by Drew Elyse
I slid her off my lap and deposited her into the chair before following Stone across the yard. He wasted no time in launching right in.
“Didn’t want to bring this to you while she was sick, but need you to talk to your girl,” he started.
“About what?”
“Day after she rolled in, Tank noticed eyes on the property. Not the garage or anything, but out at the clubhouse. Could be it’s related to your girl finding her way here. If she hired someone to find you, might be they’re still working that job. If that’s the case, then all’s good. We just gotta be sure that’s all that’s up. Yeah?”
Fuck. The club needed more shit like I needed another fucking bullet hole.
“I’ll talk to her. Not sure what I’ll get out of her tonight after the tequila, but I’ll get the info tomorrow at the latest.”
He clapped me on the shoulder. “Appreciate it, brother.” His head turned to look back over to where I’d left Quinn. “She stickin’ around?”
“If I can convince her to.”
The fucker smirked. “Good luck.”
Then, he walked away.
“I’m fine,” Quinn insisted.
“Babe.”
“Babe,” she parroted, dropping her voice to mimic me, then burst into a fit of giggles.
“We need to get you to bed.”
She gazed up at me with that loose kind of smile that only came from being drunk or high, and I knew she hadn’t had anything harder than tequila. There had been plenty of tequila, though. As in, two more, bringing her total up to five. I watched them make the batch her fourth one came from and the ratio of tequila was way higher than it should have been, so Quinn might have been less of a lightweight than I’d assumed.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t plastered, though.
“I gotsta talk to Max,” she slurred.
“Max,” I called, even though she was only a couple feet away.
Max, unlike Quinn, was just riding the edge of tipsy, so she was with me. “Yeah?”
“Talk,” I said, tilting my head down to my girl, “so I can get her upstairs.”
We were in the kitchen, most everyone having already taken off. Even Stone had gone back to the clubhouse. Daz was staying, and was in the living room last I knew. I forced Quinn into a chair at the table, then got her a glass of water.
Drunk Quinn was cute. Hungover Quinn was the last fucking thing I wanted after her being sick for days.
She took her cup while I told them, “Ten minutes.”
“But—”
“Ten. Minutes.”
“Fine,” she huffed.
Before I got out of earshot, they were already talking.
“He’s so pretty,” my drunk girl sighed, and I chuckled.
“I don’t think you can call a man like that pretty,” Max pointed out. “Hot as fuck might work.”
“Back off, bitch. He’s mine.”
Fuck, now I was fighting a hard-on in the hallway. Note to self: get Quinn to repeat that while I’m fucking her.
“I know, I know. Besides, I think I’ve got a taste for something a little bigger.”
Quinn gave a sigh that was not helping my self-control at all. “Trust me, he’s plenty big.” She paused for a moment, then tacked on, “Mmmm. So nice and big.”
She needed to sober up a bit. Right the fuck now. She needed to be with me when I got her cute ass upstairs. And the two of them needed to talk about something else before I decided to say fuck their ten minutes and went in there to claim my wife.
“Ham better be nice and big. He’s the biggest guy I’ve ever seen, and if that stops beneath the belt, I’m going to be so damn disappointed,” Max grumbled the last bit, like she was already getting pissed.
That was my cue to give them the rest of their ten minutes. I was all for Max hooking up with Ham if the two of them could make it work for more than a night. Max getting roots in Hoffman was a best case scenario. But I’d already been subjected to seeing Ham’s bare ass once, I didn’t need to listen to any conversations about the fucker’s dick.
I got shit settled while they ran out their ten minutes. Max was staying, at least for the night. Nothing had gotten sorted about that earlier, and I wasn’t about to put her in a cab. I also wasn’t getting in a car to drive her down. I got her bag into one of the rooms down the hall from mine. Close, but not so close that Quinn couldn’t make some noise for me.
Luckily, the dick talk was done when I got back to the kitchen. Though, if Quinn wanted to pick that back up, I’d be more than happy to once I got her in bed.
“Bed, baby,” I said from behind Quinn, who jumped.
“How long have you been there?” she demanded with wide eyes. I noted with satisfaction the slur was already gone.
I leaned down. “Were you talking about me?”
Her eyes darted away from mine. “No,” she lied.
Max snorted, then tried to school her features. She wasn’t quick enough to keep Quinn from shooting her a glare.
I didn’t call out Quinn on her lie. Instead, I said to both of them, “Come on.”
It was easier than I’d anticipated to get them both upstairs and into their respective rooms. Quinn was still feeling the tequila enough to make her easily agreeable, but Max was always a wildcard, so there was no telling what the hell I would get from her.
Inside our room, I got my woman changed into one of my shirts with the garage logo on it. It was just about as much as I wanted her in. There was just one thing missing. Quinn was sitting on the edge of the bed, that sweet, tipsy smile still in place, while I hunted it down.
I got up close and she spread her bare legs for me, letting me step between them. Her head tilted back, her eyes closed and plump lips angled to me. I took the offer, even if I had other intentions. There would never be a day, even if we got a lifetime of days from this one forward, where I would pass on the opportunity to feel her lips against mine. Keeping her occupied with light, teasing kisses even as she tried to deepen them, I grabbed her hand.
