HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  Brad crossed his arms. “Jesus, Pop. We’re just standing here. It’s no big deal. Fuck.”

  Deann stepped through the doorway and smiled. “You two look cute together. Dinner’s ready. Let’s eat. Help your father, Brad.”

  “I came to move the bed,” Brad said.

  Deann looked confused. “What bed?”

  “Your bed.”

  “Stop being silly and wash your hands.” She turned around. “It’s time for dinner.”

  Brad looked at Bradley. “Pop?”

  Bradley shrugged. “Guess she doesn’t want to move it. Women. When you figure them out, let me know.”

  I glanced at each of them, then grinned. It was pretty obvious we’d both been set up to have a Sunday dinner all together without either of us knowing.

  I was completely fine eating whatever it was she’d prepared, it smelled marvelous.

  “Shall we wash our hands?” I asked.

  “If we don’t we’ll get in trouble,” he said.

  We walked to the bathroom together. He looked at me over his shoulder as he dried his hands.

  “Sneaky old fucker told me to be here at 6:00 to move mom’s bed.”

  I turned off the water. “He told me he had personal business all day, and to come at 5:30.”

  He smiled. “I’m sure it’ll be good.”

  “Smells good.”

  “I’ll get your father in his wheelchair,” I said. “I’m the one getting paid.”

  He knew better than to argue. “Fine.”

  Brad went to the kitchen, and I got Bradley loaded in his wheelchair. After wheeling him up to his spot at the table, I sat down across from Brad.

  “Say grace, Bradley,” Deann said.

  He met my gaze, rolled his eyes lightly, and then closed them.

  I grinned, looked at Brad, and then closed mine.

  “Heavenly father, we thank you for giving us the ability to gather here today as one. We thank you for our guest, Tegan, and for all that she offers this family in body, and in spirit. We thank you for the meal that’s prepared and before us, and we humbly ask that you bless it, so that it may strengthen and nourish our bodies and allow us to serve you further. In your precious name we pray. Amen.”

  “Amen.”

  “Amen.

  “Amen.”

  “What is it?” Brad asked.

  Deann pulled the lid off the serving dish. “Swedish meatballs,” she said. “Pass it to Tegan.”

  I glanced at Bradley, but I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t look at anyone. At that instant, I was so filled with emotion that I couldn’t do much but accept the dish as he handed it to me.

  “Thank you.”

  I filled my plate with meatballs, potatoes, peas, and a little bread and jam.

  Deann raised her eyebrows. “Do you like Swedish meatballs, hun?”

  I glanced at Bradley. He smiled. I looked at Deann. “Yes, ma’am. As a matter of fact, I do.”

  “Good. Bradley asked for them, and I was hoping you’d like it. It’s an old family recipe.”

  After everyone had their food, I took an anxious bite.

  Oh my.

  I glanced looked around the table. Everyone was eating quietly.

  I took another bite.

  Holy crap, this is good.

  It may have been an old family recipe, but it tasted exactly like the meatballs my mother prepared for me when I was a kid.

  I missed my mother, and I missed her meatballs.

  In my odd way of thinking, we ate as a family, whether we really were one, or not.

  On that night, at my first Sunday dinner with Brad, his mother, and his sneaky father, I had a family again.

  Even if it was only for one night.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Pee Bee

  It was a typical sunny So-Cal morning. We stood in the parking lot, preparing to pull out for the two-hour trip to Palm Springs. Forty bikes, neatly parked side by side, filled the lot.

  Crip positioned himself beside the bikes, up against the building. “Listen up, fellas!”

  The crowd went silent.

  “In today’s traffic, this is going to be a short little run, about two hours up, two there for lunch, and two back. There’ll be no stops. If you’re riding, you know the rules about pulling over, but I’ll remind you anyway, don’t fuckin’ do it. Lunch is meat, served with a side of meat, so if your Ol’ Lady’s a vegan, you’re out of luck. As always, colors in the front, colors in the back. Sicko, you’ve got sweeper duty. Any questions?”

