HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  “I sure nuff do, Mr. Toad. When would we start it?” he asked.

  “Junior, we aren’t starting anything. I’m going to buy all the stuff and get a man started. It’s not my business. It’s my equipment. Once it’s paid for, the business and the equipment is the property of the owner. I’ll need to set the company up with the city, register the business with the state, and list the new owner. Probably set up a Limited Liability Corporation. So, have we got a deal?” I asked as I extended my hand.

  “Junior’s Lawn Service. I likes me the sound of that,” he said as he shook my hand.

  “I like the sound of it too. I tell you what, let me take Sydney home, and we’ll just go buy that equipment this afternoon. You and me. How’s that?”

  “I’d like that Mr. Toad. Now Miss Sydney, is she one of them, you know…” He paused and stared down at his feet.

  As he looked up he narrowed his gaze. “Is she one of them women you uhhm. You hits? Is you hittin’ that Miss Sydney, Mr. Toad?”

  “Am I fucking her?” I asked.

  “Yes, Sir,” he responded.

  “No Junior, I’m not. She’s just a girl I met a month or so ago. Kind of like you. She was down on her luck, and I gave her a job. She’s digging herself out of a financial rut. Hopefully here pretty quick she’ll be able to see a light at the end of the tunnel,” I responded.

  Junior reached for the rib, picked it up, and dropped it into the trash. As he wiped the prep table with a kitchen towel, he looked up and smiled. “I can see mine, Mr. Toad and she’s as bright as the sun. You know something, Mr. Toad?”

  “What’s that, Junior?” I asked as I turned toward the kitchen.

  “Well, you never smile unless you and me’s a talkin’, and then you can’t stop. With your leather vest and that scruffy beard and your tattoos and such, you look like the devil himself ridin’ that motorbike through town. For them what don’t know you, you’s an angry man who sure nuff shouldn’t be crossed. Mean as a snake is what they say, you know. But when a fella gets to know you, and you let loose of that mean Marine look what’s always on your face, you’s a damn fine man. And you do kind things for folks who you don’t even know. I just wanted to tell you that,” he said.

  “Thank you,” I said as I grabbed the handle of the kitchen door.

  I stood at the door, holding the handle and thinking of what Junior had said. He was probably right; I’m sure most who saw me through the course of a day considered me to be the devil. In public, I rarely showed emotion, unless a stern look was considered emotional. It was as if there were two of me; the Marine who was trying to duplicate the atrocities of war, and the thoughtful Catholic boy my parents raised. In a constant battle, the two fought for control of my soul. The Marine constantly seeking confirmation the violent acts and murder he committed during war were necessary and just; and the Catholic boy attempting to lend a helping hand and right the wrongs of his past. It seemed the Marine stood the clear victor. I guess I shouldn’t have ever expected otherwise.

  Once a Marine, always a Marine.

  I pulled the door open and peered into the empty dining area. As soon as I saw Sydney, I realized I had totally forgotten to ask her about her brother. I stood and gazed at her admiringly as she told a story to Sarah and Kate. I continued to watch as she talked to the two girls, laughing and waving her arms as they listened intently. She was a beautiful woman and had a fantastic personality. For having very little she was extremely pleased and seemed content with what she did have. In some respects I became envious as I watched her, wishing I too could find the happiness she seemed to naturally possess. As the three girls began laughing at what appeared to be the end of a story Sydney had told, I recalled something my grandfather explained to me as a teenager.

  Cambio, we all have a goal in life, an objective. If you surround yourself with people who share your passion and ambition; your desire will soon be at your fingertips. If you surround yourself with those who have different goals, yours will slowly become out of reach. Choose your friends wisely, Capisce?

  As I stood and watched the girls continue to laugh, I decided spending more time getting to know Sydney just might be in my best interest.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  SYDNEY

  The sound of a motorcycle coming down the block caused me to jump from my seat and run to the window. After pulling the blinds slightly to the side and peeking outside, my suspicions and hope converged.

