Oh, and she loved her damned grandmother sweaters.
Why, I had no idea. But she was always wearing one. And her collection seemed never-ending.
"Mooning over your coffeeshop girl still?" Sugar asked as he dropped down across from me in the clubhouse, putting a beer on the coffee table for me.
To say they were enjoying the fuck out of my newfound friendship with Reese would be putting it mildly. Not a single one of them was convinced this wasn't still my 'long game,' as if I would need over a month to seal the deal.
But every single time I left, they assumed I was going to see 'coffeeshop girl.' And, to be fair, a lot of the time I actually was.
Also, they didn't get any details about her, which maybe fueled the fire even more. Not even her name.
She was my secret.
Why, I wasn't sure.
I guess maybe a part of me worried that if they had any details about her at all, that they might try to step in.
True, technically, there wasn't anything to step in on.
Which made it even worse.
She wasn't mine. I had no claim to her. Brotherhood rules didn't apply. She wasn't off-limits to them. Though she damn well should be. Not a single one of the fucks, no matter how much I loved my brothers, deserved her.
That included me, unfortunately.
Why did I read that book?
Why did I read it out loud in front of her?
Why did I have to look up to find her eyes heavy-lidded, her breathing heavy, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted, looking at me like I was the entire fucking ice cream shop on a hot summer day?
Knowing how much Reese liked her ice cream, that was saying something.
And the thing was, I had no idea if it was the book. Or if it was me.
If it was the book, well, the blue balls sucked, but I could get over it.
If it was me, though, fuck. I didn't even know.
I had spent so much time trying to fight my feelings, that I never really stopped to consider hers.
Honestly, it seemed too crazy even to think she might have more than friendly feelings for me.
Seeing as I wasn't one for insecurity, that was an entirely new sensation to me.
But there was no denying the desire in her when I looked up from that book. It was like a hot poker straight to the fucking balls. I'd never experienced anything like it before. I swear to Christ, I could have come just from seeing it.
I couldn't imagine what it would be like to feel her writhing under me while I ran my hands over her breasts, teasing her nipples, down her belly, up her soft inner thighs, then moving over her wet pussy...
Damnit.
That was all my mind could focus on since the night in the library.
Over a month ago.
And I was feeling like the biggest fucking dick in the world. Because I hadn't seen, called, or even texted her since.
Why?
Well, I didn't trust myself.
If I saw her again, I was sure I was going to cross a line I had no right to cross. And because she had lived in an apparently sex-filled fictional world with no actual human contact, and because she cared about me and trusted me, she might have been needy enough to give in if I did such a thing.
Then likely promptly regret doing so.
I didn't want that on her conscience, or my own.
So I did the only thing I could think of.
I stayed away.
And, according to Sugar, it was making me 'pathetic,' 'moody,' and 'pent-up,' since I hadn't been in the mood to hit the town, let alone take a woman home.
"Losin' it, man. You're losing it," he declared but was giving me a smile as he tipped back his beer.
And, well, maybe I was.
It sure as fuck felt like it.
An entire month, I had been feeling like I was in a fog, like the sun that I normally basked in all my life was hiding away.
Hell, I was starting to act like fucking Reeve.
And I had nowhere near the kind of excuse my brother did to be such a goddamn Debbie Downer.
Before my mood could sink any lower, though, there was the sound of a door bursting behind me, the click of heels, and the whistle of one of the new bloods.
I knew
Don't ask me how I knew, but I knew.
Because if ever there was a woman to burst down a door, to announce her presence like the Second Coming, not to simply be granted attention, but to demand it wordlessly, well, that woman was the kind of thing that didn't die when it stung you, that was too goddamn badass to let anything get in her warpath.
Wasp.
"Well, this is just as depressing as I had imagined," she announced, voice all milk and honey, something that suited her.
