhere in twenty minutes, and I need ten to get there. Need a pair of jeans.”
“And a shirt?”
I shrugged. “Sure.”
“You won’t be wearing the…” she wagged her finger at my kutte.
“Yeah, I will.”
She looked disgusted. “Why?”
I wasn’t in the mood to explain the MC’s rules to the judgmental cunt, nor was it any of her fucking business. “Thirty-eight-inch inseam, thirty-four-inch waist. What are my options?”
She grinned a mischievous grin. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
“Nope.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yep.”
She studied me for a few seconds, and then appeared to have an epiphany. “Oh my God. You’re the guy. You were on that reality show. The one with the guys and girls that all lived together and--”
“Yep. That was me.” I wasn’t in the mood. “Look. I’m in a hurry.”
She looked disappointed. “You said thirty-eight. You look like a forty.”
I sighed. “Fine. Whatever.”
“Let me measure you.”
“Just get me a few options in thirty-four, forty.”
She turned away and promptly returned with a fabric measuring tape. She stepped to the side of the aisle and motioned for me to come to her.
Wedged between two SALE displays with the tape dangling from her fingertips, she rested her elbow at her side and cocked her hip. “Relax your stance.”
“I’m relaxed.”
She nodded toward my feet. “Feet closer together. Arms at your sides, please.”
“I just need--”
She knelt in front of me, and then slowly ran her hand along the inside of my thigh, keeping her eyes locked on mine the entire time. As the back side of her fingers grazed against the tip of my cock, she raised both eyebrows slightly.
She glanced at my crotch – which was where her fingertips rested – and widened her eyes.
I looked away and forced out an exaggerated sigh.
Her chest barely cleared mine as she stood. With her face merely inches from mine, she let out a slight breath and then took half a step back.
She reached forward and gripped my biceps lightly. “Sorry, I kind of stumbled.”
Her eyes darted from my arms to my chest, and then to my face. “You’re big.”
Normally, I would have taken her into the dressing room with me and stuffed her full of dick.
Instead, I felt like I’d been molested.
I found her actions and attitude beyond annoying. Convinced I was cheating on my promise to my father, and on my commitment to myself to become more honorable, I looked for an opportunity to fix it.
There was only one way out.
“I didn’t come here to get molested,” I said matter-of-factly. I pulled my arms away from her grasp and crossed them. “I came here for a pair of jeans.”
She swallowed heavily.
I looked at my watch. “I’ve got six minutes.”
Her face blushed bright red. “I was just--”
“Can you grab me some jeans? Please?”
She let out a sigh. “Relaxed fit? Casual? Loose? Straight?”
“I’ve got a date.” I shrugged.
“What will she be wearing?”
“Jeans.” I thought about it, considered that we’d be riding on the bike, and nodded. “Jeans, or shorts.”
She smiled. “Describe her.”
“She hates men, but she’s giving me a chance.” I shrugged one shoulder. “She’s got an adorable smile and brown eyes. But, she’s quick to talk shit. It’s our first date. Whatever you think would look nice.”
She returned with six pairs of jeans and three folded tee shirts. “Take a look at those. The Ralph Lauren’s will fit nice, and the True--”
“You got a dressing room?”
“Let me get a key.”
She walked away.
I glanced at my watch.
Fuck!
I needed to leave.
I checked over each shoulder, and then looked around. There were a few people scattered about, but otherwise, the large store was empty. Still hidden between the two SALE racks, I kicked off my boots, unbuckled my belt, and dropped my jeans to the floor.
I’d never been a modest man.
Standing naked from the waist down, I picked the darkest pair of jeans and pulled them on.
They were long enough, but very low-waisted. The inseam hit me hard in the nuts, and the thighs were so tight it looked like I was trying to smuggle a banana.
I pried them off, kicked them aside, and glanced around. So far, no one was the wiser.
The next pair, another dark pair with horizontal streaks in the fabric of the upper thighs, were modern looking and fit nicely.
I slipped on my boots and checked the length.
Perfect.
I tried on the first tee shirt, a black V-neck. It was fitted, and the perfect size. After getting my wallet and knife from my old jeans, I folded them and tucked them under my arm. A quick survey of the store produced no stares.
No sales lady, either.
After tossing two $100 bills on the floor by the stack of clothes, I rushed out to my bike. Seven minutes later, I was parking the bike in front of Tegan’s apartment.
With two minutes to spare.
* * *
I stepped to the door, inhaled a deep breath, and knocked twice. It opened.
She stood with her purse tucked under her arm, grinning.
“I like your jeans, are they new?”
“Yeah.”
I stared at her.
I couldn’t help it.
Her hair was curled and pinned up, but not in tight a bun. Strands of twisted locks dangled loosely on each side of her face, and a few fell across her forehead. Her jeans were tight from her hips to her ankles, accentuating every curve her body so gracefully formed. Her tee shirt was adorned with a few random shimmery jewels throughout the intricate design, and hugged her like a glove.
