“I know,” Bubba replies, never missing a beat.
It’s like my angry routine doesn’t affect him at all. I’m seriously losing my mojo.
Bubba’s gaze holds mine, searching for something in my eyes. “I’m fully aware I didn’t make a great first impression. I thought I could hold my liquor, and I just pray I didn’t cry like a bitch in front of you. Even if I did, I still think there’s something here.”
“For you, but I don’t get squat.”
“What does that mean?” he says, his expression darkening and jaw clenching.
“You’re lost, Bubba. People back in Conroe treat you like shit or like a baby or something. You don’t know your place in the world. I do, though. Let’s say we hang out and have fun. Well, you get an ego boost by fucking me, and I get to be the stupid bitch you brag about to your buddies back in Shithole USA.”
“This isn’t about fucking. I woke up feeling something for you before I could even remember what you looked like. You did something to me inside,” he says, tapping his chest, “and I need to know what.”
Sighing, I remember how goofy sweet he was last night. The tension in me relents, and I reach up to pat his cheek. The coarse hairs on his several days’ worth of stubble feel both inviting and threatening against my fingers.
“There’s no secret to unlock. I was just nice to you, Bubba. You needed to vent, and I listened. There’s nothing magical about what you’re feeling. It’s just the need to be heard after feeling dismissed back in Conroe.”
Bubba’s expression is unreadable. Feeling on the spot under his gaze, I realize I’m pinned between the kitchen counter and his hard body. If he moves even an inch closer, I won’t be able to escape. I think to the switchblade in my pocket and the coffee cup in my left hand.
If push comes to shove, I'll slam my “Be Wild and Free” mug into his gorgeous face. Yes, then I’ll run out the back door and into the woods behind my yard. No, wait, I’ll need to grab Freki on my way out, but then I can disappear into the lush forest while he—
Wait, what exactly will he do if left alone in my house? Trash the place? He can’t leave the property without some kind of transportation. Maybe he’ll call his cousin. Sure, that’s it.
Okay, I’ve got my plan just in case the look he’s giving me isn’t grateful submission.
THE CHAPTER WHERE THE RUNAWAY MAKES A PLAY
THE RUNAWAY
Soso Rutgers is the last woman I ought to crave a kiss from, but she’s literally all I can fucking see.
Unfortunately, she’s looking at me as if I’m a threat. The only reason a powerful woman retreats into such wariness is that someone hurt them in the past. I suspect the asshole is Griff. No doubt I’ll need to kill the motherfucker.
“If I told you my problems last night,” I say, stepping back despite wanting her in my arms, “then you know I’m in Tennessee to figure out some things. I don’t want to hang out at Audrey’s, and she doesn’t really want me there.”
“Doesn’t she like you?” Soso asks, and I notice the wariness in her dark eyes lessens the more distance I create. This fact is a kick in the balls, but I can be patient.
“Audrey’s a new mom and wife. She and I aren’t tight either. She just owed me a favor, and I needed somewhere to hide out where I could think.”
Soso’s mouth opens, and I bet she wants to know why Audrey is in my debt. She doesn’t ask, sighing instead. “I have work to do at the sanctuary. If you tagged along, I’d be willing to have lunch with you,” she says and then grunts, “And that’s it.”
“What sanctuary?”
“Are you allergic to birds?”
“No.”
“Well, if you don’t mind helping me there, then I’d be free for the afternoon. Just two sober people talking.”
“And that’s it,” I say, wagging my finger at her. “Don’t get any dirty ideas about me.”
Soso rolls her eyes, but my efforts also win me a smile. She walks out of the room and returns with my shirt.
“I need to change. Stay in here. Do not try to catch a peek. I’m not even kidding.”
“Man, that Griff asshole really did a number on you.”
Soso doesn’t like this response, but she says nothing before gesturing toward an armoire where I find my black boots and jacket.
I get dressed in the living room while she hurries off to the snug bedroom. The dog watches me from his spot on a fluffy pillow on the couch. Little dogs creep me out because they look very breakable, but I still reach out and pet his head.