She tried to pull back, but I nipped at her bottom lip, then held on until she relaxed back into the kiss. She stayed right there while I slid her wedding ring back onto her finger, and only then did I release her.
Quinn’s eyes went from me, to the ring, and back, a question, her desire, and the alcohol fighting it out in her expression.
“Jack,” she said it, but it was also a question.
“While we try, that ring stays on. If we can’t make this work,” the words were like ash in my mouth, “then it can go. Until then, you wear my ring, and I wear yours.”
Shock was the only thing apparent in her gaze when I got out my wallet and pulled my band from the round crease it had long since left in the leather. I kept my eyes on her beautiful blue and brown ones, watching tears form in them as I slid the ring back on my finger where it belonged. For the first time in years, it felt like something wasn’t missing. I took it off to avoid the questions, but I couldn’t bring myself not to have it with me. Keeping it in my wallet was better than nothing, though it still sucked in comparison.
I brought her left hand up to my lips and kissed the ring there, while sliding my left along her cheek and into her hair. She caught it on the way, pressing her cheek into my hold, then kissing my palm.
“I love you, little bird.”
Her eyes showed the battle she had with those words, the pain and joy she felt at hearing them, the indecision over saying them back.
“Don’t say it back, not until you’re sure you’re ready,” I told her. “When you give me those words, I want to know I’ve earned that again. Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she rasped out.
I picked her up, her legs wrapping around me, then sat back on the bed, reclining against the headboard with her in my lap. Quinn moved in, kissing me, taking control to make it deep in the way I denied her before. She kept at me, until she owned me just by the movements of her lips.
Then she stripped us both, climbed
back onto my lap, and owned me in a way she’d never done before. She rode me, giving as much as she took, drunk on the tequila and sex. It was incredible. It was volatile.
It was just like my beautiful wife:
Perfection.
The wind whipped all around me, the world little more than a blur as we flew down the highway. None of what we were passing mattered. I was focused on the feel of Ace’s solid body.
It had taken some convincing for him to get me on his motorcycle the first time. If I were honest, it took some convincing to get me on his bike any time. The difference was, after the first time, that became a silent process that involved only me.
I loved the bike. Seeing Jack—Ace, I reminded myself—on it in particular. Him on his bike fully dressed was as affecting as when he was naked. Okay, no, that was a step too far. Nothing was as good as Jack—Ace, dammit—naked, but him on his bike was a very close second, with no other rankings coming anywhere close.
It was the morning after grilling out with the Disciples and Max’s tequila warfare. The day had started a little rough. At some point, presumably after the sunlight started coming in the room, I’d burrowed under the blankets into my own little cave, which was how Ace found me when he woke.
He said he waited an appropriate amount of time before excavating effort, but when he managed to find me in the blankets and reveal me to the light of day, I was certain it was just after dawn, and I was electing to ignore that by the time he got me to give up the fight and actually get up, it was noon.
“Where’s Max?” was the first thing I’d grumbled.
He’d chuckled, handing me a glass of water. He was really good at having those ready for me. “Ham came by about a half hour ago,” he’d said as way of an explanation.
“So, they’re having the sex?”
He’d wiggled the cup a little until I took it and started sipping, then answered, “Don’t want to think about that. Just know she left with him.”
I’d given him back the water glass, then tried to covertly sneak back under the covers while saying, “She’s going to have sex with him.”
Mission blanket had been so close to a success when he’d grabbed the other end and given it a solid yank. My cozy, warm friend went flying down the bed, and I’d glared at Ace. “That was not very nice.”
He’d stood, picking me up with arms under my back and knees, and carried me to the bathroom, saying, “No time to be nice. Need my wife to get in the shower so I can take her to the diner she was supposed to meet me at days ago.”
“Why there?”
“It’s the only place I’m certain has breakfast this time of day,” he’d said, setting me on my feet next to the tub. “Now, shower.”
So, I had. Then he’d taken me out for breakfast like he’d promised. It wasn’t until after we’d finished off plates of pancakes that he’d suggested we take a long ride on the bike instead of heading straight back.
Now, we’d been riding for a while, though I couldn’t say how long. My fingers were cold from the wind, and my thighs and butt were getting sore, but I was happy where I was. I lay my helmet-clad head against his back and soaked it in. Every so often, when I adjusted my grip on him, I could feel the ring he’d put back on me the night before.
It all made me wonder what might have been. If Damien hadn’t gotten in his accident, if Jack hadn’t internalized his sense of guilt, would we have still been together, enjoying the sunny afternoon on his bike? Would we have had two years of marriage under our belts? Would we have been happy?
There was no way to answer those questions. Maybe it would have worked. Maybe we would have fought from time to time, but always appreciated how much we meant to each other. Then again, maybe we wouldn’t have fought at all because I was so entranced by him, I wouldn’t have spoken my mind. But we’d still have ended up unhappy because I would have been a boring doormat and he would have never adjusted to accommodate me when he had no clue what accommodations I was looking for.
