“I’ve known you for what? Seven, eight years?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“All you’ve ever done is fuck bitches and kick ‘em aside. So would it be weird for you to ask one on a date? Yeah, it’d be weird. Why? ‘Cause you don’t ask bitches on dates.”
“Okay,” I said with a nod. “Is that the only reason?”
“Yeah. What else would there be?”
I shrugged. “Age difference. Her mom. That kind of stuff. And just, the whole deal with, you know, what happened.”
“She’s what? You said 21, right?”
I nodded.
He shook his head. “She’s 21, you’re 30. Who fucking cares.”
“31.”
“Like I said. Who fucking cares. Then, the mom? You don’t owe that bitch nothing. You looking to hook up with her, too?”
“Nope.”
“You sure?”
“I am now.”
“That little bitch sucked your cock, didn’t she?” Smokey asked. “When you were watching Californication.”
I cleared my throat and shot him a glare. “Smoke, I’m gonna come down off this fucking porch and pound your skinny ass if you keep it up.”
“God damn, Cholo. Settle down, motherfucker. But did she?”
“I mean it,” I hissed.
“It’s only weird if you make it weird,” Pee Bee said.
“I like that,” I said.
“Best saying, ever,” Smokey said.
I looked at Pee Bee. “Here’s the thing. I’ll be honest. I don’t know if it’s because of the whole deal at the dope house, or what, but I feel some weird connection to this chick that I can’t explain. I don’t know if it’s because she’s so fucking cute, or if it’s because I see her mother in her, or if it’s because deep down inside I want to fuck this chick, and I’m making up excuses, but I want to see what happens with her, and I don’t want to do it wrong.”
“You probably don’t want to do it wrong because of what she’s been through, Brother. You’re just trying to protect her.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way. I nodded in agreement. “Good point.”
“As far as the other shit goes, if you don’t know the answer, nobody does. I can tell you this: nobody was wilder than me, and when I met Tegan…” His mouth curled into a smirk and he shook his head. “Man, I’m telling ya. Shit changed like that.”
He snapped his fingers.
“You didn’t see it coming?” I asked.
“Shit, Brother. It was like I got hit by a bus. But before that? I wondered. Just like you are now. And there I was, treating this girl different than anyone I’d ever met. We went for rides, and I didn’t try and fuck her. We went to dinner, and I didn’t try and fuck her. Hell, I was scared to kiss her when I took her home from our date. Dude, it was bat shit crazy.”
“Are you shittin’ me?” I coughed a laugh. “You? Scared to kiss a bitch?”
He chuckled. “True fucking story, I’m telling ya. But listen. My pop said this. When you know, you know. And, he was right. The only way you’re going to find out is to try. So, ask the chick out. If the mom doesn’t like it, tell her to kick rocks.”
I extended my hand. “Appreciate you, Brother.”
And, just like that, I made my decision.
I was going to ask Alexandra out on an official date.
To my mother’s house.
Chapter Twelve
Lex
I stood on the porch, waiting eagerly to hear his approaching motorcycle. A text message of are you home? from him got a prompt yes response from me. He then said he wanted to talk to me in person. When I asked what it was about, he simply responded we’ll talk when I get there.
As I heard the motorcycle’s engine in the distance, I became apprehensive. Not knowing what event called for an early evening surprise visit didn’t sit well with me, and although I was probably mistaken, thoughts of repercussions from Calle 18’s gang came to mind.
I gazed toward the sound, waiting for him to come over the top of the hill. Like magic, he appeared, the exhaust cackling behind him as he sped toward me.
He rolled into the drive, took off his helmet, and pulled his cap down low on his head. As he got off the bike he glanced at me and grinned. Then his eyes fell to the sidewalk, and he sauntered toward me with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans, seeming nervous as he approached.
He stopped at the front of the porch. His eyes were fixed on my knees.
What the fuck?
“Nice, aren’t they?” I asked, my voice thick with sarcasm.
“What’s that?” He looked up, but not enough that I could see the eyes that were hidden beneath the bill of his hat.
“My knees,” I said dryly. “You’re staring at them, and it’s weird.”
He pulled the bill of his cap up slightly and grinned. “Sorry.”
He still hadn’t made eye contact. His focus was now on my twat. “What’s going on?” I twisted my hips to the side and motioned toward the door. “Want to come in?”
His hands went into his pockets again. He shrugged slightly.
“You don’t know if you want to come in?”
He pushed his thumb against the bill of his hat, lifting it enough that I could see his eyes. His face was cleanly shaven, and he looked like a tattooed little boy. A muscular tattooed little boy.
“I uhhm. I wanted to ask you something,” he stammered.
I shrugged. “You can ask me anything.”
He looked up, inhaled a shallow breath, and locked eyes with me. “Would you want to eat dinner with me? At my mom’s house? Just you, me, and her? She wants to meet you.”
Wow.
He could have said a lot of things. Nothing, however, would have filled me with warmth and excited me as much as what he had asked.
The thought of it made me nervous and excited me at the same time.
“You told her about me?”
