Cyrus
There are rules.
When you are a connoisseur of women, there are just plain rules of decency you have to follow. You don't fuck your brother's women. You don't fuck your sister's friends. You don't home wreck. And you don't drag a good woman down into your depravity.
That was the difference between a ladies man and a manwhore.
A manwhore was just looking for holes to plug, not giving a single fuck about the consequences of his actions.
Me, well, I gave a fuck.
Because I didn't just want to fuck women.
I loved women.
All women.
And that didn't just mean in a sexual way, though I definitely got more than my fair share of that.
I had a deep respect and love of women. Like the girls club. I wasn't on their good side because I wanted the other men in the club to think well of me. No. I just loved them all individually.
Summer and her sweetness, but firmness that made her able to catch and keep a man such as Reign.
Lo and her ability to control and command her whole empire, be a voice of reason among her women, be a hopeless romantic.
Janie and her over-the-top badassery that put most men to shame.
Maze and her spirit, her ability to run with the big boys without it making her any less feminine.
Penny and her undeniable goodness.
Mina and her guards, but mushy center, even if it was off-putting at times how well she could read you.
Bethany and her strength.
Kennedy and her bootstrapping.
And those were just the Henchmen women. The girls club went much deeper than that. I fucking loved them all. When they would let me, I would butt in on their nights out or their nights in.
Maybe, in part, they reminded me of my sister, Wasp, who I hadn't seen in far too long.
But whatever it was, women were a huge part of my life.
And I liked that.
But because they were, I knew exactly, almost the moment I met a woman, if she was the type I should put my hands on or not. It wasn't a matter of could. So long as she was straight and single, if I laid the charm on thick enough, there was no doubt in my mind I could have pretty much any woman I wanted. That simply didn't make it right.
Every once in a blue moon, I came across a woman like Reese. It took less than five minutes to see that they were special. And special women didn't have one-night-stands with some lowly biker who never called again. Or who only ever booty-called again.
Sometimes it was because they were in a bad place in life; it would be akin to taking advantage of a girl fresh off a breakup when they were vulnerable and in need of comfort. In other words, douchebaggery at its finest.
Other times, they were in too good a place and didn't need guy drama to get in their way.
Occasionally, though, it was because they were just too goddamn good. Reese, the sweet, shy, blushing librarian with books in her purse, yeah, she was fucking good. Too goddamn good for me. She deserved some professor, or some novelist or some shit like that. Someone who read the same books she did, who had a steady - maybe somewhat boring - job; someone who would appreciate the unique mind she obviously had if she lived in all those fictional worlds.
Maybe he couldn't make her come ten times while he devoured her sweet pussy. Maybe he couldn't fuck her until she saw the face of God.
But he would be loyal, steady, someone she could depend on.
She deserved that.
And while I absolutely could deliver on the pussy eating and fucking part, I couldn't say I was exactly at the point in my life where I could be steady and dependable. That simply wasn't the life I led.
But I still was intrigued by her.
I wanted to know her.
So I did what I had to do; I offered her friendship.
Hell, she truly seemed like she needed it.
The way she pulled the wallflower card in a place she had clearly frequented before was evident of how little social interaction she got. She was a bookworm. And she spent her days in a dusty library. Who could she have possibly interacted with there? Some kids too little for school? Some old people who didn't have a computer at home?
She could use some time out with someone closer to her own age who knew how to have a good time.
What am I getting out of this situation, you might be wondering.
Well, that's actually pretty simple.
The girls club was great. Fucking amazing, really. But most of them were off making and raising babies, hardly ever around to hang out. So me, yeah, I'm surrounded by fucking dudes all the goddamn time. Eventually, you just need some estrogen around, need a different kind of view on life, different type of conversation.
With my sister out exploring the world and doing her conlady thing, well, I was just a little starved for female interaction.
It was as simple as that.
So I ignored the ribbing I got from the guys, most of them insisting this 'friend' bullshit was just some brilliant 'long game' of mine to try to get in the pants of a woman who would normally never have me.
And on Monday night, I grabbed my bike, and headed down toward The Creamery.
Personally, I had never been there before.
But it had been around as long as I could remember, my mother always driving past it to take us for ice cream at a restaurant so she could order bottomless coffee to keep her going.
I had no idea what to expect when I stepped inside, but found white - white walls, white tile floors, a white counter, white tables. There were accent colors of mint, cherry, lemon, and strawberry which happened to be flavors of sorbet they sold, and matched the pictures of ice cream on the walls. Overall, the place was clean to the point of almost sterile, but still somehow welcoming.
And, well, the bombshell working the desk wasn't hurting the place either. She was tall and curvy with shoulder-length dark brown hair, exotic skin whose origins I wasn't even going to begin to try to decipher, deep, heavy-lidded almond eyes with a strong winged liner, and generous lips.
Hot.
In the fucking-A kind of way.
When I walked in, she had been leaning one forearm on the counter, her other hand holding a pen that was scrolling almost frantically over a page. But as soon as the door chimed my presence, she straightened, and stuffed the pages away under the counter. Almost a little frantically.