Returning after only a few minutes, Soso wears a long, multi-colored skirt and a loose white shirt. She reaches into the armoire to find a pair of strappy sandals. While she looks gorgeous, there’s no way she’s trying to seduce me with these clothes. The skirt is frayed at the bottom, and the shirt looks a decade old. Her lack of seductive strategy makes me doubt I’ll get laid today, yet I’m harder than I was before she walked out in her new outfit.
This babe just does a number on me without even trying.
My inability to take my eyes off her clearly puts Soso on edge despite her faking like she doesn’t notice. I’m not fooled. Her lips turn into a straight line, and she dodges my gaze.
Before we head for the door, Soso fills a satchel with snacks. The granola doesn’t interest me, but that homemade beef jerky sounds good. After she says goodbye to her dog—whose name I can’t quite catch despite her saying it three times—we leave the triangle house. I want to ask about why she picked this place, but I’m sure she told me last night. Man, what I would give to have those memories back.
Her truck feels familiar. I don’t really understand why she owns such an old vehicle, though, when her family has money. Her grandfather—Adam “Mojo” Rutgers—was the original Serrated Brotherhood president. Her grandmother—Clara—is the youngest of three Hallstead women who own the nice half of Hickory Creek Township.
Yet Soso drives a battered truck, wears clothes better suited for a woman twice her age, lives in a tiny house, and even her satchel looks older than her. Is she ashamed of her wealth? I can’t remember the details regarding her parents. I think maybe her mom didn’t come from money. That might be the parent she identifies with more. Buzz wants to be our dad, who pinches every penny. I’m more like my mom, who enjoys indulging.
“The work at the sanctuary should only take an hour. What are you in the mood to eat?” Soso asks after we twist and turn down many long, rural roads.
“Anything that’s filling. I’m starving.”
Giving me a quick glance, Soso smiles. “I saw you eyeballing the beef jerky. Have at it.”
I smile like a fucking fool because I need Soso to warm up to me. So far, I’ve enjoyed only glimpses of the gentle woman, who listened to me without laughing while I whined last night. Back in Conroe, I’m always playing a role. Last night, I was me, both good and bad, throwing punches one minute, sharing private shit to a stranger the next.
Somehow, this gorgeous chick with plenty of options didn’t blow me off as soon as I woke up. Hell, she even gave up her fucking bed to me. There’s no way she did that without seeing something worthy in the drunk fool I was last night.
That’s why I give her my best smile while savoring every bite of the beef jerky. Soso pretends not to notice, but I catch her fighting a grin.
Arriving at our location, I don’t care what’s awaiting me at the Alice Hallstead Memorial Bird Sanctuary or where she wants to eat afterward—even if it’s hippie crap with kale. My only concern is that Soso and I get to know each other while I’m sober enough to remember the details.
THE BOHEMIAN
Twenty years ago, my aunt Alice Hallstead built a 30-foot-high sanctuary with a vet station and visitor center on several acres in the boondocks. I grew up visiting the birds—mostly abandoned parrots and cockatiels—and then took over management when I was eighteen, and Alice had passed away in her sleep. My cousin, Layla, helps along with a few part-time employees and a handful of volunteers.
/> I park in the side lot and discover bags of feed ready to be carried inside. Glancing at the obedient hunky puppy following me, I realize Bubba’s buff body will come in handy. On the downside, I don’t think I’ll hide my attraction to him as well once he’s sweaty.
For every bag I carry into the storage area, he manages two. Bubba doesn’t complain about working. In fact, physical labor seems to be in his wheelhouse.
“I work on construction at home,” he says when I hand him a bottle of water. “If I didn’t have Johansson blood, I’d stick to straight renovations and improvements.”
“I fixed my toilet once,” I babble. “Right after I moved into the house, I wanted to prove I had mad skills and didn’t need my dad saving me.” When Bubba smiles too widely, I feel like a liar under his gaze. “It was leaking within weeks again.”
“You have other mad skills, I’m sure,” he says, magically closer to me. Did he even fucking move or is my attraction making me dumber? “Look at how you run this place.”