  Shit.

  I ran to the bathroom, grabbed my compact, and frantically began dabbing powder on my face. After a good dusting, I stood back and looked in the mirror. For a thirty second make-over, I looked pretty damned good. Except for my…

  Hair.

  Shit.

  I pulled the hair tie from my hair and shook my head. A few seconds into teasing my hair with my fingers, and the doorbell rang. Eager to see Toad again after just having seen him three days prior, I took one more glance in the mirror and grinned.

  Here goes nothing…

  I tossed my compact into my makeup bag and threw it under the sink. After tip-toeing to the door, I turned, tiptoed into the kitchen, opened the cupboard, and rattled a few dishes around. As I began to close the cupboard door, the doorbell rang again.

  “Coming,” I shouted.

  “Sorry, I was putting up the dishes,” I said as I opened the door.

  Expressionless, Toad stood on the porch and stared through the screen door. I leaned forward and pushed it open. As I held the door and slowly shifted my gaze upward, I noticed his cut was covered in blood and he wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath it.

  “You alright?” I asked as he stepped inside.

  I knew better than to ask too much. His business as a Sinner was his business and the club’s business, it certainly wasn’t mine. Regardless, I was human, and so was he. The woman in me wanted to help him with whatever he needed, but the sensible side of me argued to leave it alone and keep my mouth shut. As always, the woman in me prevailed.

  “Your cut’s got a little blood on it. If you want to take it off, I’ll clean it real quickly for you,” I said as he walked to the table and sat down.

  Without speaking, he stood, removed the cut, and held it in his hand.

  Oh dear fucking God. I really wasn’t ready for this.

  His body was that of a male underwear model. Without his cut, and standing shirtless, he looked like an Italian Abercrombie and Fitch model. Easily passing for ten years his junior, he could have told me he was in his early twenties and I sure would have believed him. Although I told myself not to, I couldn’t help but stare at his abs as I reached for his cut. As I stood and gazed his direction, as if to make matters worse, he turned to his left. Revealing the Marine Corps Eagle, Globe, and Anchor tattoo, and several tattoos on his left forearm sealed the deal in the Toad’s sexy department. Now gawking at his tattooed left side, his pronounced rip cage, and washboard abs, I knew I better speak or I’d forever look like a fool. As I swallowed heavily, my racing heart confirmed the lack of a male companion in my life, and just how well Toad checked all of the applicable boxes of my mental application for employment.

  “Yeah, I uhhm. I’ll just be right here in the kitchen where you can uhhm…”

  Oh dear Lord don’t turn away.

  As he faced the window, I turned toward the kitchen and continued.

  “…see me, I know you can’t let me take this anywhere. No worries,” I said over my shoulder as I walked into the kitchen.

  Did he have a really pronounced chest? Killer pecs?

  I quickly glanced in his direction. Now facing me and staring blankly at the table, I felt as if he was inviting me to take another look.

  Yep, sure does.

  I turned toward the kitchen sink and grinned. “Should just take me a few minutes. If you want to just stand there, I’ll be done in a minute,” I said cheerily as I reached into the cabinet.

  After laying the cut flat on the counter, I realized most of the blood was on t
he lower left side. I poured vinegar over the bloodstain and allowed it to become soaked. Dabbing it with a clean kitchen towel removed the majority of the blood immediately. A second application removed all of the red stains I could see, but left discoloration on the leather. More than likely, this was as good as it was going to get. Somewhat distracted by my desire to clean the cut, I forgot he might still be standing beside the table behind me. I nonchalantly peered over my right shoulder.

  Yep. Still there, still shirtless, and still looks ahhhmazing.

  “Pretty tough stain, I may need to treat it with cornstarch. We’ll have to wait for it to dry,” I said.

  “I don’t have to be anywhere, just wanted to hang out for a while,” he mumbled.

  After mixing cornstarch with water and making a cornstarch paste, I smeared it over the entire left lower side of the cut and carefully carried it to the table. Now standing with his arms crossed in front of his chest, he watched as I placed it flat on the table.

