Beef Cake

by Smartypants Romance

  “That doesn’t sound like me.”

  I give her as stern a look as I can while driving. “You are all those things. You’re a wild child, Frankie Reeves. You just need to be set free.”

  “I suppose you think you’re the one to help me with that?”

  “Damn straight.”

  **BC**

  “I’ve lived around here my entire life, but I’ve never eaten at The Front Porch,” Frankie says as we both look over our menus.

  “Really? From what I hear, this is the nicest restaurant in town. I know you didn’t date, but what about with friends for prom or homecoming or whatever?”

  She shakes her head, not looking at me. “No, I never went to any of those either.”

  “Why not?” It’s hard for me to imagine Frankie being a typical teenager but surely, she must have had some kind of social life. “What did you do for fun?”

  “Same as now, I guess.” Frankie shrugs but I can tell her eyes aren’t focused on anything. She looks as though she’s lost in a memory so I give her time to continue her answer. “My mom didn’t want me hanging out with local kids, and besides that, we moved around so much, I didn’t really have any friends to hang out with. It was somewhat better when I was at college.”

  “Only somewhat?” I’m trying to keep my reactions neutral but it’s a struggle. All I know is I want her to keep talking.

  “It was quite the adjustment going from a sheltered kid to an adult with freedom. Plus, my social skills were lacking, to say the least. I’m a quick learner, though, and I did the best I could. Now, here we are.”

  Her cheeks are flaming red and she still won’t look me in the eye, so I reach out and grab her hand. I watch as her eyes close, realizing how truly difficult this must be for her, and my heart aches. I give her hand a squeeze and whisper, “For what it’s worth, I think you’re amazing.” Her eyes close tighter and her chin wobbles, so I try another tactic because the last thing I want is for her to cry.

  “When I was a freshman in high school, we had to wrestle in PE class. One day, I had to wrestle a girl, which was fine by me, until she accidentally slipped her hand up my shorts and grabbed my balls. I guess you could call it my first hand job, only it wasn’t as enjoyable as I would’ve hoped.”

  Frankie lets out a loud snort before covering her mouth. “That really happened?”

  Placing my hand over my heart, I answer. “I swear it did. A couple of years later, I took that same girl to the Homecoming dance. I was very pleased to learn her technique had improved immensely.”

  “Oh, my gosh. You’re terrible, you know that?” Frankie wipes at her eyes, but I’m relieved the tears are from laughing and not crying.

  After a fantastic meal and even better company, I reluctantly drive Frankie to her house and turn the truck off. I don’t expect her to invite me inside her place. We’re still moving slow, and that’s okay.

  “You really didn’t have to drive me home,” she says quietly before turning her gaze to me.

  She’s right, I didn’t, but I wanted to make sure she made it home safely. And more than that, I wanted more time with her. “I wanted to,” I tell her. A bonus to driving Frankie home tonight is getting the privilege of taking her back in the morning.

  “Thank you for tonight, Gunnar. I really had a great time.” She unbuckles her seatbelt and turns her body sideways to face me. “It was the best first real date I’ve ever had.” Her smile is blinding and I return it with my own. A few weeks ago, I would’ve never thought she’d give me a smile like that, but now that she has, I want more. More smiles, more expressions. I want to know her moods and what she’s thinking simply by the look she gives me.

  “The date isn’t technically over, you know. I believe there’s a kiss that needs to happen.”

  “Oh, so I’m obligated to kiss you just because you bought me dinner?”

  “Certainly not,” I answer. “But I am hoping you’ll allow me to show you how much I enjoyed our date by letting me kiss you.”

  She bites down on her lip to keep from smiling as she pretends to think about my offer. Finally, she gives me a sly grin and says, “I guess that’d be alright.”

  I don’t give her a chance to change her mind—not that I think she would. I reach for her, one arm sliding around her waist while the other hand cups her jaw and pulls her mouth to mine. There’s no testing boundaries like at the farmer’s market; there’s only intense, passionate kissing and I can’t get enough.

  It’s as if a switch has been flipped within Frankie.

  If she’s this wild while making out in a truck, I can’t wait to find out how she is in bed.

  She pushes my shoulders back and moves to straddle my lap. I grab for the lever at the side of my seat, pulling it to move the seat as far back as it can go to give us more room. Once that’s done, Frankie settles on top of me and holy fuck . . . I can feel the warmth between her legs wrap around my throbbing cock and we still have our freaking clothes on. By the way her eyes are glazing over, it’s obvious she feels it too. When my dick involuntarily twitches, she gasps.