I turned, finding Wasp looking around, her wild blonde hair flowing around her, her tan skin showing signs of time on the West coast, her blue-green eyes taking in my - for all intents and purposes - home. She, like Reeve and me, was tall, long-limbed, and slim. Though she, of course, had more softness than either of us had. And she wrapped that in a pair of tight, well-loved skinny jeans, six-inch heels, and a t-shirt that declared 'Strong Women Intimidate Boys and Excite Men.'
"Fuck," Sugar said at my side, something that wasn't done quietly, so Wasp's gaze slid in his direction, a smirk pulling at her lips.
"Hmmm," she said, moving over toward the sitting area, having the gait of a goddamn cat stalking prey. But it had nothing to do with Sugar, though her gaze was there, and when she moved in past me, she dropped her ass right down in his lap. She just always walked that way. My sister, the conwoman, always looking for a mark, always stalking her prey. "Hi," she purred at him, her finger tracing across his collarbone.
And I kid you fucking not, this man, this hardened, lifelong biker, this connoisseur of women, he tripped over his own goddamn tongue.
That shit, well, it was hilarious.
"Wasp, the fuck are you doing?" Reeve asked, coming out of nowhere, making our sister turn and give him her best - and it was convincing if you didn't grow up with her - innocent look. "Oh, save the anime eyes for one of your poor suckers," he added, a smile pulling at his lips. It was maybe the first smile I had seen on his face in more months than I could remember. Wasp could do that to him. No matter what shit he had been through, what demons he was still battling inside him, Wasp was always his soft spot.
Wasp's eyes, always working, always keen, went soft at seeing him as well. "Hey, bro," she said, smile spreading.
You'd have thought Wasp suddenly turned into fire. That was how fast Sugar pushed her to his side, and moved to the other end of the couch. "Oh, fuck no," he said, shaking his head.
"Aw, you're scared of my brothers?" she asked, knowing she was goading him, and not caring one bit. "How cute."
"Don't fuck a brother's sister, babe. I don't give a shit how hot you are."
"Oh, did you hear that, Cy? He thinks I'm hot," she said, crossing her legs. The smile she had, though, was pure malice.
Wasp hated a few things.
When people said 'seen' when they were supposed to say 'saw.'
Wonky toenails.
The smell of ground beef cooking.
And when a man called her hot.
Or, honestly, any variation thereof.
It's still a compliment, honey, our mother would tell her when she would come home ranting and raving about a date calling her pretty or beautiful, or any of those things most girls that age wanted to hear.
So, what? Wasp would shoot back. I should thank him for being so shallow?
See, the problem was, Wasp had always been pretty. She came out pretty. Her damn baby pictures looked Photoshopped. And she never went through an awkward phase. Even when she dropped her baby teeth, she still somehow looked amazing in pictures. By the time she was a teenager, she had to have heard the words 'pretty' and 'beautiful' ten million times.
She felt that because everyone saw her face first, and fell in love with it, they never cared to get to know
the parts of her that actually fucking mattered. Like her mind, her dreams, her work ethic, her humor.
She was nothing but a pretty face to men from the cradle on.
And it made a deep bitterness settle deep within her.
Hell, it was the reason she did what she did for a living.
So Sugar calling her hot, yeah, it killed any attraction she might have had for him right off.
"Let's not," Reeve offered, reading her look perfectly. She wanted to fuck with Sugar. That was her style. Get under his skin. Jerk him around. Make him see for sure that the pretty was only a small part of the package.
Hell, a blue-ringed octopus was beautiful, but could kill your ass in a second.
"Oh, but wouldn't it be fun?" she asked, smile going wicked.
"Only to you," he shot back, still smirking at her.
"What are you doing in Navesink Bank?" I asked, knowing the two could - and would - punt that argument back and forth for hours if they wanted.
"Oh," she said, leaning back, the tension sliding out of her body in a wave. She threw a hand out, rolling her eyes. "Raven fell into some rich guy's dicksand, so we're parked here for a while."