  “After it dries, we can wipe that off of there. I think it’ll be just fine. Happened a few times with my brother and some of his friends,” I said as pulled a chair away from the table.

  “You can sit,” I said as I sat down.

  He uncrossed his arms and sighed. The “V” shape in his lower abdomen that every man wants but select few ever obtain drew my eyes to it like a moth to a flame. I stared with my chin in my lap as it slowly disappeared below the table.

  Or you could stand back up.

  “I’d offer you a shirt if I had one that’d fit,” I said, glad that everything I owned was much smaller than he possibly could wear.

  “Normally keep some clean ones on the bike, but not today,” he said flatly.

  “So, you want something to drink?” I asked.

  “I’m alright,” he responded.

  “So, you don’t have an Ol’ Lady?” as the words escaped my lips, I realized what I had said and wished I had worded it differently.

  “Nope,” he responded.

  I nodded my head.

  He turned to face me and rested his elbows on the table. After studying me for a long moment, he rested his chin in his hand and grinned.

  “And you’re single?” he breathed.

  “Sure am,” I said with a smile.

  “How can that be? You’re gorgeous, cool as fuck, and…” He paused and pressed his forearms onto the table as he leaned forward.

  Officially melted.

  As his gaze met mine, he grinned. “Well, you’re just fun to be around.”

  Oh dear God.

  “Well, I’ve been in a few shitty relationships. You know, guys beating on me and that type stuff. I told myself I’d never be in another relationship that wasn’t what I wanted,” I responded.

  “What do you want?” he asked as he relaxed into the back of his chair.

  As much as I wanted to tell him what I suspected he wanted to hear, I refused to do so. The complications of my past relationships needed to stay where they were, in my past. In my future, I needed to make sure whatever I decided to do, and whomever I decided to do it with was for all of the right reasons and with all of the best of expectations.

  “Me? Well, I want a man who will treat me properly. I don’t want flowers and some romantic courtship, but I want to be as close to an equal as I can be. I know I’m a woman, but I’m human, not a dog. And I want a guy I can be friends with, that’s really important. And I guess especially after what I’ve been through, I don’t want any rough stuff. I love sex more than most women, but I don’t like being slapped around, beaten, choked, or having some asshole try and see how far he can shove his cock down my throat. I just want a conventional relationship with an unconventional man. If I can’t get that, I’ll settle for nothing.”

  I waited for a reaction.

  He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. As he lowered his chin into his hand, he smiled a soft smile. “You’ll get it. You’re too damned perfect to have to settle for anything less.”

  I stared blankly at his face, absorbing what he had said. An immeasurable amount of time passed. I may or may not have drooled on my hand and immediately came back down to earth to wipe it off.

  “I hope so,” I said.

  He glanced over each shoulder, and began looking around the room. As his eyes became fixed on me, he began to speak again.

  “Listen, I’m feeling pretty exhausted. I just, well I don’t want to go home right now. You know? I uhhm…I was wanting to know if I could just hang out here…kind of relax. You mind if I uhhm…if I rest here for a bit?” he stammered.

  I nervously glanced around the room. “Uhhm, no. Not at all. I don’t have a couch or anything yet, but you can lie down on my bed if you want.”

  “You sure?’ he asked as he stood.

  I gazed up at his shirtless body and nodded my head. “Quite.”

  “Just for a bit,” he said.

  “As long as you need it,” I said as I began walking toward my bedroom.

  After following me into the bedroom, he removed his boots and sat down on the bed. A quick survey of the room later, and he turned to me and smiled. “I like what you’ve done with this room. The paint looks great.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  He lowered himself onto the bed and covered his eyes with his forearm. Although it wasn’t much past mid-afternoon, within a matter of seconds, he was asleep.

  In gazing down at him as he lay on the bed, I didn’t see a biker or a shirtless Italian model. I saw a man who desperately needed rest, comfort, and no one to judge him for what he may have been involved in. I turned to the door and pulled it closed behind me.