  He looked around the crowd and then nodded. “We’ll saddle up in about twenty.”

  “What’s sweeper duty? Can I ask that?” Tegan whispered.

  “He’ll be in the back, trailing behind the formation. In case someone wrecks or falls out of rank with a broken down bike. Sweeps up the mess. Sweeper duty.”

  “And we’re up front here, with Crip?”

  “Right behind him. Him and the road captain will be in the front. We’re right behind them.”

  Peyton walked up the side of the bike and stood quietly behind Tegan.

  “Tegan, I want you to meet someone.”

  Tegan smiled. “Okay.”

  I gripped her shoulders and turned her around. “This is Peyton. Peyton, this is Tegan.”

  Peyton smiled and shook Tegan’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Really nice to meet you, too. Have you been to many of these?”

  Peyton nodded. “A few. It’s fun. They call it a short run, it’s not. Two hours solid. But it’s exciting. Wait till you hear all the bikes fire up. It’ll get your blood going.”

  “My blood’s already going,” Tegan said. “I’m excited.”

  “She’ll be in front of us, riding with Crip,” I said.

  “Cool.”

  “It was nice to meet you,” Peyton said.

  “Nice to meet you, too.”

  Tegan turned toward me. “She’s nice.”

  “She’s nicer than that,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You see. In time. Nobody’s going to be too nice to you today, because they don’t know if you’ll be around for long. They don’t want to try and buddy up to you, and then never see you again.”

  “Oh.” She made a pouty face. “Am I going to be around for long?”

  She wasn’t going anywhere unless she wanted to, but convincing her seemed impossible. “If I got any say in it, yes.”

  “Who else has a say?”

  “You.”

  “Anybody else?”

  I shook my head. “Nope.”

  She grinned. “Okay.”

  “If you need to use the bathroom, you better do it now.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “We won’t be stopping.”

  “Even if I have to pee?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Even if you have to pee.”

  “Let me see what I can do, then.”

  “Far left side of the shop,” I said. “In the back.”

  “Be back in a minute.”

  Within a few seconds of her walking away, Crip emerged. “That’s her, huh?”

  “That’s her.”

  “Cute little bitch.”

  I nodded. “She ain’t bad.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Same as Peyton,” I said.

  He crossed his arms. “She up for this ride?”

  “It’s two fucking hours, Crip. We ain’t going to Canada. She’ll be fine.”

  “So, what’s this about?” he asked. “Is this revenge for the bike, or something else?”

  I shrugged one shoulder. “Something else.”

  He dropped his eyes to the ground, cleared his throat, and looked up. “See it lasting?”

  “Yep.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “She isn’t anywhere near here. It’s just you and me, Peeb.” He cocked an eyebrow. “You see it lasting?”


  I nodded. “Sure do.”

  “Until?”

  I glanced toward the shop and then at Crip. “Whether or not it lasts with her, I guess I’ll find out in time. But I’m done being the person I was. I know that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I ain’t screwing around with women like I was.”

  He barked out a laugh and shook his head. “Oh really?”

  “Yep.”

  “And, why’s that?”

  I wasn’t in the mood to tell him of the long discussion my father and I had, nor did I think that he’d believe me if I took the time to try and explain. He’d simply criticize me and laugh.

  I shrugged. “Lots of reasons.”

  “Like?”

  “Look, Crip. I like this chick. That’s all that matters. Give me a chance.” I noticed her walking toward us, and tilted my head in her direction. “And give her one too.”

  He pursed his lips and gave a shallow nod.

  Tegan stopped fifteen feet or so from where we were standing and waited. He must have sensed her.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “If you aren’t afraid of him, you’ve got no reason to be afraid of me,” he said flatly.

