I saw it coming, I really did. My heart told me to turn away, but my body and mind offered no resistance.
His lips met mine.
The kiss wasn’t aggressive, nor was it overly sensual. His lips simply pressed against mine fully, and we kissed.
Most women would have wanted more. Much more. But, for me, it was caring, kind, gentle, and absolutely perfect.
The kiss took me to a place I wasn’t sure I’d been before. Somewhere safe, and special. Together, he and I resided there, but only for a short moment. As our mouths parted, my knees went weak.
With my lips still puckered into a kiss, I looked at him, shocked and pleased at the same time.
He grinned. “I’ve been wanting to do that.”
“Oh,” I breathed. “It was, uhhm. Wow. That’s all I got. Wow.”
Any thoughts of not going to dinner with him vanished.
“So, what are you thinking?” he asked.
“About?” the word hung in the air like a wisp of smoke.
“Dinner?” he asked.
“Let me get my purse.”
Chapter Eighty-Seven
Cholo
I pushed the front door open and waved toward the empty living room. I knew better than to warn my mother of our arrival. As inconsiderate as it might seem, telling her would have caused her to frantically attempt to clean, cook, and get ready at the same time, leaving her half finished with each task.
Simply showing up would allow her to truly enjoy our presence.
With us halfway through the living room, she walked through the kitchen door. Her eyes went wide and she stopped in her tracks.
“Qué emoción!” she gasped.
“English, mother,” I said with a laugh. “This is Alexandra, the girl I told you about. And, she doesn’t speak Spanish.”
My mother was wearing her apron, but it was no surprise – she always wore an apron. The home smelled of her cooking, and it smelled good. She wiped her hands on her apron, and rushed excitedly to where we stood.
A handshake or a nice to meet you remark would have been typical of most mothers, but not mine. She opened her arms and smothered Alexandra with a hug.
After she released her, she leaned back and looked her over. “He told me you were beautiful, but I had no idea…”
“Thank you,” Alexandra said. She leaned forward. “He told me you were a great cook.”
“He knows nothing of good cooking,” my mother replied. “He’d eat rocks if I put broth over them.”
“He made tacos for me the other night,” Alexandra said. “They were delicious.”
“He cooked?” She stopped in her tracks. “My Adam?”
Alexandra looked at me and then at my mother. She nodded. “We ate dinner together and watched television.”
“Television? He doesn’t sit still for very long,” my mother said. “Siempre nervioso.”
I chuckled. “She said I’m always nervous. English, mother.”
“I’m so sorry,” my mother said. “I left my manners in the kitchen. I’m Maria.”
“Alexandra,” Alexandra said. “Nice to meet you.”
Being a man whore wasn’t a trait I developed once I was in the MC, or because of some outside influence. It was part of who I was. From the time I had sex for the first time – at thirteen – until my current age of thirty-one, I had been a tornado of sexual explorations. Much to my mother’s disappointment, I had yet to meet a woman I cared enough about to invite her into her home for dinner.
“Alexandra,” my mother said, taking Alexandra’s hand in hers. “Come with me.”
Alexandra looked at me, grinned, and then followed my mother into the kitchen.
What in the fuck have I got myself into?
I wiped my sweating palms against the thighs of my jeans, and looked around the living room. I had no idea where I was headed with Alexandra, but wherever it was, I was going to make sure getting there caused her no harm.
I walked to the doorway, peered into the kitchen, and watched as my mother stirred a pot of what smelled like pork chile verde.
“…roasted tomatillos, garlic, jalapenos, garlic, and oil. First, you slice the tomatillo in half, and then put them in the oven on a sheet, with the flat side down. Cook them under the broiler, but just until they…”
Turn black.
“…turn black.”
I grinned. My mother taught me to cook, explaining every detail of what needed to be done and why. She never wrote anything down, and neither did I. I didn’t need to. She pounded the recipes into my head repeatedly, every time she cooked, whether I was paying attention or not.
“…after the pork is brown, pour the sauce over it, and let it cook for 4 hours. Three hours, and it will be too thin. Four is perfecto.” She paused, looked at Alexandra, and smiled. “Okay?”
Alexandra nodded and smiled in return. “Okay.”
“When will we eat?” I asked.
“When it’s ready,” she said over her shoulder.
“I’m ready now.”
“You’ll have to wait fifteen more minutes.”
“I’m going to steal Alexandra for a minute,” I said.
“She’s doing just fine in here,” she said. “Go shine your motorcycle.”
“C’mon, Alexandra. I want to show you around.”
She looked at my mother.
“Go,” she said. “He’s sad when he doesn’t get what he wants.”
Alexandra followed me down the hallway to the last door on the right. It was the bedroom I grew up in, and was still decorated the way it was when I moved out.
I pushed the door open.
She looked around the room, and then focused on the pictures that were hung on the far wall. “Is that you?”
Four framed photos of when I had boxed in Golden Gloves competitions hung side-by-side on the wall. “Yeah,” I said. “That’s me.”
She looked at me, and then at the pictures. “You were smaller.”
“That was a long time ago. I weighed 40 pounds less.”
