His Bold Heart

by Ella Goode

  “Sweetness, you have to go on the pill,” he groans into my hair. “I can't take this condom shit much longer.”

  I gasp as he thrusts inside me again. My hands skid along the bottom of the wet sink. Grant grabs me around the waist with one strong arm and stabilizes me. Outside the kitchen window I see our neighbor Karen watering the low bushes that line her drive. If she looks over here… Grant reaches around the front and presses against my clit and I stop thinking about who’s watching and what's right and wrong. I grip his wrist in one hand and hang onto the sink edge with the other while he pounds and grunts, plucks and circles until I'm out of my mind. He follows close behind, pulling out at the last minute and spending all over my back.

  “I can't say that I mind marking you with my spunk,” he says. He spins me around, out of sight from the window and neighborly Karen and crushes me to his mouth. We tangle like that for a few minutes, getting hot and bothered again. Somehow I find the energy to push him away.

  “You better get up to the shop,” I pant.

  “Yeah.” He reluctantly hitches up his jeans. “Love you, Chels,” he says as he kisses me goodbye.

  I stand there with my pants around my knees for a long while trying to figure out what to do.

  At around noon at the Cut-n-Curl, Danilo Peterson, Bang Bang's old lady, comes in for a fill and a request for petty cash.

  “Must be good to have your brother back,” she says, settling into the chair opposite me.

  I wish I could pretend like I didn’t speak English but Danilo was Korean so that probably wouldn’t work anyway. Not to mention it would be insulting to her.

  Danilo comes in regularly so this won’t take long. I put on the mask so I don’t have to talk and I start my drill. She talks as I sand, prime and apply the fill.

  “What’s Wrecker like to eat these days? He’s been gone so long I barely remember him. Bet Judge enjoys having both you kids at home.”

  I can’t be mad at Danilo. She isn’t saying anything the previous customers haven’t already asked in various incarnations of how’s your brother all morning. I’d started off correcting them and saying Grant was my stepbrother but half of them didn’t know who Grant was given that they were associated with the club and folks are only known by their road names.

  The other half seemed to forget or not care that he was my stepbrother and gave me a look like I shouldn’t use those petty distinctions either.

  But those distinctions mean a lot to me, not because I don’t love Grant enough but because I love him too much and in the wrong way for him to be a brother to me.

  “Heard Sara Ellerby is interested in being his welcome home companion,” Danilo says. My hand jerks and takes off a little skin. “Ouch. Careful there.” She gives me a look of well deserved reprimand.

  “Sorry,” I mumble behind the mask.

  “Judge must think she’d be a good fit for Wrecker given he brought her over to the granary last week. I think she’s desperate to get into the club given her brother’s constant fuck ups.”

  Sean Ellerby, Sara’s twin, enjoyed sticking far too many things up his nose but as much as Sara’s situation is a sad one, I can’t keep hearing about her without my head blowing off.

  “You coming to the homecoming party?” I ask, in an attempt to get Danilo off the subject. She and Bang Bang have a rocky relationship. I never know when it’s on or off.

  “You inviting me?”

  Apparently they are off.

  “Sure, but bring your noodle dish. It’s pot luck.”

  She laughs, her hand jiggling a bit. “You are so tight with the club’s money, Chelsea. Helen told me she’d been instructed to get food money from the petty cash.”

  “There’s no reason to put out money for food. Everyone brings something which means we get good dishes and a lot of variety. I’m making the bacon wrapped weenies.”

  “Is that what Wrecker wants?”

  “Shit, that boy would eat a cow if it was put in front of him,” says Macy, the manager of the Cut-n-Curl. She doesn’t own the place, the club does. Rumor is that Judge bought it for his first wife—Wrecker’s mom who died of breast cancer when he was four—and that it reverted to the club when she passed. I never ask about Julie because it’s still painful for both of them. “Your brother called, wanted to know if you’d be done soon. Said he tried your cell phone but you weren’t answering.”

  “I’ll call him when I’m done,” I say sourly.