That was... interesting.
"Henchmen," she said, brows drawing together even as her lips tipped up, a look that suggested she didn't know whether to be amused or confused by my presence. "Without a kid. This might be a first."
"I do like being an original," I said, chancing a look over my shoulder when I thought I heard someone, not quite sure why the fuck I was so anxious for her to show up for a friendship-date.
"Waiting for someone?"
"A pretty librarian with a whole bookshelf in her purse," I admitted with a shrug.
"No friggin way are you going on a date with Reese Washington," she objected immediately. "Not a snowball's chance in hell."
"And why not?" I asked, willing to pick her brain if she was willing to give me a little more insight into the woman.
"Because first of all, she doesn't date. Like, ever. She's gorgeous and smart as a whip, and actually pretty funny once you get to know her, but she just doesn't look up from her books enough to notice men."
"I'm extremely noticeable," I offered, holding the sides of my cut open like I was showing off my abs, even though I had a white tee on.
"Well, yeah," she agreed casually, like it was no big deal. You had to respect a woman who was not bowled over by good looks. "But that's another strike against you. You're too good-looking. She wouldn't trust you."
"Anything else?"
"Yeah, well, around here, The Henchmen aren't exactly known for keeping their dicks in their pants. A fact I am sure she has heard before."
"Guilty as charged," I agreed with a nod.
"So, how the
hell could you possibly be on a date with Reese?"
"It's a friendship-date."
"Oh, my ass!" she declared, smile spreading, all white teeth and the hint of a dimple in one cheek. "What a bullshit line!"
"It's not a line," I objected, tone a little firmer than usual because, quite frankly, I was getting a little sick of hearing I was nothing but a dog.
"Right. So you're just going to sit here, have a scoop of ice cream, and then not try to go home with her?"
"Exactly."
It wasn't that I wouldn't love to go home with her, of course. In fact, while I had gone out with my brothers to Chaz's for some skirt-chasing, my heart hadn't been in it. I actually went back to the clubhouse alone with only my right hand, and some vivid memories of Reese blushing when I mentioned fucking, to help ease the almost painful need for release I had had.
Of course I wanted her.
She was gorgeous. She was sweet. She had a few brain cells to rub together. That was usually all it would take.
So maybe I would have to deal with my dick getting hard around her here and there, but that didn't mean shit. It didn't mean anything was going to happen. It was just how dicks sometimes worked, like it or not.
"I mean, this is Reese we're talking about, so even if you did lay it on as thick as you and I both know you're capable, she wouldn't be taking you up on the offer anyway."
"You know her, huh?" I asked, watching as the woman grabbed a red cleaning bucket, moving over to the sink to dump it, then refill it with bleach and water.
She came back, wiping the already clean counters as she went. "She has been coming in a couple times a week for years. But she's usually with her head in a book, not one for small talk."
"So... that's a no?"
"It's a... we talk about books and writing and editing and book-related stuff. All I know about her outside of that is that she has brothers that come in with her occasionally. And they're very hot. That's about it."
Then, before I could ask anything else, the door was chiming, and in she was walking.
And damn if she didn't look nervous as hell in her black leggings, black tee, and another oversized, long, but this time cream-colored, sweater. Her hair was pulled up, a few curly tendrils slipping out of their band. Her same purse was slung from her shoulder, her whole body tipped slightly to the side like it was heavy. It didn't take a genius to know it was weighed down by books again.
That, well, it was charming as hell.
"Oh, you're here," she said when her eyes landed on me, looking confused.
"Yeah, we did have a friend-date," I agreed, slipping my hands in my pockets.
"Yeah, I just thought..." she trailed off.
"That you were fucking with her," the woman at the counter supplied.
"I wasn't. I was early, so I was getting to know..."
"Daya," the woman supplied.
"Daya here. She thinks I was fucking with you. But not about showing up, about my intentions. Which are still honorable, I might add. No matter what Daya thinks," I added, sending her a smirk. "So, ice cream?" I offered, waving at the counter.
"Three scoops. One vanilla, two salted caramel," Daya supplied, already moving for a bowl. As in, a real one. Porcelain. Not takeaway. That was actually rather refreshing.
"Ah, actually..."
"Don't start that again," Daya chided as she went ahead and got what was obviously Reese's usual order. "And for your Henchmen here?"
"Cyrus," I supplied. "I guess I can try her favorite too." I ignored the small-eyeing I got from Daya, knowing that that sounded like something a guy said when they wanted in your pants. But she got my bowl as well.
"Nah," she said when we each reached for our wallets. "This one is on me. I want to see how it plays out. You don't mind if I get a big bowl of popcorn and stare for the next hour, right? No? Great!"
Reese led us over toward the front window, sitting down. "I, ah, am a bit of a people-watcher," she admitted with a shrug.
There was a moment of tense silence before I led with, "So what books are in your bag today?"