On her feet, a worn pair of sneakers.
She was breathtaking, but her shoes looked out of place.
“Is everything okay?”
I looked up. Her brown eyes looked innocent, yet inviting. “Do you have any heels?”
“I do. I mean. I wanted to wear them, but I can’t really. Not on the bike.”
“Can you put ‘em on?” I asked sheepishly.
She motioned toward the living room. “Come in.”
“I’ll just wait here.”
“You sure that I can wear them?”
“It’ll be fine.”
She disappeared into her bedroom.
I took off my kutte, folded it, and walked into the kitchen. After placing it in one of her cabinets, I walked back to my spot outside and turned toward the door.
Now wearing a black pair of heels, she walked toward me with an elegant grace I had no idea she possessed.
Preoccupied with her purse, she had no clue that I was watching. When she reached the door, she looked up.
“Oh wow. I like the tee shirt. It uhhm.” She grinned. “Yeah, I
like that. A lot.”
“Thanks. It’s new, too.”
She scrunched her nose. “Where’s your vest?”
“How far can you walk in those things?”
“These?” She shrugged. “It’s not like you’re probably thinking. These are comfortable. I can walk as far in these as you can in those boots, why?”
“Feel like walking?”
“Sure, why?”
“Can’t ride the bike without the kutte. Club rules. With you wearing those heels, the kutte looks out of place. I put it in the kitchen.”
“You can wear it,” she said. “It’s fine.”
“Just for tonight,” I said. “We’ll go like this.”
She smiled. “Just for tonight.”
She locked the door and turned around. For an instant, she looked confused.
I stepped to the side and extended my left elbow. “Slip your arm in there.”
She hooked her arm right arm through my left, snuggled up to my side, and looked up. She didn’t need to speak, her eyes said everything.
“My real name’s Brad,” I said.
“Nice to finally meet you, Brad.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Tegan
Perfection is a matter of personal definition, but by my standards, the night was perfect. As we’d chosen to walk, our dining options were limited. We agreed on a burger joint three blocks away.
The small establishment had a steady stream of patrons in and out, and a long line at the drive-thru, but the eight booths that were inside were occupied by no one other than us. The food was delicious, the atmosphere was nothing short of magnificent, and the discussions were, as always, entertaining.
In summation, I was in heaven.
I coughed a laugh, launching a sweet potato fry onto the table. “You did not!” I gasped.
I struggled to pick up the slippery spud. “Sorry.”
He chuckled a laugh at my antics. “I damned sure did.” He wiped his mouth, then nodded toward his lap. “From the waist down.”
I wrapped the half-eaten morsel in a napkin. “Naked? Right there in the store?”
“Didn’t have many options. She went to get the dressing room key and never came back. I had six minutes left.”
“Any reason you weren’t wearing underwear?”
“Be kind of tough. I don’t own any.”
I tried to imaging being a man and not wearing underwear. It was fascinating and disgusting at the same time. I imagined carrying a hot dog in my pants all day and gagged at the thought.
I pushed my plate to the side. “That’s funny. And, no one saw you?”
He shrugged. “If they did, they didn’t say anything.”
“Well, like I said earlier. I like both your choices. You look nice.”
“Thank you, so do you.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
“Did you cut your hair?”
You noticed!
“Oh no. Not really. Marcus trimmed the tips just a little. Just kind of straightened things up.”
He picked through his French fries. “I really like it. Really like it”
“Thank you.”
I had already spent the evening admiring him, but I did so just a little more. I tilted my head to the side and studied his handsome face. The transformation that he’d made was remarkable, and I found it difficult not to stare. When his eyes met mine, I looked away and hoped he had no idea how long I’d been sitting there gawking.
A small part of me worried that something drastic would happen and ruin everything, but I tried to keep from thinking about it. In life, I was naturally an optimist. With men, however, pessimism seemed to envelop my thoughts entirely.
He picked up a French fry and bit off the end. “You want to go to a movie?”
“If you do.”
“I really don’t care.”
I shrugged. “Me neither.”
I hadn’t been to a movie in forever. It sounded fun, but I really didn’t want to spend the majority of the night staring at a screen and not talking to him. I was enjoying myself.
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
I wanted to keep doing what we were doing. “I don’t care. You?”
“Just spend it with you, really.” He dropped the fry onto his plate. “We can do whatever.”
“If you weren’t with me what would you be doing?”
“Be at the shop drinking beers. Or riding somewhere with some of the fellas.”
“What do you normally do on dates?”
He laughed. “I haven’t been on a date since I was in high school.”
I was flattered, at least for a minute. He was far too handsome to be celibate. “You don’t go on dates?”
“I haven’t in a long time, no.”
“But you’ve had girlfriends, right?”
“Well, not really.”
He picked up another French fry and played with it for a minute.