  Fortunately, Danilo and I spend the rest of our time talking about our favorite potluck dishes instead of Wrecker, the Ellerbys or Bang Bang. When she’s done, I step out the back and call Grant.

  “Chelsea, you busy today?”

  I wrap my arms around me to quell the shiver. It’s so good being able to pick up the phone and talk to him after all this time.

  “Some. Got done doing Danilo’s fill. Apparently she and Bang Bang are off.”

  “Yeah, I heard that too.”

  That means he saw something at the party because Judge doesn’t like people talking about club activities outside the club and Grant hews pretty close to Judge’s preferences.

  “Anyway, we done gossiping about Danilo and Bang Bang?” he says.

  “Depends on what you called me about.”

  “Dad wants me to run up to Ortonville and see a guy about some old Corvette parts. Thought you might want to come along. We could camp near Big Stone Lake and spend the night. Just the two of us.”

  The next shiver I couldn’t suppress. Grant and I away from the club, his dad and the town? We could fuck and sleep and wake up together?

  “When you picking me up?”

  His low laugh curls around my belly and makes my muscles tighten—all of them. “Let’s meet at the house in an hour and we can take off as soon as we’re packed.”

  I do one more set of nails that could not harden fast enough for me and run out of the salon as if it’s on fire.

  At home, I grab my backpack and throw in a pair of panties, jeans, knit tank, and my skimpiest swimsuit that happens to be three tiny pieces of white fabric held together by string and gold rings. I bought it at the Mall of America on my sixteenth birthday. Grant wanted to have it burned and Judge wasn’t much of a fan either but it was my money and neither of them dared to tell me to put it back.

  I ended up buying another one at Walmart in black—with a little more fabric— to get them to stop whining about it. I kept the white bikini and would wear it with girlfriends from time to time, mostly to rile up Grant more than anything. It’s the perfect item for our getaway.

  A few toiletries and my toothbrush round out my overnight kit. I run downstairs and pack a few things for Grant. When I reach the top of the stairs, I hear the throaty growl of Grant’s bike as it roars down the street and up the driveway. I meet him in the garage and throw myself at him almost before he’s off the bike. Instead of pulling me against him though he sets me aside.

  “Grouch is coming,” he murmurs, adjusts himself and then moves toward the back where the camping supplies are kept.

  Grouch is the club treasurer. He arrives not a minute later. Climbing off his low rider, he holds open his arms. “Where’s my big hug, girl? You only give those out to your brother?”

  I scamper forward into his arms and then dance away. “You been gone to prison for three years? I must’ve been sleeping that entire time because I swear we had barbecue at Rowdy’s a few weeks ago.”

  My voice is shaky because of my near miss. If Grant hadn’t acted quickly, I’d have been climbing him like a tree and exploring the inside of his mouth with more dedication than a dentist. That would’ve been hard to explain to Grouch.

  “Your dad wanted me to pick up the books for the Cut-n-Curl.”

  “Sure. They’re inside on the kitchen table.” I follow Grouch in. “Is something wrong? Macy wouldn’t take money from the club.”

  “Nothing’s wrong, darling,” Grouch says and pinches my chin like I’m a child. “Just reconcili
ng everything. We need to make sure our tax estimates are on track. Don’t want the IRS after us. They brought down Capone.”

  “Right.” I don’t believe him. Grouch knows those books inside and out. If they aren’t worried about Macy then they’re using her books to move some cash around which is one of those things I’m better off not knowing anything about.

  Outside Grant is lashing down the tent to the top of the handlebars.

  “What’s with the tent?” Grouch asks.

  Grant straightens. “We’re going to camp at Big Stone Lake tonight. Dad wants me to pick up a couple Corvette parts.”

  Grouch frowns and shakes his head. “That doesn’t sound like a solid plan to me. Thought you said you were taking your sister with you.”

  “I am.” Grant picks up the sleeping bag—the one sleeping bag—looks at me and then at Grouch. My heart is thumping loud and I press a hand over it fearing that they could hear it. Grant tosses the bag aside and makes a big production of going back to get a second sleeping bag. He unrolls it and then re-rolls the first bag inside. He fits everything on the back and waves a hand at the setup. “Everything fits.”

