“You look good, that’s all,” I said as I locked the bike. “You busy?”
She turned around and shook her head. “Not at all. I just got back from my parent’s house. And if you’ve got time, I’d like to talk.”
“Sure. What’s up?” I asked as I turned toward her.
With her book bag over one shoulder and her purse over the other, she tossed her head toward the apartment building. “Let’s get out of this heat. Come on.”
I followed her up the stairs and into the house. After grabbing two beers out of the fridge, and plugging her iPod into the stereo, she walked into the small living room and sat beside me on the couch. My mind immediately went to thoughts of Kyle and the day I beat his ass on the couch. I glanced to each side of where I was sitting, surprised there were no bloodstains on the fabric.
“So, what’s goin’ on?” I asked.
She glanced in my direction, held the gaze for a moment, and eventually took a long drink from her beer. As I considered that maybe I forgot to ask the question, or that she didn’t hear me, she responded.
“I’m sorry about my father,” she said.
I shrugged my shoulders. “No big deal.”
“It is a big deal,” she said. “He’s a dick.”
I chuckled, took a drink of my beer, and nodded my head. “He’s a cop.”
“Cop. Dick. What’s the difference?” she said.
“Sounds like somethin’ I’d say,” I said as I tilted my bottle toward her.
She reached toward my bottle with hers and clanked them together.
A blues tune with strong guitar played on the stereo. For the life of me I couldn’t make the artist. I hated to ask, but eventually the curiosity got to me.
“Who’s this?” I asked as I tilted my head back.
“Big Sugar,” she said. “Oh crap. It’s uhhm, Goodbye Train. They’re Canadian.”
“Canadian? They sure don’t sound it,” I shrugged.
As the music continued, I nodded my head. “Good shit.”
“I like it,” she said.
As I relaxed, I realized I was under no pressure to do anything. If I didn’t bring up sex, Kat would probably be satisfied with simply spending time together. A nice departure from the norm, I sipped my bottle of beer and listened to the music as it played, becoming more and more relaxed as the time passed. We sat silently, drinking our beers and enjoying the music, I admired Kat’s beautiful face and blemish free complexion.
“You ever have zits,” I asked.
“Not really,” she responded. “You?”
I nodded my head. “Yeah as a kid.”
“So, why don’t you do relationships? I’m not complaining, but just out of curiosity, why not?” she asked.
Shocked that she had the courage to ask, but glad she did so, I sighed and relaxed into the back of the couch. After a long minute, I inhaled a shallow breath, held it for a few seconds, and exhaled.
“I’m gonna to tell you the truth,” I began.
“That’s nice to know,” she responded in a sarcastic tone.
I stared down at the floor and cleared my throat. “I think, or I thought, or whatever. Anyway, I always said God put me on this earth for one reason and one reason only.”
She turned and glanced over her right shoulder. “Which is?”
“Fuckin’ women,” I responded.
Her eyes widened and she coughed a laugh. “You’re serious?”
“Uh huh. One, I’m hung like a horse. Two, I’ve got a tongue like a giraffe. And three, I can recover from sex in about ten or fifteen minutes and go again. So why else would he give me all of those sexual gifts if he didn’t want me fuckin’ women?” I said.
She finished her beer and stood. As she walked to the kitchen, I waited for her response. With her head stuck in the fridge and me regretting having spoken my mind, she responded.
“I don’t know. Maybe to make one woman really happy,” she said. “Ever consider that?”
I stood and finished my beer. She had a valid point, and as stupid as it seemed to admit it, I had never really considered what she said as being God’s intention with me.
Growing up in Alabama, dropping out of school at fourteen and leaving home at fifteen left me feeling as if I wasn’t a very smart boy. Over time, I believed I had developed into a man who could be perceived as smart, but I always felt I lacked true intelligence. As a boy, I was required to go to church, and as a man, although my belief in God persisted, my participation in Church services stopped.
I always felt if I stepped a foot into one, I’d burst into flames.
“No, never did,” I said as I tossed the empty beer bottle into the trash.
“Ever been in love?” she asked as she handed me a beer.
“Nope,” I responded. “You?”
“Hard saying,” she said. “Maybe. Maybe not. Truthfully, I doubt I know what love is.”
“Ever been close?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Never even had a girlfriend.”
She narrowed her eyes and wrinkled her nose slightly. “Seriously?”
I nodded my head. Admitting it seemed strange, and I waited for her to begin to chastise me for never having committed to a woman. Although she never began to scold me or complain, she glared at me for a long minute before continuing.
“If the right woman came along, do you think you’ll ever settle down?” she asked.
I gazed across the floor toward a decorative wooden box. It was filled with various throws and small pillows. After staring blankly at it for some time, I shifted my eyes around the room, making note of all items which reminded me of a woman. Although the apartment was small, there were several flower arrangements which I hadn’t noticed in the past that stood out as being rather attractive and well put together.
“Did you make those or buy them?” I asked as I tilted my head toward the two vases on the end table on the opposite side of the room.
She glanced toward the flowers and grinned. “Mad them, why?”
“They’re nice,” I responded.