“Yeah. I did,” he said. “It was hard not to.”
I felt like I was being asked to prom, and I liked it.
“Yes,” I said. “I’d love to come to dinner and meet her.”
“When?” he asked sheepishly.
I couldn’t help but smile. “When were you thinking?”
He lifted his bill a little more, resting the hat on the back of his head. “You busy now?”
Now?
“Now?” I gasped. “Like now?”
“Or whenever.” He stepped onto the porch. “She cooks dinner every night, even if no one’s there. I was telling her about you, and she wants to meet you. She makes better tacos than I do, I can tell you that.”
You told her about me?
The realization that I was going to meet his mother hit me. My stomach felt nervous.
“I’m not…I need to get ready. I look like I just woke up,” I murmured.
He looked me up and down. “You’re beautiful. You uhhm. You look beautiful.”
I was flattered, but I tried not to show it. “I do not.”
“You do.” He pulled his hat firmly and tilted his head toward the driveway. “Let’s go do it. C’mon.”
He stepped down, took a few steps toward his bike, and then paused. He turned and looked right at me, as if waiting for me to follow him.
As much as I liked the idea of going to dinner, I felt the need to postpone it for at least long enough to prepare mentally and physically. A day would be nice. Maybe two.
My lips parted slightly. I stood like a fool, open-mouthed, gawking at him and mentally searching for what to say.
I felt the need to thank him for the invitation, accept it, and then explain how I simply needed time to prepare. With a stomach filled with butterflies, I cautiously stepped off the porch and walked to his side.
I looked him in the eyes and opened my mouth. Fully prepared to blurt out all the reasons I couldn’t leave with him, I stood there for an instant, mentally fumbling with what to say.
He leaned into the s
pace that separated us until there was nothing left.
I saw it coming, I really did. My heart told me to turn away, but my body and mind offered no resistance.
His lips met mine.
The kiss wasn’t aggressive, nor was it overly sensual. His lips simply pressed against mine fully, and we kissed.
Most women would have wanted more. Much more. But, for me, it was caring, kind, gentle, and absolutely perfect.
The kiss took me to a place I wasn’t sure I’d been before. Somewhere safe, and special. Together, he and I resided there, but only for a short moment. As our mouths parted, my knees went weak.
With my lips still puckered into a kiss, I looked at him, shocked and pleased at the same time.
He grinned. “I’ve been wanting to do that.”
“Oh,” I breathed. “It was, uhhm. Wow. That’s all I got. Wow.”
Any thoughts of not going to dinner with him vanished.
“So, what are you thinking?” he asked.
“About?” the word hung in the air like a wisp of smoke.
“Dinner?” he asked.
“Let me get my purse.”
Chapter Thirteen
Cholo
I pushed the front door open and waved toward the empty living room. I knew better than to warn my mother of our arrival. As inconsiderate as it might seem, telling her would have caused her to frantically attempt to clean, cook, and get ready at the same time, leaving her half finished with each task.
Simply showing up would allow her to truly enjoy our presence.
With us halfway through the living room, she walked through the kitchen door. Her eyes went wide and she stopped in her tracks.
“Qué emoción!” she gasped.
“English, mother,” I said with a laugh. “This is Alexandra, the girl I told you about. And, she doesn’t speak Spanish.”
My mother was wearing her apron, but it was no surprise – she always wore an apron. The home smelled of her cooking, and it smelled good. She wiped her hands on her apron, and rushed excitedly to where we stood.
A handshake or a nice to meet you remark would have been typical of most mothers, but not mine. She opened her arms and smothered Alexandra with a hug.
After she released her, she leaned back and looked her over. “He told me you were beautiful, but I had no idea…”
“Thank you,” Alexandra said. She leaned forward. “He told me you were a great cook.”
“He knows nothing of good cooking,” my mother replied. “He’d eat rocks if I put broth over them.”
“He made tacos for me the other night,” Alexandra said. “They were delicious.”
“He cooked?” She stopped in her tracks. “My Adam?”
Alexandra looked at me and then at my mother. She nodded. “We ate dinner together and watched television.”
“Television? He doesn’t sit still for very long,” my mother said. “Siempre nervioso.”
I chuckled. “She said I’m always nervous. English, mother.”
“I’m so sorry,” my mother said. “I left my manners in the kitchen. I’m Maria.”
“Alexandra,” Alexandra said. “Nice to meet you.”
Being a man whore wasn’t a trait I developed once I was in the MC, or because of some outside influence. It was part of who I was. From the time I had sex for the first time – at thirteen – until my current age of thirty-one, I had been a tornado of sexual explorations. Much to my mother’s disappointment, I had yet to meet a woman I cared enough about to invite her into her home for dinner.
“Alexandra,” my mother said, taking Alexandra’s hand in hers. “Come with me.”
Alexandra looked at me, grinned, and then followed my mother into the kitchen.
What in the fuck have I got myself into?
I wiped my sweating palms against the thighs of my jeans, and looked around the living room. I had no idea where I was headed with Alexandra, but wherever it was, I was going to make sure getting there caused her no harm.