  She stepped to our side and pushed her hands deep into the pockets of her jeans. It was the same nervous gesture she’s made that day on the highway after the wreck. As she forced a slight smile and swiveled her hips back and forth, he turned to face her.

  “Name’s Navarro,” he said. “You can call me Crip.”

  She nodded once. “Okay.”

  He waited a few seconds for her to introduce herself, but she didn’t. She simply stood there and looked at him as if sizing him up. He returned her stare, stone-faced.

  I’d warned Tegan of what Crip might call her, and wondered if she was reluctant to introduce herself, only to have Crip call her something else.

  The stare-off continued for a few more seconds, but it seemed like forever. I tried to keep from laughing. Whichever one spoke first would be the loser. My money was on Crip walking away without another word. About the time I guessed he’d turn away, his mouth curled into a smirk.

  He shook it off.

  “You got a name?” he asked dryly.

  “Name’s Tegan,” she said straight-faced. “But you can call me Crash.”

  I tried to keep a straight face, but couldn’t. As I coughed out a light laugh, he glared at me and then looked at her.

  He exchanged glances between us, met her stone-faced stare, and then shook his head. “Fucking comedienne, huh?”

  She held his gaze and shrugged. “It just comes naturally.”

  He looked at me. “You two are fucking perfect for each other.”

  And he walked away.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Tegan

  Riding in formation with forty motorcycles was an experience. The comradery, professionalism, and skill of the riders was second to none. Riding with the men of Filthy Fuckers MC along the Pacific Coastal Highway was akin to being in a synchronized swim team.

  Side-by-side, the motorcycles started, turned, sped up, slowed down, and stopped. Their placement in the formation was assigned, and no one broke out of the formation during the entire trip.

  Whether I truly was or not, I felt like I was a part of something big.

  Crip led us along Palm Canyon Road, on a breathtaking journey through the mountains, and eventually we came to a stop in a large parking area filled with other motorcyclists. I quickly noticed various MC’s patches were being worn by people attending, many of which were well-known 1% clubs.

  Maintaining our formation, we rode to a vacant spot and parked side-by-side, one at a time.

  Simply seeing the men maneuver into their parking spots was jaw-dropping.

  The roar in the distance from motorcycles that hadn’t arrived yet – combined with the constant rumble of the riders surrounding us that had yet to park – was overwhelming. I gazed out at the sea of motorcycles.

  “Holy crap,’ I gasped.

  Brad shut off the motorcycle and looked around. “Amazing, huh?”

  I gawked in every direction. “I can’t even…”

  “This is what it’s all about.”

  “There’s Hells Angels over there,” I whispered. “I saw one of them.”

  He nodded and motioned toward the countless motorcycles. “There’ll be a bunch of them here.”

  I swallowed heavily. “It’s okay? I mean, do you get along with them?”

  “They’re just like you and me. You’ll be surprised. And yeah, we get along with everyone here.”

  Brad hadn’t shaved in a few days and had a slight growth of facial hair. Seeing him with it while wearing his kutte, jeans, and boots was a huge turn-on.

  If I made it through the entire day without jumping his bones, it would be a miracle. I had no idea what the protocol was for affectionate behavior during such an event, but I was afraid before the day ended, I was going to find out.

  As I was ogling him, Peyton got off Crip’s motorcycle and walked up to us. “Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

  I tore my eyes from Brad and looked at her. “I do.”

  “C’mon,” she said, gesturing toward the long row of bathrooms in the distance.

  I shot her a worried look. “Doesn’t someone need to go with us?”

  “Believe me,” she said. “No one will mess with you here.”

  I glanced at Brad. He nodded. “You’ll be fine.”

  Peyton looked like she was about my age, and was petite and beautiful. Dressed in jeans, a tee shirt, and sneakers, she looked like most of the girls I went to college with.

  Through the crowd of bikes and the throngs of people, we made our way toward the Porta-Potties.

  “So, what do you do?” I asked.