“So, did you not want to answer the other question?”
I shifted my eyes toward her, and after a moment, my head followed. Now facing her, I pressed the beer bottle between my legs, exhaled, and responded.
I intertwined my fingers, extended my arm and cracked my knuckles. “Right woman? I’d always said there was no such thing. For some reason, starting oh I don’t know, say two hours ago, I began to wonder. If a woman came along that sparked my interest, I may give it a try. Hell, everyone else is.”
“Because everyone else is?” she chuckled. “Who’s everyone else?”
“The fellas I run with, Otis, Axton, and Toad. Pretty much they’re all hooked up with Ol’ Ladies,” I said.
She turned, placed her beer bottle on the end table, and turned in my direction. Standing in front of me in cut-off sweat shorts, a Southwestern College tee shirt, and Converse sneakers, she looked adorable. As I studied her and attempted to guess her height, she tugged at the bottom of her tee shirt and twisted her hips slightly.
“So, has anyone sparked your interest lately?” she asked.
It bothered me having her stand over me and talk. One of the few things that irritated me - and something I couldn’t stand for more than a few seconds. I pulled the beer from between my legs, glanced to my right, and realized there was nowhere to place the bottle. Without responding, I stood, stepped past her, and leaned toward the end table sitting beside her.
I placed the bottle beside hers, straightened my posture, and inhaled a shallow breath. The smell of her perfume filled my nostrils and caused me to smile.
Couture La La.
I closed my eyes for a split second and inhaled through my nose lightly, and it was then that I remembered. It was the girl from the grocery store who eventually moved to Ohio. The only woman I spoke to regularly without ever trying to fuck. She wore the same scent, and I had asked her once what it was. Couture and a warm smile e
ach time I went through the checkout line were her two signatures.
“Only you,” I responded as I opened my eyes.
She stood a mere two feet away from me fighting the urge to smile. “Good. I feel the same way. You know, I don’t buy into the entire love at first sight shit. Boy meets girl, and they say I knew the moment I met him…”
“I’m an acquired taste,” I said. “Nobody is going to meet me and say they love me. How’d we jump to love, anyway?
She shifted her eyes to the floor and held her gaze for a moment.
“I was just saying. But if you say I sparked your interest, and I say you sparked mine, why don’t we see if we can make something work between us?” she asked as she shifted her eyes from the floor.
I studied her for a moment. Her eyes were brown with little flecks in them. Her hair appeared to be a little more blonde than I remembered it being. Her skin was the golden brown color most women strive to achieve through the course of the summer. In summary, she was nothing short of beautiful. As I studied her for some type of imperfection, the response came to me.
I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “You know, I spent fifteen years bein’ exposed to a man and a woman in a relationship that just didn’t work. She hated him, but was afraid to leave, and he hated everyone and settled for taking out his hatred on her. Hell, he couldn’t remember her birthday and vice versa. They didn’t really know one thing about each other. Not a fuckin’ one. But they stayed together because of me.”
“Your parents?” she asked.
I nodded my head. “Yep.”
“Do me a favor?” she asked.
I shrugged my shoulders. “Huh?”
She widened her eyes slightly. “Will you do me a favor?”
“Suppose so,” I responded.
“Turn around,” she said.
I cocked one eyebrow and reached for my beard. “Excuse me?”
“Humor me. Turn around,” she said as she pointed toward the floor and turned her index finger in a circle.
I turned around and shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans.
“Over your left eye there’s a scar. It’s small, but it separates your left eyebrow in to two almost identical halves. Your nose has a mole on it on the, oh shit, hold on. Left, it’s on the left side. It’s small too, about the size of a piece of sand. You’ve got a scar on your upper cheek that goes down and disappears into your beard. It looks like one that wasn’t professionally taken care of, because there aren’t any scars from the holes beside it where it would have been stitched.”
Amazed, I started to turn around.
“No, stay right there,” she demanded. “I’m not done.”
“Your tooth in the front, the incisor or whatever they call it, it’s got a line down the center. It looks like it was broken or fractured. And the knuckles on your right hand are so covered with scars that it’s hard to tell where they start and stop, but I think it’s weird that your left hand really doesn’t have any. Let me see, oh, and your tag on your bike is a personalized one, it says RFOF.”
I heard her exhale. “I guess that’s it, you can turn around now.”
I turned around slowly and removed my hands from my pockets. I was truly impressed with not only her attention to detail, but the fact she had made a mental note of all of the things she recited about me. As I studied her in disbelief, a strange feeling of comfort washed over me. After a short minute of uncomfortable silence, I crossed my arms and glared.
She was grinning from ear to ear.
“There’s only three types of people I let get close enough to me to touch me,” I said flatly.
“Huh?” she asked.
“My license plate. RFOF. Ride Fuck Or Fight. The fellas I ride with, whoever I’m fuckin’, or the person who I’m beatin’ the shit out of. Those are the three who get close enough to me to touch me,” I explained.
She pressed her hands to her hips. “Well, I don’t ride.”
I grinned and shook my head.
“Wanna fight?” she asked as she raised her clenched fists.