  This feels like the night I lost my virginity—all the newness and excitement, the fear of blowing a load in my jeans before anything important happens. But it also feels like so much more than that. I’m as turned on as I’ve ever been in my life but all I care about is how Frankie feels, what she’s thinking.

  “Can I take your hair down?” she asks, catching me off guard.

  I huff out a laugh. “Honey, you can do anything you want to me.”

  She carefully pulls the rubber band out of my hair before slipping her fingers through the strands. “I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” she admits.

  The initial urgency of our make-out session has faded, leaving behind a charged energy that’s more controlled but every bit as intense as before. I have to kiss her. So, I do.

  Frankie immediately accepts my tongue in her mouth and groans her pleasure when our tongues touch. Eventually, my need to taste her skin overtakes me and I take my time nipping, licking, and sucking my way across her jaw and down the column of her throat. When I reach her collar bone, my hands tighten around her ass and rock her against my length.

  “God, Frankie, I want you so bad,” I murmur against her earlobe, just before I suck it into my mouth. She sighs contentedly so I continue sucking on her lobe as my hand travels to where her shirt is raised just a bit. It’s just enough to entice me with her soft, pale skin.

  Remember that switch I mentioned earlier? Well, it just flipped again—but this time, in the opposite direction. Frankie’s body freezes and she’s no longer soft and pliable in my arms. She’s rigid and tense and I fear I’ve done something really wrong. I just don’t know what.

  “I have to go,” she spits out.

  “O—okay,” I stammer, trying to keep up with her shift in moods. “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

  I watch, helpless and confused, as she climbs back to her seat, straightening her clothes and taming her hair.

  My mind is racing with explanations, but I can’t wrap my brain around any of them. Did I cross a line? Do something she’s not comfortable with?

  When she wipes her mouth, I feel my stomach drop. It’s bad enough she won’t talk or even look at me, but to see her wipe away all evidence of us—me—it feels like I’ve been kicked in the gut.

  No, worse. It feels like I’ve been kicked in the heart.

  “Frankie?” I ask tentatively. “What’s wrong?”

  She shakes her head as she opens the car door. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I have to go.”

  Chapter 15

  Gunnar

  Punching the bag, I let the sweat drip down my face and relish in the burn of my muscles. I need this. I need an outlet for the frustration that’s been building, especially after last night.

  Frankie and I had the best date ever. Dinner was awesome. We talked. She started to open up. That amazing chemistry between us was at an all-time high,
and when I finally felt like we were finally on the same page . . . wham. Door shut. Walls up.

  She just shut me out.

  “Whoa,” Cage says, walking down the stairs into the studio. “Save that kind of energy for the ring, little bro.”

  Pausing my assault on the bag, the same one that brought Frankie into my life, I wipe my forehead with the back of my arm and take some deep, cleansing breaths.

  “What’s up?” he asks, his brows furrowing as he takes me in.

  Shaking my head, I catch my breath and let the sweat continue to drip.

  “Something is,” he continues. “Spill it.”

  Sometimes, I hate how well he knows me. It doesn’t leave much room for privacy. Having four brothers of varying ages and me being the baby has meant I’ve lived my life in the open, never getting to keep much of my thoughts to myself. I’ve been pretty tight-lipped about Frankie, not giving away much information except for what little everyone else in town seems to know about her. The rest of it has felt private, like something she’s entrusted me with. I refuse to betray what little trust she’s given me.

  “It’s about the girl, huh?” Cage presses. “Frankie?”

  Fuck.

  I hate it, and yet, somehow, I love it too. Because I’m out of my league here and I need some advice. Cage has always been my sounding board, the person I can go to, regardless of the situation. Except for relationships; I’ve never needed him in this arena. For one, Cage was never the relationship type until Tempest. And I’ve never been much of one myself, until Frankie.

  Two peas in a fucking pod.

  “She just keeps shutting me out,” I finally breathe out, hands on my knees. “Every time I think we’re making progress, she brings these fucking walls up that are so thick, I can’t see through them or over them . . . nothing. And last night, things were, well—”

  “Heating up,” he supplies, quirking an eyebrow, insinuating far more than what actually happened.

  “Yeah,” I say, shaking my head, because I have no desire to tell him details about that. I definitely don’t need advice in that area. Not to be cocky or anything, but I know exactly what to do with my dick when given the chance. It’s the rest of it that has my mind muddled. “But she threw the fucking brakes on so fast I got whiplash. One minute, everything is fine. The next, she’s walking away and I’m left scratching my head, wondering what the hell happened.”

  “With blue balls to boot.”