  After a few hours, I dusted the cornstarch from his cut. A light brushing and it looked as good as a ten-year-old leather cut ever could. Quietly, I tiptoed to the room and opened the door. Still asleep on the bed, it was apparent he was exhausted.

  I softly placed the cut beside him, closed the door and cooked dinner. After opening the door and wafting the smell of my pasta primavera and baked chicken into the room for several minutes - to no avail - I decided he needed to continue sleeping.

  After almost three hours had passed, I tiptoed to the room and opened the door. His light snoring confirmed what I had expected.

  Two hours later, after putting up the dishes and cleaning everything in the house at least twice, I needed some rest myself. I tiptoed to the room, opened the door, and walked to the edge of the bed. After kicking my flats off to the side, I raised my legs onto the bed carefully, scooted in beside him, and relaxed. The warmth of his body and the light buzzing of his breathing provided a level of comfort I had forgotten even existed.

  When I woke the next morning, he was gone.

  I walked to into the living room, and immediately noticed a folded sheet of my stationary on the table. I reached down, picked it up and unfolded it. As I stared down at the perfect penmanship, I smiled and read what he had written.

  Sydney,

  Thanks for everything. And don’t worry about finding your man, one day he’ll find you.

  Cambio

  I folded the paper, hesitated, and unfolded it again. After re-reading it, I folded it and placed it on the table.

  I hope you’re right, Cambio.

  And I hope he’s just like you.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  TOAD

  Otis took a drink from the bottle of beer, extended his arm, and stared at the label. “You know he doesn’t act like it’s a big deal, but I can see a huge difference in him. What the fuck is this shit, anyway?”

  “I don’t know, waitress recommended it while you were pissing. How much of it do you think is her, and how much is just that he’s getting laid?” I said as I studied the label on my beer bottle.

  Otis tipped up the beer and took a long drink. As he lowered the bottle, he scrunched his nose and shook his head. “Don’t order any more of these if I live long enough to piss again.”

  He stared at the bottle again. “Says
Founders Breakfast Stout. I feel like I’m drinking mashed potatoes and fucking gravy. This is the thickest fucker I’ve ever tried to drink. Why’d you order this nasty shit?”

  I choked down a swallow of the dark beer and shook my head at the taste. “Waitress recommended it.”

  Otis tipped up his bottle and finished the beer. As he slid the empty bottle to the end of the table, he rolled his eyes. “I swear, men do some dumb shit sometimes to impress women.”

  “I didn’t do it to impress her,” I said as I sniffed the mouth of the bottle.

  “Smells like it tastes, doesn’t it? Like shit. So tell me, would you have agreed on a bottle of black beer that said breakfast on it if some dude would have recommended it?” he asked as he waved in the waitress’ direction.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, you might not, but I sure as fuck do. You’d have told him to fuck off and ordered a couple of Budweiser’s. Some chick asked you if you wanted to try it, or better yet.” He paused and leaned his forearms onto the edge of the table.

  “I’m going to guess it went something like this. She walks up and says, What can I get you? You don’t want to sound like a basic biker so you respond, Oh, hell I don’t know. What have you got? She names fifty different types of beer. You look up at her with a confused look. Not because you’re trying to look cute, but because you ain’t so much as heard of half the shit she names off. So you say, what do you recommend? How am I doing so far?”

  “I’d say pretty good,” I said as I slid my half full beer to the edge of the table.

  “She responds, I like the…” He grabbed the empty bottle and turned the label to face him. “I like the Founders Stout. And you respond, Sounds good, bring us a couple. Now she didn’t tell you to try ‘em because they’re a crowd favorite or even that they taste good. She either did it because they’re ten bucks a bottle and she wants to rack up a high tab, or because they only have two of them fuckers left in the cooler and they’re getting rotten because no one will drink those nasty fuckers. Now let me ask you something, Toad. You ever had a bad Budweiser?”