I shook my head. “Sorry, don’t fight women.”
“Well, that only leaves one thing,” she said as she lowered her hands.
“Damn the luck,” I responded as I uncrossed my arms.
“Yeah,” she breathed as she lowered her chin slightly.
Her hair fell into her face. As she gazed down at the floor in obvious thought, I reached for the strands that dangled from the sides of her head.
“About that question earlier,” I said as I brushed her hair behind her ear.
She glanced up and blinked her eyes. “Yeah?”
“Let’s give that a try. Let’s get to know each other a little better and see what happens,” I said, “That’s about all I can promise.”
“Enough for me,” she said.
As much as I hated to admit it, it was all I could offer her.
But for me, it was a huge step.
And more than likely, all I would be able to handle.
At least for a while.
Chapter One Hundred Thirty-Three
KAT
In the two weeks following our discussion about attempting to make something work between us, we had seen each other every day. Although we didn’t have sex on every single day, we came close. I found it rather reassuring that I no longer felt a need to have sex, only a desire. My problem seemed to be the same as Biscuit’s. My desire was overwhelming, leaving our sexual downtime as the only opportunity to truly get to know one another.
“I think it’s funny you never asked what my name is.”
The low rumble of his voice prevented me from falling asleep totally. I was probably a few seconds away from it, floating in the almost dream-like state that always seemed to precede my passing out. I blinked my eyes, confused on where I was and what was going on. The warm sun against my skin and the sight of him beside me reminded me of where we were and what was happening.
I opened my eyes and began to fumble along the side of the lounge for my sunglasses. He rolled to his side and laid his head flat against the cushions of the chair. After finding my glasses and shading my tired eyes, I responded.
“I uhhm. I never really…I don’t know. It’s not that it didn’t matter, but it didn’t matter. I figured when you were ready to tell me you would. I guess I didn’t want to pry. I know from talking to Avery that you’re a private bunch of men, I was just being respectful, I guess,” I said.
“Dalton,” he said as he turned his head toward the sun.
I nodded my head and grinned. “I like it.”
“Ain’t got a middle name. They never gave me one. Last name’s Biskette. It’s where Biscuit came from, but that ain’t too difficult to figure out,” he said as he sat up in the chair.
He wiped the sweat from his brow as he stood. “I’m gonna hop in. It’s hotter’n grits on a motherfuckin’ griddle out here.”
His speech patterns, funny sayings, and the slang he used led me to believe he grew up elsewhere. Not wanting to insult him, but curious about his upbringing, I stood from my lounge and tossed my glasses against the towel beside my chair.
“Where did you grow up again?” I asked as I followed him across the concrete deck.
“Alabama,” he said as he dove into the pool.
He was an extremely graceful man in many respects. To watch him walk was nothing short of entertaining. There was a certain gate to his walk, not what most called swagger, but a small pattern. It was almost as if he had a bad hip or knee, but I knew he didn’t. With each step of his right foot, his right hip would dip forward. Not only did it make his walk interesting, but there was a certain grace to his walk, almost like watching a ballerina. Seeing him dive into the pool made me believe he had at least taken diving lessons at one point in time. His body entered the water in a manner that produced virtually no splash, and made me quite envious.
As I dove into the pool, I wondered what my splash looked like.
; “Have you taken swimming lessons? And diving lessons?” I asked as I cleared the surface of the water.
He wiped the water from his beard as he nodded his head. “At the Y. Figured when I bought the house I’d need to know how to swim and stuff, so I took lessons for a few years. You’ll find out I don’t do anything I can’t do properly. Ain’t nothin’ worse than someone tryin’ to do something and lookin’ like a fuckin’ idiot doin’ it.”
“Do I look like an idiot when I dive in?” I asked.
“No,” he chuckled.
“You lying?”
“Maybe a little,” he said as he swung his hand over the top of the water’s surface, splashing it into my face.
“You fucker,” I howled as I attempted to do the same.
Now in a heated splashing fight, we both swung our arms violently, splashing and screaming like children.
Being with Biscuit was so much different than being with Kyle. With Kyle, I was always on edge and wondering what his next complaint was going to be, and how he was going to treat me as a result of it. The tension between Kyle and I was thick, and I remained nervous throughout the entire relationship. At the time, I was convinced it was simply part of being with a man and the differences between men and women.
Actually being accepted by a man and not having to worry about being criticized for every mistake I made was a pleasant change, and certainly something I would have to get used to. I found myself waiting for the axe to fall with Biscuit, and it never did. Oftentimes I would do or say something I fully realized Kyle would explode about, and wait for Biscuit to do the same.
But the anger never came.
Truly grateful to have met him and pleased at our ability to be ourselves in each other’s presence, I swung my arms like a flailing fool. Eventually we both stopped. Declaring a winner would have been impossible; he had better precision, but I possessed more determination.
“Now I’m exhausted,” I said. “I’m glad it’s Saturday.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” he asked as he tossed his hair out of his eyes.
“Well, not everyone works on their own schedule. I’ve got the day off and no school, so I’m pretty happy. I get to relax,” I said as I waded across the pool away from him.
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