She walked up to one of the pictures and traced her fingertip along the outline of my face. “You had hair.”
“Not much, but yeah.”
“I can’t imagine you with hair.”
“I can’t either. Not now.”
“Were you good? When you boxed?”
“Everyone thought so.”
She studied the next picture. “What did you think?”
“I was never any good in my eyes. Not good enough, anyway.”
“Did you win?”
“Every time I fought.”
“Every time?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you were good.”
“The competition was poor.”
“You’re humble,” she said.
“I’m a realist.”
She turned to face me. “A humble realist.”
“Maybe.”
She met my gaze and locked her eyes on mine. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
She spread her arms wide and gazed around the room. “This. Bringing me to your mother’s home for dinner. Showing me your old bedroom. Kissing me?”
“I like you,” I said.
She let out a sigh. “You like me, or you like the thought of me?”
“What do you mean?”
She pressed her hands against her hips. “Do you like the thought of someone who’s young and easily influenced?”
Before I had a chance to respond, she continued. “Maybe you like the thought of saving me.” She raised both eyebrows. “You already did that, you know.”
I admired her as she spoke. Describing her as beautiful simply wasn’t enough. I exercised a little self-control and shifted my focus to her eyes. “Already did what?”
“Saved me. I don’t need any help from here on out. I can make it without you.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Is that what you want?”
“What I want?” She asked. “I wan
t what every girl wants.”
Hell, I had no idea what every girl wanted. Any response on her part would be enlightening.
“And what might that be?”
“I want a man to love me for no other reason than he believes I’m the most unique creature on the planet,” she said, folding her arms against her chest as she spoke. “When he thinks of living life without me, I want him to get scared and confused.”
“That’s it?” I asked.
She shrugged. “That’s a good start.”
“When I was younger, I was mad at the world,” I said. “I wanted answers on why I was a half-breed, and why I didn’t have a father. I’d ride my motorcycle 550 miles to the Grand Canyon just to watch the sunset, and then ride back the next day. I went there because there was nowhere else that I knew of that was as beautiful, as magical, or as perfect. Sure the canyon held all the answers, I’d stare out at it hoping to find them, but I never found any. In the end, it didn’t matter. For me, the canyon itself was proof of something bigger than life. Something magnificent. I’d end up lasting another six or eight months, and then I’d be back, mad and needing some relief. I’d watch the sun set over the canyon, then everything would be fine for a while.”
I paused and took a breath.
She grinned. “I like that story.”
“I wasn’t finished.” I said.
“Sorry. Continue.”
“I kept going back because there wasn’t anything, anywhere, that could replace it. Nowhere was as serene or as beautiful. Believe me, I tried to find spots that were closer. Went farther, too, but nothing compared.”
I looked at her for a few seconds and then shook my head. “There are a lot of rivers and canyons on this earth, and none compare to the Grand Canyon. And, there are a lot of beautiful women on this earth, and none of them compare to you. So, if you find me staring at you, it’s because doing it saves me a 550-mile drive.”
“Stop talking,” she whispered. “And kiss me.”
Chapter Eighty-Eight
Lex
The dinner was fabulous. I ate some of the pork over rice, like Maria suggested, and then had some with tortillas, like Adam insisted. Sitting at the table feeling like a swollen toad, I alternated glances between them.
“Eat,” Maria said, wagging her fork toward my empty plate. “You’re going to blow away with the Santa Ana winds.”
She was a beautiful woman that was at least a foot shorter than Adam, and eight inches shorter than me. She was far more petite than I expected, and it was difficult to believe she gave birth to someone as big as he was.
Her black shoulder-length hair was sprinkled with strands of gray. The contrast added to her natural beauty, and was the only indication I could find that was indicative of her age.
I rubbed my stomach and smiled. “I’m stuffed, really.”
She lifted a piece of pork to her mouth. “You’re so thin.”
“I’m tall,” I said. “It makes me seem skinny, but I’m not.”
“She ate as much as me, mother,” Adam said.
“You picked at your food.” She pointed her fork at him. “You don’t like my chile?”
“The chile is good, mother. I’m full.”
She lowered the utensil and glared. “Did you eat before you came?”
He let out a dramatic sigh. “We ate half the pot of chile. We’re full.”
She waved her hand toward the pot. “What am I going to do with all this chile?”
“I’ll eat it when I come in the morning.”
She looked at me, and then at Adam. “I’ll send some home with Alexandra.”
“We’re on the bike,” he complained. “She can’t take any with her.”
She scowled at him. “Put it in your little boxes.”
“They’re bags. Saddle bags, mother, not saddle boxes.”
“They look like boxes,” she said, forming a box in the air with her fingers. “You can put it in the boxes.”
Adam looked at me. I shrugged and then smiled. “I’d love to take some home.”
“Fine. Put some in a Tupperware for her,” he said. “Make it small.”
“I’ll make it how I make it.” After a short glare at Adam, she looked at me. “You’re never married?”
The question surprised me. “Oh. No, ma’am. Never married.”
She placed the palm of her hand over mine and grinned. “Do you like children?”