  Grouch has not stopped frowning. He steps over to Grant and leads him to the back of the garage. The acoustics inside, however, allow me to hear everything they’re saying.

  “There are a lot of vacationers up at Big Stone during the summer,” Grouch begins.

  “Yeah?” Grant is confused and so am I. I’m beginning to think it’s not about the solo sleeping bag at all.

  “You can’t leave your sister on the beach alone.” Grouch shakes Grant’s arm.

  “I’m not leaving her on the beach. We’re going to share…the tent.”

  “Son, you’ve been in for a long time and I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to get up to Big Stone and spend some time chatting up pretty girls, but Chelsea is your sister. And if you’re taking her with you, you can’t abandon her on the beach where some lowlife could take advantage of her. There are Henchmen up that way. Maybe you oughta leave her home.”

  Grant scowls. “Appreciate you looking out for Chelsea, but I’m not going to leave her in the tent and go off and fuck some chick. I can keep it in my pants for a day.”

  Grouch falls silent and then gives up on Grant and turns to me. “Wrecker’s antsy so it’s a good thing that you’re going with him, but if he decides to spend the night at someone’s place you need to check into a hotel for the night. Hear me?”

  “I hear you.” I smile at him and then lean over to give him a hug. He’s trying to watch out for the both of us. He drives off, shaking his head, no doubt thinking we are stupid and young and his pearls of wisdom are wasted on us.

  The ride to Big Stone is everything. The wind whips by our bodies and Grant handles the bike as if he is one with the machine. I press my face into the heavy leather of his cut and breathe in his male scent, the spice of the leather, and the tang of the fresh air. I don’t want to stop in Ortonville and I can tell by the reluctant way he wheels the bike into the campground, he’s not ready to call it a night either.

  “Want to go to Canada?” I suggest, only half joking. Our helmets have radio communication but we rarely use it on the open road.

  He nods emphatically but we stop anyway.

  Grant has rented a drive-in site so we can keep the motorcycle close to our tent. Big Stone is over eight acres of trees and trails and rocky lakeside beach. At the campsite, there is a tent pad, fire pit and a picnic table. The lake is only a few yards away.

  We pitch the tent and Grant pulls out the food in his saddle bags along with a six-pack of beer.

  “Bottles, huh? Fancy,” I tease.

  “Don’t ever say I can’t show a girl a good time.” He grins.

  We gather some tiny branches for tinder and larger logs for fuel and hunker down to start our fire, which is mostly to protect us from the mosquitos rather than provide warmth. The summer night is sultry. I sit on top of the picnic table and Grant sits on the seat, between my legs. Periodically he turns and presses a kiss against my thigh.

  Now that we’re somewhere totally private, neither of us is in a hurry to get the other naked. There’s something…wonderful about sitting here, with his arms slung over my knees and my hand in his hair as we drink beer and stare at the lake.

  “You need a haircut.” His hair is nearly down to his collar. Before he went in, he’d worn it short, almost a buzz cut because he claimed it was easier. Inside, he let it grow. A small rebellion because prison regulations required hair to be no longer than a certain length and no beard growth. Grant let it grow out until he was ordered to get it cut and then allowed the cycle to repeat itself.

  “Yeah, but I thought you could do it.”

  “I could wash you but I don’t think you want me cutting it.” I’m a nail tech and hadn’t bothered to learn the art of hair cutting.

  “Then I’ll let it grow. That bother you?”

  “Nope. We can take turns French braiding each other’s hair then.”

  Without turning around, he reaches up and gives my tit a squeeze. “We going to have a pillow fight and then rub lotion on each other?”

  “Is that what you think girls do at sleepovers?” I bat his hand away.

  “Nope. I think you guys have a lesbian orgy fest after the lotion rubbing and the pillow fight.”

  I laugh even harder. “Then there’d be no reason to sneak out and find the boys, right?”

  “A guy can dream.”