“We take in birds ditched by their owners. Many domesticated birds can’t survive in the wild,” I say, and a lump grows in my throat when I imagine my missing parrots. “Aunt Alice loved birds, and I fell for them too. My first one lives here.”
Bubba glances back at the habitat where the birds squawk and scream. “Are they upset?”
“No. Parrots are just loud and have a lot to say. Odin is out there somewhere. He likes hiding up high, but he’ll come down if I call him.”
“Why is he here?”
Without thinking, I pull back my shirt to reveal a deep scar on my shoulder. Something about Bubba’s gaze acts as a truth serum, and I can’t avoid sharing info I ought to keep to myself.
“Parrots can get very attached to their owners, and Odin loved me the most. But one day, he got startled when like a dozen Brotherhood guys showed up with their choppers. The noise set him off, and he bit me.”
Bubba, of course, runs his fingers across the scar. The man is dying to touch me. I see the need on his face no matter what we’re doing or talking about today. I wonder if he sees the same desire in my eyes.
“Fuck,” he murmurs. “I can’t believe a bird did that.”
“A macaw’s bite can be as powerful as a large dog’s. They’ll fuck you up.”
“I see,” he nearly whispers, leaning closer to study the size and no doubt touch me a little more.
“Dad found me covered in blood, and he freaked out. I’m lucky he didn’t kill poor Odin. He said the parrot had to go. I begged him to let me keep Odin, and my dad is fairly easy to push around when I cry, but he put his foot down after I needed ten stitches. That’s why Odin lives here now. After I got my house, I didn’t have the heart to make him leave the sanctuary for me. He’s the king of the east end.”
Bubba’s fingers finally leave my shoulder, and I let my shirt slide back into place. His blue eyes study me in the oddest way before he reaches out to wipe a tear from my cheek. I rub away the wetness, shocked to find I’ve gotten choked up about something I’d long accepted.
“Odin was my best friend,” I mumble. “I talked to him about everything, and he called me Soda.”
Bubba laughs, looks guilty for doing so, and then sighs. I smile, though. A normal man would likely think I’m nuts for crying over a damn bird. Griff refused to understand my love for them.
“They’re not loyal like a dog,” he’d say despite not really liking dogs either.
I never tried to explain to Griff why birds fascinated me. Perhaps, I knew deep inside he wasn’t worth sharing with. Then there’s Bubba who tempts me to blurt out my entire life story.
“I have a few things to do before we go to lunch. Want more beef jerky?”
“By more, do you mean all of it?” he asks like a big hungry kid.
On cue, his stomach growls, and I fight giggles as I hand him the rest of the beef jerky. I’m so taken with the way he enjoys the food that I don’t immediately notice Layla’s arrival.
My cousin stands at the main entry, wearing a blue and black flannel dress, black leggings, and heavy combat boots. Her long blue hair shines in the spring sunlight, making her look like a troubled pixie.
Leaving Bubba to eat, I join Layla in the office where we watch him wander into the primary habitat. I consider warning him to be careful but feel silly talking down to a grown man. I bossed him around last night without a second thought, of course. But since then, he’s snuck his way into my heart.
“What the ever-loving fuck?” Layla asks as soon as we’re out of earshot. “Are you trying to shatter what’s left of Griff’s sanity?”
“It’s not my job to keep Griff from freaking out.”
“Bringing that Reaper here is like throwing blood in the water and expecting sharks not to be bothered.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. Griff’s an eel, but he’s all bluster.”
“You bailed on the fight at Salty Peanuts too soon. It was a mess.”
“That was most definitely not Griff doing the damage. He was on the ground in the parking lot when I left with Bubba. If anyone tore up the bar, it was Cap Hayes. Probably did it as a mating dance for his woman.”
Layla allows a tiny smile. “He’s so stupid over her.”
“Big men fall harder, I hear.”
I allow myself to glance at Bubba and find him looking up at a green macaw. Has he already finished the beef jerky? Lord, I forget how much a man his size eats.
Before I can return to Bubba, my cousin grabs my arm. Her eyes are so thickly lined with black makeup that I have trouble reading her emotions. Layla likes to hide under all her goth, rocker girl facade. It’s her armor, leaving me and everyone else unable to tell what’s happening in her head.