“Listen.” He tossed it onto his plate and then looked up. “Excluding high school, I’ve never had a girlfriend. And I haven’t been on a date, either. I could sit here and lie to you about how I’ve been waiting for Mrs. Right, or how the love of my life got away from me, and I’ve been sad and lonely ever since, but that’d be a lie. I was talking to Pop the other day, and it just hit me. Kind of like being punched in the face.”
“What were you talking about?”
“The truth?”
“Always,” I said.
He traced his thumbs along the edge of the table for a moment, and then began. “I always considered myself honorable. A man of my word. You know, stuff like that.”
He paused, but I could tell he was far from done.
I gave a little encouragement. “Okay.”
His preoccupation with the table continued. “It’s recently been pointed out to me that I never treated women with respect.”
I swallowed heavily at the thought of what may come next, but I had to ask. “Did you hit them?”
“No. NEVER!” He looked up and locked eyes with me. “I’ve never pushed, shoved, hit or anything. No woman. Ever. I mean nothing.”
It was nice to hear. “Good.”
“Don’t know if what I did was any better, though.” His shoulders slumped and he slid down in the booth a little. I was sure it was unintentional.
He seemed small. Vulnerable.
“What’d you do?”
“Fucked ‘em.”
I waited on him to laugh, but it didn’t happen. I didn’t see the problem. I enjoyed sex. As far as I was concerned, it was an important part to maintaining any relationship. I was lost. “Is that bad?”
He nodded. “Maybe you didn’t hear me before. I fucked ‘em. That’s it. I didn’t date ‘em. I didn’t spend time with any of them. I just fucked ‘em and went on.”
It didn’t seem completely out of character for any man I’d ever known. I decided, solely based on how he was acting, to give him a little credit for what he’d done. Or at least for what he thought he’d done.
“Oh wow,” I said, trying to act surprised.
“So, when I told Pop I wanted to take you on a date, he jumped my ass. Said if I planned on treating you like any of the women in my past, I better not even ask you. And then he said if I did anything to hurt you, he’d kick my ass. It just got me thinking--”
“You told your father we were going out?”
“It was more like asking permission, really,” he said with a laugh. “But, yeah.”
My heart swelled thinking about him asking his father’s permission to take me on a date, and even more about his father’s protective response.
I began to wonder about his reasons for asking me out. I found a stray strand of hair and began to twist it. “So, is this your idea, or your father’s?”
“Mine.”
“Your dad didn’t coerce you or talk you into--”
“My idea totally.”
“And the haircut? The beard?”
�
�Me.”
“Why? Why me?”
As soon as the words came out, I wished I could reel them back in, but I couldn’t. I wanted to know, but I regretted asking.
He sat up in his seat, as if eager to respond. “If I made a list of all the things that I wanted a woman to be, and then I made another list of all the qualities that you have, the two lists would be the same. Well, except the list of qualities you have is a lot longer. And, it’s got a lot of cool shit on it I didn’t know that I liked. Until now.”
Really?
I liked his response. No. I loved it. I swallowed heavily. “Really?”
He nodded. “Yep.”
I wanted more. I needed more. “What would be on the list?”
He leaned back and folded his arms. His gaze then went to the ceiling, and it seemed he was in deep thought. While his attention was elsewhere, I imagined his massive arms wrapped around me.
Holding me.
I realized he was looking at me. I diverted my eyes and met his gaze.
“Your attitude,” he said. “You don’t take any shit. You’re not afraid to say how you feel, and you don’t really care what anyone thinks. You’re like a girl version of me. I like that. And then your attitude on life. You’re kinda carefree. I’m OCD, and I’ve got to have everything clean and perfect. My bike, for instance. Every time there’s even a little scratch, I fix it at once. Everything’s got to be just right. And you drive your fuckin’ car around without a door. You could care less. That’s the coolest thing ever.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
“I ain’t even close to done,” he said. “There’s a lot more.”
“Please, continue.”
“You take care of my Pop like he’s your own father. You’re kind, and caring, and loving, but you don’t let him – or me – run over you. And then, like the other day, you cut his nails. You didn’t cut ‘em because he told you to. Or because he asked you to. You did it because you noticed he needed it, that can only come from one place. It’s not training. Or college. It’s about having a heart. A big one. And then, there’s the weird stuff.”
I was intrigued. “Like what?” I chuckled
“I keep shit clean, but I can’t fuckin’ stand to rinse dishes. You can’t stand to have ‘em in the sink. I leave my coffee cup on the table at the coffee shop. They give me shit about it all the time. You get up and toss yours in the trash can as soon as you’re done. My house has everything in its place. Looks like a grocery store in my cupboards with everything lining up perfectly. But I hate to vacuum. Your house has lines in the carpet from where you’ve vacuumed it. You’re like my mom. But, when I put my kutte in your cabinet, the glasses aren’t lined up perfectly. I say fuck every other word, and you don’t cuss. Not at all. Ever. All these differences are the kind of shit that’s made my parents last forever. Pop calls it balance. I don’t know if that’s what it’s really called, but it’s good enough, I guess.”
Filthy F*ckers: The Complete Series Box Set Page 29