  She shuffled between two motorcycles, being careful not to touch them. “For work?”

  I did exactly as she did, being double careful. “Yeah.”

  She paused. “I’m a journalist.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. For the Tribune.”

  “The newspaper?”

  “Uh huh.”

  I struggled to catch up to her. “Oh wow. I would have never guessed,” I said. “That sounds fun. Do you write about cool stuff or boring stuff?”

  “I write about crime. Wrote an article about the club and that’s how I met Crip.”

  I paused and looked at her. “Really?”

  We reached an opening between where some of the motorcycles were parked and the bathrooms. She stopped and turned to face me. “Yep. So, how’d you and Pee Bee meet?”

  “You haven’t heard?”

  She shook her head. “If you stick around, you’ll see. These guys almost trained not to talk about anything to outsiders. Especially if you’re new to the group. So, how’d you meet?”

  “Well, I was in a traffic jam on the 5, and a bunch of bikes were splitting lanes. They were all Filthy Fuckers. I thought they’d all passed me, and I opened my door--”

  She coughed out a laugh. “Oh, wait. You’re the one? You’re the one who opened your door and wrecked Pee Bee’s bike?”

  I nodded shamefully. “Afraid so.”

  She smiled at me genuinely. For the first time. “That’s awesome!”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because. He’s anal retentive, and his bike’s always spotless. I can guarantee you, after this run, he’ll spend three hours cleaning it. To think you’re the one who wrecked it, and that he’s allowing you to even ride on his bike? That means you’re pretty special.”

  She may not have meant for it to be so, but what she said was a small boost to my ego.

  “Well,” I said. “I feel special.”

  We used the bathroom, which was an experience in itself, and then returned to where the men were standing and mingling. The crowd of FFMC’s men had thinned to one-quarter of what was there when we left.

  “What’d you think of that?” Brad ask
ed.

  “What?”

  “Pissing in the Porta-Pot.”

  It was the most vile thing I had ever seen, and the smell was beyond disgusting. I shrugged. “It was fine.”

  I waved at Peyton as she walked away with Crip.

  “Everyone went to the food tent.” Brad said, motioning toward the distant tents. He shot me a modest grin. “You ready to get something to eat?”

  The muscles in his biceps flared with each gesture of his hands. The testosterone-filled air already had my blood pumping, and standing alone with him was making matters much worse.

  “Sure.” The word came out with a distinct indifference attached to it.

  “I know what that means.”

  “What?”

  “Sure means no.”

  The truth was that I had become uncomfortably horny, and standing with him amidst 1,000 motorcycles was driving me insane.

  I smiled. Kind of. “We can eat.”

  He glanced over each shoulder and then looked at me. He raised both eyebrows. “What do you want to do?”

  I twisted my mouth to the side and shrugged one shoulder.

  He looked bewildered. “What?”

  A response didn’t come to me. At least not at once. He must have sensed my desire to speak.

  “Look,” he said. “If we can’t communicate with each other openly, we’re never going to--”

  “I want to suck you off,” I whispered.

  His eyes shot wide. “What?”

  I nodded. “I want to suck you off.”

  He grinned. “We’ll be back in about four hours, and then--”

  I shook my head. “I want to suck you off now.”

  “What? Now?”

  I gazed up at him and offered a closed-mouth grin. “Uh huh.”

  He looked left, and then right. He chuckled. “You an exhibitionist?”

  “I told you. I really like sex. And, you look hot. I want it. In my mouth.”

  “Here?”

  As much as I liked sex, it wasn’t typical behavior for me. But. Being at a biker rally with a thousand bikers wasn’t typical behavior for me, either. And, just mentioning it to him had my pussy throbbing.

  I cocked my head to the side. “Don’t make me beg.”

  He looked to the right. “Brother Cholo!”

  A muscular guy standing twenty feet away – who looked like he was guarding the motorcycles – turned toward Brad. He tilted his head back. “What is it?”