I walked to the doorway, peered into the kitchen, and watched as my mother stirred a pot of what smelled like pork chile verde.
“…roasted tomatillos, jalapenos, garlic, and oil. First, you slice the tomatillo in half, and then put them in the oven on a sheet, with the flat side down. Cook them under the broiler, but just until they…”
Turn black.
“…turn black.”
I grinned. My mother taught me to cook, explaining every detail of what needed to be done and why. She never wrote anything down, and neither did I. I didn’t need to. She pounded the recipes into my head repeatedly, every time she cooked, whether I was paying attention or not.
“…after the pork is brown, pour the sauce over it, and let it cook for 4 hours. Three hours, and it will be too thin. Four is perfecto.” She paused, looked at Alexandra, and smiled. “Okay?”
Alexandra nodded and smiled in return. “Okay.”
“When will we eat?” I asked.
“When it’s ready,” she said over her shoulder.
“I’m ready now.”
“You’ll have to wait fifteen more minutes.”
“I’m going to steal Alexandra for a minute,” I said.
“She’s doing just fine in here,” she said. “Go shine your motorcycle.”
“C’mon, Alexandra. I want to show you around.”
She looked at my mother.
“Go,” she said. “He’s sad when he doesn’t get what he wants.”
Alexandra followed me down the hallway to the last door on the right. It was the bedroom I grew up in, and was still decorated the way it was when I moved out.
I pushed the door open.
She looked around the room, and then focused on the pictures that were hung on the far wall. “Is that you?”
Four framed photos of when I had boxed in Golden Gloves competitions hung side-by-side on the wall. “Yeah,” I said. “That’s me.”
She looked at me, and then at the pictures. “You were smaller.”
“That was a long time ago. I weighed 40 pounds less.”
She walked up to one of the pictures and traced her fingertip along the outline of my face. “You had hair.”
“Not much, but yeah.”
“I can’t imagine you with hair.”
“I can’t either. Not now.”
“Were you good? When you boxed?”
“Everyone thought so.”
She studied the next picture. “What did you think?”
“I was never any good in my eyes. Not good enough, anyway.”
“Did you win?”
“Every time I fought.”
“Every time?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you were good.”
“The competition was poor.”
“You’re humble,” she said.
“I’m a realist.”
She turned to face me. “A humble realist.”
“Maybe.”
She met my gaze and locked her eyes on mine. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
She spread her arms wide and gazed around the room. “This. Bringing me to your mother’s home for dinner. Showing me your old bedroom. Kissing me?”
“I like you,” I said.
She let out a sigh. “You like me, or you like the thought of me?”
“What do you mean?”
She pressed her hands against her hips. “Do you like the thought of someone who’s young and easily influenced?”
Before I had a chance to respond, she continued. “Maybe you like the thought of saving me.” She raised both eyebrows. “You already did that, you know.”
I admired her as she spoke. Describing her as beautiful simply wasn’t enough. I exercised a little self-control and shifted my focus to her eyes. “Already did what?”
“Saved me. I don’t need any help from here on out. I can make it without you.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Is that what you want?”
; “What I want?” She asked. “I want what every girl wants.”
Hell, I had no idea what every girl wanted. Any response on her part would be enlightening.
“And what might that be?”
“I want a man to love me for no other reason than he believes I’m the most unique creature on the planet,” she said, folding her arms against her chest as she spoke. “When he thinks of living life without me, I want him to get scared and confused.”
“That’s it?” I asked.
She shrugged. “That’s a good start.”
“When I was younger, I was mad at the world,” I said. “I wanted answers on why I was a half-breed, and why I didn’t have a father. I’d ride my motorcycle 550 miles to the Grand Canyon just to watch the sunset, and then ride back the next day. I went there because there was nowhere else that I knew of that was as beautiful, as magical, or as perfect. Sure the canyon held all the answers, I’d stare out at it hoping to find them, but I never found any. In the end, it didn’t matter. For me, the canyon itself was proof of something bigger than life. Something magnificent. I’d end up lasting another six or eight months, and then I’d be back, mad and needing some relief. I’d watch the sun set over the canyon, then everything would be fine for a while.”
I paused and took a breath.
She grinned. “I like that story.”
“I wasn’t finished.” I said.
“Sorry. Continue.”
“I kept going back because there wasn’t anything, anywhere, that could replace it. Nowhere was as serene or as beautiful. Believe me, I tried to find spots that were closer. Went farther, too, but nothing compared.”
I looked at her for a few seconds and then shook my head. “There are a lot of rivers and canyons on this earth, and none compare to the Grand Canyon. And, there are a lot of beautiful women on this earth, and none of them compare to you. So, if you find me staring at you, it’s because doing it saves me a 550-mile drive.”
“Stop talking,” she whispered. “And kiss me.”
Chapter Fourteen
Lex
The dinner was fabulous. I ate some of the pork over rice, like Maria suggested, and then had some with tortillas, like Adam insisted. Sitting at the table feeling like a swollen toad, I alternated glances between them.
F*CKERS (Biker MC Romance Book 7) Page 45