“I do.”
“After you marry. How many children do you wish for?”
I smiled at the thought of having kids. I hadn’t given it much serious thought, but my kneejerk reaction to her question was three.
“I don’t know. Maybe three.”
She squeezed my hand, and then looked at Adam. She raised three fingers in the air and grinned. “Three is a good number.”
“Nobody is having kids, mother,” he said, his voice conveying his annoyance with her questions. “We just came for dinner.”
“These are things that need to be discussed. Go shine your motorcycle.”
He waved his hand toward her and pushed his chair away from the table slightly.
She gave him the stink eye for a moment, and then looked at me. “Are you Catholic?”
“I am.”
“Do you use the drugs?”
“Mother!” Adam howled.
I laughed. “No ma’am. I’ll drink a few beers, that’s it.”
She squeezed my hand again. “You’re a good girl. Come with me. We’ll make you a plate to take home.”
Although Adam didn’t seem to appreciate her prying information from me, I thought it was cute. I followed her to the kitchen, and together we prepared a dish for me to take home. As she handed it to me, she looked me in the eyes.
“He’s my only boy,” she said. “Don’t break his heart.”
I had no idea if the questions and comments she had made were a result of wishful thinking or if he had confided information in her that I knew nothing about.
I decided it didn’t matter.
I had no idea where Adam and I were headed, but I knew if there was a heart that was going to be broken, it wouldn’t be his.
I accepted the dish and gave her a hug. With my chin resting lightly on her shoulder, I responded.
“I won’t,” I whispered. “I promise.”
Chapter Eighty-Nine
Cholo
I’d stopped in the shop on my way to the remodel project in La Jolla. As always, Pee Bee and Crip were there, solving the world’s problems one beer at a time.
They stood at the far end of the shop by the workbench. I switched off my bike and coasted through the empty shop, rolling to a stop directly in front of them.
“What’s shakin’, motherfucker?” Pee Bee asked as I climbed off the bike.
I pulled my hat down tight and shrugged. “Just taking care of business before I get to work. What are you two fuckers up to?”
“Waiting for 10:00 to roll around so we can have a beer without feeling like a couple of alcoholics,” Pee Bee said.
“Couple hours of boredom first, huh?” I pulled the envelope from my back pocket and handed it to Crip. “Here.”
“What’s this? Early Christmas card?”
“$1,200. From the night we brought the girls in here. For the violation of the bylaws. Been meaning to get by here and pay it, but I’ve just been busy.”
He pursed his lips, took a long breath through his nose, and shook his head. “Take it back. I just wanted to make a point in front of the fellas. What you did was against the bylaws, but it wasn’t wrong.”
“Rules are rules,” I said. “I broke ‘em, and I demanded the others break ‘em, too. Keep it.”
“Let’s get one thing straight.” He looked at each of us. “I catch either of you two without your colors, I’ll have your respective asses. That night? It was necessary. For the sake of protecting the club. Personally, I’d have done exactly what you did.”
He handed me the envelope. “
Put it in your pocket.”
“Appreciate ya,” I said.
He gave a slight nod. “How’s she doing?”
“Who?”
“The fucking girl you went to get. Alejandra, or whatever her name was.”
“Alexandra.”
“Whatever. Alexandra. How’s she doing?”
“Good.”
“Glad to hear it. She looked like hammered shit the night she was here, that’s for sure. Felt sorry for all those girls. Cocksuckers that did it got what they had coming to ‘em, that’s for sure.”
“Didn’t plan that, either,” I said. “Tried to just take her and go, but the prick threatened to kill my entire family. After I shot him, there wasn’t much else to do but kill the rest of those pricks.”
“Fuckers needed killin’.” The veins on his tattooed neck bulged. “Sons-of-bitches raping little girls.”
I nodded in agreement. The thought of it angered me to no end.
Pee Bee nodded his head toward the open garage door. “Got company.”
“Who the fuck is that?” Crip said through his teeth. “Either of you two know this bitch?”
I turned toward around and upon seeing her, a sigh shot from my lungs. Lucy’s car was parked in front of the door, and Lucy, still dressed in her scrubs, was taking long-legged strides right toward us.
“It’s Alexandra’s mom,” I said. “Name’s Lucy.”
“Looks like Lucy’s mad as fuck,” Crip said.
Before I had time to do anything, she was in front of me, waving her arms and screaming.
“Seriously, Adam?” she seethed. “Seriously? My daughter?”
I tried the innocent approach, but considering her level of anger, doubted it would work. “What are you talking about?”
She glared at me through narrow eyes. “You took my daughter to dinner at your mother’s house? Explain to me what you were thinking.”
“I went by to check on her, and we were both hungry. Settle down.” I motioned toward the door. “We can go outside and talk.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she snapped. “They can hear what I’ve got to say. Maybe they ought to hear it.”
“Look. We went to eat. That’s it. Nothing happened.”
“Her eyes light up when she talks about you, Adam.” Her gaze fell to the floor, and she shook her head. When she looked up, she was crying. “She’s a child. You’re not. Go fuck with someone your own age.”
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