“Are you messing with this Kentucky guy to make Griff jealous?”
“Why would I want him jealous?”
“To fuck with him because he killed your birds.”
I feel as if she slapped me. Layla knows she shouldn’t have said aloud what’s been obvious all along. My girls are dead. Griff killed them. They died because I let a violent man close without worrying if he’d become violent when I pushed him away.
“I’m sorry,” Layla says.
“I like Bubba. He’s sexy as hell, and he was sweet last night. He’s also hot.”
“Yes, I noticed the hot thing.”
I glance back at where Bubba listens to Grinch talk trash. The parrot’s former owner taught the bird cuss words along with more than a few racist, homophobic, misogynistic phrases. Naturally, the hateful asshole didn’t make a suitable caretaker and ditched the bird when Grinch got too expensive.
“Bubba wants to kiss me so badly,” I whisper to Layla. “But he hasn’t made a move. It’s killing him.”
“And you like torturing him?”
“No, bitch, I just want him to prove he’s worth wanting.”
“Don’t call me a bitch.”
“Ula and Bjork agree that I shouldn’t call you a bitch,” I grumble, thinking of my poor birds.
Layla and I are close, but we often get on each other’s nerves. “I said I was sorry.”
“Yeah, but every time you want to win an argument, you bring up my birds.”
“You’re trying to distract me.”
Frowning, I hadn’t expected Layla to pick up so quickly on my diversion tactics. She’s usually easily sidetracked.
“Bubba’s only in town for a few days, and I like him.”
“You said you wouldn’t date another criminal after you ended things with Griff. You said you’d learned your lesson after the only men you dated turned out to be super douches.”
I suspect Layla would hate all men if she didn’t have a cool father and two doting big brothers. However, every man she gets near romantically ends up being a psycho. She clearly has a type. And it’s obvious I do too.
“Most of those guys were regular-level douches. Only Griff was a douche king.”
“I don’t know. I’ve met douchier douches.�
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“Let’s agree that there are many douches in this world, but I really don’t think Bubba is on the uglier end of the douche spectrum. And if he turns out to be an undercover super douche, who cares since he’ll be back in Kentucky soon?”
Layla doesn’t like my answer because it didn’t involve me ditching Bubba and hanging out with her for the day. Sighing, she mutters, “I still can’t believe you brought him here to do manual labor.”
“I wanted to see him around the birds. Look at his face whenever Grinch cusses at him. Bubba’s gorgeous, and that’s a face I want to sit on.”
Layla gasps as if she’s turned puritan when I wasn’t looking. “Oh, wait, I thought you meant you wanted to suffocate him with your vagina.”
Snickering, I wonder if she’s stoned. “No murder plans. With him being the president of the Reapers’ Conroe chapter, killing Bubba might be a problem.”
“No way he’s the president. He’s fucking with you. Like how that guy told you he was royalty,” Layla says, smiling nostalgically.
“Yeah, and I could sit on his throne and suck on his crown,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “Such a charmer, but Bubba’s the real deal. He told me the president thing when he was too drunk to lie.”
“Booze is a great lie detector. Remember when Cap admitted he was a virgin after pretending he’d gotten so much pussy?”
“Yeah, and we laughed and laughed, and then he burped so loud the waitress nearly cried.”
“It was a horrifying sound,” Layla says, losing her smile.
“He’s a freakishly large man, and those Mayo Pony weirdos make freakishly large noises. I bet Bubba’s burps are normal like our dads make.”
“Uh-oh. You’re comparing him to your dad. Bad sign,” she says, crossing her arms and sighing dramatically. “Tragically misguided sign.”
“Where do you think I should take him to eat for lunch?”
“Nowhere in the H.C. unless you want to piss off Griff.”
“Don’t call it that, and I don’t care about Griff.”
“Don’t you care about Bubba’s poor face? After another run-in with Griff, maybe Kentucky isn’t so pretty anymore.”
Fast As You (Reapers MC: Conroe Chapter, #2) Page 5