Raven was Wasp's best friend, had been so since they were both ten years old, when Raven moved into town. And, like Wasp, Raven had been 'cursed' with beauty from a young age. They were polar opposites in looks, though. Where Wasp was blonde, Raven had long, straight, shiny black hair. Where Wasp had blue-green eyes, Raven's were the bluest goddamn blue you could have ever seen. Where Wasp liked to be outside and get a little tan, Raven was what you might call indoorsy, and pale as porcelain.
"Babe, did you just say 'dicksand?'" Reign asked, coming in from nowhere. I hadn't seen him at the clubhouse in two days. Apparently, the kids and Summer had been down with something, leaving our badass, tough-as-nails leader playing nursemaid.
"Yes," she agreed, eyeing up Reign as he walked up beside me, not even giving her the once-over she was so accustomed to. It was clear she was intrigued by this, tipping her head to the side, and watching him intensely. "Dicksand. When a girl meets a guy, and she gets sucked into his world, forgetting all about her own badass one. Dicksand."
Reign looked to me with an amused smirk. "This your sister?" he asked, jerking his head in her direction. At my nod, he nodded back. "And maybe a fuckin' introduction would be appropriate here..."
"Alright, guys," I said, addressing the room at large. "This is my and Reeve's little sister, Wasp. Wasp, this is Reign, Sugar, Virgin over there in the corner with Roderick and, who the fuck else is here?"
"Hey, love," came the deep, gravel-sound of Edison's growl, making Wasp's head jerk in his direction.
"Oh, damn, look at this one," she said, giving him a saucy grin as he just stood there and let himself get inspected.
It didn't escape me, either, that Edison had called her 'love.' It wouldn't seem like a big deal for any of the other guys who used endearments more than names with women - which might have had something to do with forgetting the women they brought around's names. But Edison wasn't one of those guys. He got laid here and there, but it was selective. You had to be pretty fucking special for him to spend his time with you. And he never called women pet names unless he had deep respect for them. As such, he really only called the girls club members those kinds of names.
And Wasp, well, she wasn't in.
Interesting.
"Wasp, huh?" Reign asked, giving her a 'care to explain' look.
"We'll call it my road name," she offered.
"Road name?" Roderick shot back. "Are you..."
"Oh, please," she snorted, running a hand through her hair. "Like any of you sexist MCs would let a chick in. What? Afraid of our bras hanging in the bathroom or something?"
Wasp would have made a better 'brother' than Reeve and I combined, and the three of us knew that. She was always the fiery one, the one breaking rules, the one giving a middle-finger to society as a whole. She was our old man's pride and joy. He loved us too, of course, but Wasp was where he found his peace in life. The big, hardened, violent biker and his little blonde girl. When he was killed, Wasp spiraled for years without him, fucking around, getting into more serious kinds of trouble, railing at the world that took her father away from her.
You'd think she would hold resentment toward The Henchmen MC, the reason he was in a box, leaving a hole in her chest. And, especially bitter toward Reign, whose father and his bad policies led to the war that took him down.
But there was none of that in her.
In fact, when another war broke out, taking out almost all of The Henchmen numbers, Wasp had been the one kicking us in our asses to join, to continue our father's legacy.
We might never have joined without her subtle encouragement.
"What do you do then, mami?" Roderick asked, giving her a smile that worked on just about any red-blooded woman.
"I make men fall in love with me," she supplied sweetly.
"I don't fuckin' doubt that." That was from Virgin, who, up until this point, had been stony silent.
Wasp's smile went devilish. "And then I cut their legs out from under them." She paused, letting that idea take root, letting them all infer what they might from such a comment. "You know, only because they deserve it," she added, and that was true.
Wasp might have been a conwoman who liked to fuck some men's lives up, but she did it for good reasons.
"Well, if they deserve it then," Edison agreed casually, dropping down on the arm of her chair like they were old friends.
Interesting.
Very.
Especially because, Edison was Edison. He was a brother. He would never fuck with his loyalty. So he and Wasp were never going to happen.
"So, what's her name?" Wasp asked suddenly, making me jerk out of my own thoughts.