Maybe, at some point over two years together, we would have called it quits.
Maybe, if I gave him more than this week, that would still happen.
I tightened my hold on him. There was no point to this. Playing “what if” games never got anyone anywhere. What might have been if he’d stayed was a timeline we’d never get the chance to experience. What might still happen, though, wasn’t just some series of events that would roll out. I was a firm believer in the idea that we created our own destiny. There was no predetermined plan as to how our marriage would turn out. Everything, from the decision that loomed at the end of the week, to the years that would follow, was ours to control.
It was all about having the guts to take the reins. And for the first time in my life, I was feeling gutsy.
After our ride, I was silently thrilled Ace brought us back to the house. Max was around, and I didn’t want to be a crappy friend who ditched her after she came all that way just to check on me.
When we walked in, Max and Ham were both there. I had no idea what to make of that, but with both the guys hanging around, I couldn’t ask. Instead, I was stuck agreeing to the invitation for us to order in pizza with them and chill.
“What on it?” Ham asked as Ace and I settled onto one of the couches.
“Pineapple,” Max responded.
Ham pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tell me you’re fuckin’ with me, babe,” he demanded.
She wasn’t. I knew this. In all our years of friendship, we’d never actually shared a pizza. It always came down to ordering two so I didn’t have to choke down the gross concoction she called pizza toppings.
“Just wait,” I warned Ham.
“What the fuck could be worse than pineapple on pizza?” Ace asked.
I looked at Max. “Tell them,” I said with a flick of my wrist, indicating she proceed.
“I like pineapple, olives, green pepper, and some kind of meat, but I’ll take whatever,” she stated, unabashed.
Ham blinked, stared at her, then blinked again. It seemed to drag out for a solid minute. Then he found the response of, “That’s the most disgusting fucking pizza order I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s good!” Max insisted.
“Toots, in what universe do pineapple and marinara go together?”
Did he just call her toots? He totally did. And it wasn’t in a funny, fifties throwback way. He just called her that by rote.
“Oh, yeah. I forgot. I also don’t get sauce on it,” Max enlightened him.
“You get sauceless, pineapple, olive, green pepper, and mystery meat pizza?” Ham verified.
“Yep.”
Ham looked at me with what seemed to be a bit of concern on his face. “Where the hell did you find her?”
I laughed. “We were roommates in college. Randomly put together freshman year.”
He looked between us, then smiled in a way I could only describe as salacious.
“Damn, I am getting a beautiful picture right now,” he said.
I didn’t inform him the actual picture wasn’t all that great. Mostly, we sat around in sweatpants studying or watching Netflix. Why all men thought women being alone together meant the clothes just disappeared, I did not know. If I had to guess, I would probably blame porn.
“Before you start picturing it, I was religious about making sure there was a sock on the door and a warning text, and Quinn heeded both every time,” Max informed him.
That was true. Max gave me as much warning as she could manage before bringing guys to our room, and I was fortunate enough to never accidentally miss any of those warnings and walk in on something I did not want to see.
“Not enough to kill the dream,” Ham muttered.
“Unless she’s held out on me, I’m pretty sure there was no lesbian experimentation either,” Ace added. I gasped and slapped his shoulder.
“Not in the room anyway,” Max muttered.
I gasped again. “Seriously? You never told me that!”
She sh
rugged. “It was one time at a party. A bunch of frat guys dared us to make out. Nothing special. She was a good kisser, though.”
Ham cursed in a way that made it clear her words offered a mix of pain and pleasure.
“It’s why I let her slide into second base before I shut it down,” Max went on.
“Okay!” I cut in. “How about we get back to the pizza?”
“Buzzkill,” Ham said under his breath.
“Don’t worry,” Max assured quietly, but not quietly enough, “I’ll tell you the whole story later if you’re good.”
“Baby, I can be as good as you fuckin’ want.”
Turning to Ace, I spoke soft enough the other wouldn’t hear. “I don’t think I want to eat meals with the two of them ever again.”
“Noted,” he replied, grinning at my discomfort.
Jerk.
“How insistent are you on the pineapple thing?” Ace asked then, getting Ham and Max’s attention back on us.
“Completely,” she and I both answered—her firm, me resigned.
“No way in fuck I’m eating pineapple on fuckin’ pizza with no sauce,” Ham stated. I was pretty sure that was seconded by me and Ace without asking. He went on. “Not eatin’ pineapple at all.”
“Why not?” Max asked. “It’s good for you. And guys really should.”
“Why?” I had the distinct sense I would regret the question as soon as the word left my mouth.
“Because it’s supposed to make their cum taste sweeter.”
Good Lord. I was right. I didn’t want to know.
“Can we please just order food?” I asked, my face on fire.
Max ended up with a pizza—if you could call her monstrosity that—of her own, while Ham, Ace, and I shared a classic pepperoni.
We’d all finished our meals, with only Max’s pizza having any leftovers, when Daz came striding in.
“Fuck yeah, pizza!” he exclaimed.
He flipped open the box for the extra large the guys had destroyed with only a little help from me, then moved to Max’s, looking at it for a second before asking, “What’s on this?”