  I ruffle the top of his hair a little too roughly and he mock bites the side of my knee.

  “You okay with camping?” he says, sounding slightly uncertain. “You aren’t mad we didn’t stay in a hotel?”

  “First, I can’t imagine what Judge would say if we stayed in a motel an hour away from Fortune, but second, why would I mind?” I slap at a mosquito and take another drink.

  “Don’t know. The fishy smell, the bugs, the hard ground. Take your pick.”

  “I want to be with you, Grant.”

  He sighs and kisses the place he’d bitten. “I didn’t want to be cooped up in a room. Feels good to be outside with no one watching you, no limits, know what I mean?”

  “You were born for the road,” I answer and he tips his head up for a kiss. Leaning over, I press our upside down lips together. It’s a weird sensation. He moves aside and pulls me down on his lap.

  “Worked for Spiderman,” I quip.

  “That was only for a second. Besides, I like you pressed up tight against me when you’re tonguing me.” His grin is wicked and sends hot spires through my bloodstream. His hand runs up underneath my top. “No bra today.”

  “What’s the point?” I push my ready breasts into his chest and rub the hardening tips against the leather of his cut. He’s wearing only a thin, white V-neck T and the cut that his dad had given him at the age of eighteen. On it there are a few patches, one a generational one and another, more morbid, marking his kill. Judge had me sew it on when Grant was inside.

  He shoves both palms under my ass and lifts me high against him so that he can nuzzle his nose between my breasts.

  “I missed the girls while I was gone. Did you miss me, babies?” He sucks on one and then the other through the tank, leaving a wet spot over both. My hands rest against his shoulders, both balancing and bracing myself. When he lowers me to his lap, his erection provides a sweet friction against my jeans-clad clit.

  He presses his lips against mine in lazy desire. We don’t have to worry about anyone interrupting us or anyone discovering us. We could kiss for hours and we do. His hand wends itself into my hair and his mouth opens wider as if he can’t get enough of my taste. I take the time to explore his body. He must have lifted weights in prison. His traps are defined and hard. His biceps are big enough that he could hold me in one hand and I’m not a light girl.

  “What are we going to do, sweetness?” Grant murmurs.

  I don’t want to think about that. I want to enjoy our time together.
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  “I don’t know. We didn’t know when you would be released…honestly, I didn’t know if you still would want me when you got out.”

  “Chels,” he groans, running his mouth along my neck. “How could you think that? I thought about you every day and night. I thought about this.” He thrusts his hard length against me.

  “Still, where would we go? I don’t have a degree or anything. I can’t pay rent with my nail tech earnings.”

  “So? We can live together. I make good money at the shop.”

  “You think Judge is still going to keep you on if you’re screwing me?”

  He sighs, a puff of air skating across my skin. “I think we’re adults. Dad doesn’t own the only chop house in the county. We could go down to Mankato and you could take classes at MSU.”

  “You’d leave the club?” I can’t hide the shock.

  “I don’t want to, but if I have to…” he trails off. The pleasure in his face has faded and been replaced with some kind of tension.

  “Let’s not talk about it anymore,” I say with a grimace and pull him against me, covering his tight lips with my own. After a moment’s hesitation, he gives in. Our tongues slick against each other and our hands find more sensitive places. Mine dig into his shoulders while one of his hands delves into the back of my jeans to palm the top of my ass.

  We rock together as we kiss, our bodies enjoying the slow heat building, hotter than the campfire that flickers behind us. But the fire attracts more than moths.

  A loud ahem causes us to break apart at the mouth but Grant’s hands in my hair and on my ass prevent me from sliding off. I twist around, still on his lap, still in his embrace and see other campers—a white guy with dirty blond dreads and his equally pale girlfriend—standard Minnesota Scandinavian stock.

  “Hey!” The girl waves. “I’m Becca and this is my boyfriend Dane. We’re camping down at the group site. There’s a big party down there if you’re interested. We’ve got a couple of kegs, some food…” She licks her lips as she eyes Grant with interest. “Some fun.”