"Whose name?"
"Oh, fuck off, Cy," she said, shooting me a rare, unguarded smile. "You're moody. I've known you my whole twenty-six years. I have never seen you moody before. So, what's her name?"
"You mean coffeeshop girl?" Sugar offered, making me shoot him a glare that said he'd pay for it later.
"Who the fuck is coffeeshop girl?" Reign butted in, making me close my eyes, and take a deep breath.
"Oh, boy. I did a thing," she said, not sounding sorry about it at all.
"You always do a thing," I agreed, jumping out of my chair, and heading toward the back door, feeling like the air inside was too oppressive to tolerate.
"Alright," I heard behind me a couple minutes later. "All teasing aside, who is she? What happened? Why do you look like someone kicked your puppy into the path of an oncoming semi?"
"Christ, Wasp," I half-snorted, half-laughed. "That was graphic."
I walked back toward the picnic table, jumping up on top, staring off at the fence, and the town beyond it.
And as fucking pathetic as it sounded, I wondered what she was doing.
Christ.
"Name."
"Reese," I offered, knowing there was no use fighting it. No one could out-stubborn Wasp when she wanted to be difficult. Which she almost always wanted to be.
"Cool name. What does she do?"
"She's a librarian."
"No flipping way!" she nearly shrieked, shoving me hard in the shoulder. "You? And a shy bookworm? Is she a stripper in her free time? Exotic car model? Video hoe?" she went on until I felt a bit of the weight on my chest ease up. "Come on, dish. I haven't seen you in months. I need my Cy fix. Even if it makes me question your sanity."
"I was doing a show at the coffeeshop. She was in the back, holding up the wall. I dunno. There was just something about her. I went over when I was done, and we became friends, and..."
"Whoa, pause. Rewind. What? Did you say 'friends?' Are you confusing that word with lovers? Ugly-bumping-partner? Beard-warmer?"
I snorted at that, knowing she was just trying to lighten my mood by being as ridiculous as she could. "No. She was just a friend."
"Was? Past tense?"
"Yeah, past tense."
"What happened? Also, why is this like pulling teeth? I could usually know freaking cup sizes by now. Without having even to ask," she added with an eye roll.
"I read some explicit as fuck sex scene out loud in front of her."
"And..."
"And she looked at me," I paused, shrugging. "In a less-than-friendly manner. And I almost crossed the line."
"So, this line," she mused a second later. "Who drew it in the sand? You or her?"
"I did."
Her brows knitted at that, her lower lip slipping between her teeth, a habit she had when she was thinking.
"Okay. So... what the fuck?"
I laughed at that, looking over at her. "What do you mean 'what the fuck?'"
"Okay, first. Why did you draw that line? Why could she only be a friend to you?"
There was no way to answer except with the God's honest truth.
"She's too fucking good for me."
The silence after those words was almost deafening.
"Okay," she started a while later, moving in a little closer, and resting her head on my shoulder. "Now you listen to me," she said, voice firm, but there was almost an undercurrent of sadness there too. "No one, and I repeat no one is too good for you. Because you're the fucking best there is, Cy. Okay? I've come across a lot of men in my life. Granted, a lot of them are douchebags, fuckboys, and cockwaffles because of work, but there are others too. Good men. Men who don't do the kind of shit that makes someone ask for my particular services. I've known men who are skyscrapers above all other men. And you still top them, Cyrus. You are smart, and funny, and thoughtful, sweet, generous, and you have such a deep respect for women. On top of that, you have just... the biggest heart. So if you find someone who makes you feel like less..."
"She doesn't make me feel like less," I cut her off. "That's not what I meant. She's nothing like that."
Another pause.
"Good. I'm happy to hear that. Look," she went on, putting an arm around my side and stomach, giving me a one-arm hug. "If you find a woman in your life who is too good for you, lock her down, and then work every single day on becoming the kind of man who deserves her."
Cyrus (The Henchmen MC Book 9) Page 6