Then she fucking lit up, reached to pull them out, and went on an almost hour-length spiel about the plots, characters, atmosphere, everything. Hell, I even knew how many cats one of the authors had.
Fucking cute as hell.
It shouldn't have been a turn-on.
But it totally was.
And that was going to continue to be a problem I would have to deal with.
Because by the time an hour and a half passed, our ice cream long gone, Daya back to her scribbling some story, Reese stood, saying she had a goldfish to get home to feed.
"But this was really fun," she said with a genuine, if maybe a little shy, smile. "I think I like friendship-dates."
And fuck if I wouldn't keep giving them to her if they made her smile like that.
Hard cock or not.
FIVE
Reese - 5 weeks later
If I got one more request to order in that godawful book, I was going to scream. Not because people wanted to read. I loved that people still wanted to pick up pages and escape within them. That was awesome. I hoped I never stopped seeing that enthusiasm.
And, in general, I wasn't a book snob at all.
I read all genres from YA to romance to mystery to classics. I didn't spend a lot of time on horror simply because I never liked blood and gore, but I knew plenty of people found catharsis in that.
It was just, ugh, that book was so badly written.
It lowered the standard for all other books.
It was, well, cringy.
I physically cringed while reading it.
"Just give them what they want," Cy said from where he was perched on the long, low, curved, cherry wood circulation desk. Where I had repeatedly told him not to plant his butt every single time he dropped in. Which was at least twice a week. For the past month.
Apparently, I had an actual, real-life best friend.
That alone was beyond new for me. I don't ever recall having any tight friendships. In school I was shy and a bit nerdy, always keeping to myself during recess. After school, well, Mom generally kept a really close eye on us, or when she wasn't around, my grandmother or aunts. We weren't exactly around to just head out and try to find new after school friends. It wasn't a good area for girls to be walking around alone. Even as a kid I understood that.
Besides, books seemed better than the catty, back-handed meanness I saw a lot with the other kids at school.
As I got older, well, friendships were simply not easy to make as adults. I had the casual acquaintances I had made from the book clubs through the library, but no actual people I went out to eat or to see movies with or anything like that.
I never knew what I was missing out on either.
But, let me tell you, this having a friend thing was pretty cool.
I had always maybe figured that someone calling or texting and asking me to hang out was going to be a nuisance. I mean, what if I was in the middle of a really good chapter? Or only had one-hundred pages left, and wanted to power through?
Except, oddly, I found that whenever my phone rang, and I picked it up and heard, "Yo, angel face, what are you up to?" I almost always answered with 'nothing' even if I was in the middle of a war and my hero was critically wounded. Yes, even then, I put a bookmark in the page - because I wasn't some animal who dog-eared their precious paperbacks - got dressed, and met up with him.
I will admit that the first trip out or two, or maybe even three, had been a bit awkward. Or, maybe it would be fair to say they were somewhat awkward for me. Cyrus, well, he didn't seem to have an awkward bone in his body. Meanwhile, all two-hundred-and-six bones in my body were straight up awkward as could be. I fumbled for topics of conversation, relying a bit too heavily on book references, and maybe tripping over my words a bit.
Eventually though, and this was likely thanks to Cy's laid-back ease and confidence, things just sort of fell into place.
So far, we had been to The Creamery three times, out to dinner a couple towns over twice as much, to the movies, and several times, to the bookstore.
We hadn't seen each other's places yet though, except him seeing the outside of my apartment building when he picked me up occasionally. That was just not something we even discussed. I think, though he didn't say as much, that he was kind of trying to get me out of the house more, take me places, get me a little more comfortable with social interactions. When we went places, he made sure he struck up a conversation with a person or two, including me with it, coaxing me out of my shell little by little.
And, miracle of all miracles, it seemed to actually be working a bit. Sure, I'd never been some social butterfly. Also, possibly I only ever felt comfortable with it because he was there to jump in if things got awkward or the conversation got stale, but it was still nice to not feel like I was choking on my own tongue when I tried to interact with people outside of work.
It was nice.
An improvement.
Thanks to Cyrus.
We actually didn't have any plans to hang out after work tonight, but he would occasionally drop into the library if he was bored. It was just a short walk from the compound after all.
That was another place that had a seemingly unspoken 'do not enter' attached to it. He didn't invite me, not even when there were parties going on.
I would say I didn't think twice about this. But I thought twice. And thrice. And fifty-millionth.
Why?
Well, that was a good question.
He was my friend.
And friends sometimes went to parties without you. You know, like when it is with other friends that you don't know and possibly might not like. That kind of thing.
It shouldn't have bugged me.
Friends did things like that, and it was no big deal.
See, the problem was, even in my own darn head, when I thought of Cy, I had to make sure the word 'friend' was italicized, emphasized, blown up into huge neon letters, floating over my brain like a city billboard.
Because, well, I was having decidedly not-friendlike thoughts about Cyrus. It was pretty much constantly too.
Cyrus (The Henchmen MC Book 9) Page 4