  Rolling my eyes, I huff. “Yeah, okay, fine, the bluest of blue balls, but that’s not my biggest concern.”

  That title goes to Frankie Reeves.

  What the fuck is going on with her, or happened to her, that she’s so unwilling to let me in?

  “You should just cut your losses, man. Walk away.”

  This makes me jerk around and look at him like he’s lost his damn mind, but that doesn’t stop Cage. He keeps rattling off bullshit.

  “I’ve known girls like Frankie Reeves and they’re more trouble than they’re worth. If she was into you, you’d know by now. Maybe she’s stringing you along for the fun of it. You know, there are chicks out there who get a kick out of shit like that. Like this one girl I hooked up with for a while back home—one day, she’d act like I was her favorite person. The next day, she would pretend like she wasn’t interested. Come to find out, she was playing fucking games. She’d been burned so much, leading men on was her way to get revenge.”

  He says that last part with air quotes and I feel a fire ignite in my stomach. Frankie is nothing like that. I know people. I read people. And no matter how she acted last night—or any time before that—one thing I know for sure is Frankie isn’t out to hurt me. If anything, she’s trying to keep herself from being hurt . . . and maybe me too.

  “Cut your losses,” he reiterates. “You don’t need that kind of distraction in your life right now.”

  The fury must be written all over my face as we lock eyes. Cage lets his words simmer and I try not to lose my shit. The protector in me wants to pound his face in for even speaking about Frankie like that. I want to rage. He doesn’t know her. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. But then I see the shift in his demeanor, the slight change of features—going from stern to understanding.

  He recognizes something in me, like a reflection in a mirror.

  “Unless . . .” he starts, pausing. “Unless there’s something more there. Then I’d say fight for what you want. But don’t let her come between you and the progress we’re making here. If this is still what you want . . .”

  If this is still what I want.

  It is, right?

  I want this.

  It’s all I’ve ever wanted, what brought me to Green Valley.

  But now, I want something else too—Frankie Reeves. She’s worked her way under my skin and into every fiber of my being.

  “A piece of advice,” Cage says, letting me think and not asking me for anything. That’s my big brother. “She might need you to put it all out on the line for her. Some people need that. They need to know if they fall, someone will be there to catch them.”

  I can’t let things end like this, not without putting it all out on the table first.

  Thankfully, since I drove Frankie home last night and then picked her up this morning to take her back to Maryville, I now know where she lives. So, after my training session is over, I run upstairs and shower and throw on an old pair of jeans and an Erickson MMA t-shirt. It’s old, and a little small, but since it’s been washed a million times and stuck with me through high school and college, it’s my favorite. I always find myself wearing it when I need a little comfort.

  Yes, even big, tough MMA fighters need comfort from time to time.

  This is one of those times.

  Shoving my wallet in my back pocket, I grab my phone and head down the stairs. It’s not until I’m in the truck that I realize it’s still relatively early and I have no clue how long Frankie stays with her mom on Thursdays.

  To buy myself a little more time and keep my mind from going off-course, I stop by Daisy’s Nut House for some donuts. It never hurts to come bearing gifts; anything to help break the ice around Frankie’s heart.

  When I pull up in the parking lot, I see a few bikes parked side by side and I immediately get a rush of adrenaline and my head feels a little lighter, like it does before a fight. Brushing my hair back, I grab a rubber band from my pocket and tie it back. It’s a nervous habit and probably why I don’t cut too much off.

  These could be any bikes . . . any bikers. But thanks to my conversation with Cole and what little I now know about the Iron Wraiths, I’m on edge.

  Walking into the diner, I let my eyes roam until they land on a table full of guys in leather. I don’t recognize any of them from the night they had Frankie cornered in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot, but that doesn’t mean anything. It was dark and I was more focused on her than them.

  An unfamiliar face is at the counter when I place my order, but that’s probably because I’ve never been in here at this time of day. “Four jelly-filled donuts, if you’ve still got some.”

  “You’re in luck,” the girl says. “We normally don’t, but it was an unusually slow morning.”

  She grins at me as she goes to grab my donuts and I offer a polite smile in return, but then quickly focus my attention back to the table of bikers. When one turns in my direction, I don’t avert my gaze. If he recognizes me, I want him to know I’m not scared of him.

  He squints and I can’t tell if he has trouble seeing or if it’s supposed to warn me off. Whatever is the case, I still don’t look away.

  A few seconds later, he turns back to the other two sitting at the table with him and they begin to discuss something quietly, but never look back at me.

  “Four jelly-filled donuts,” the chipper girl says, handing me a bag.

  “Thanks,” I say, pulling out cash to pay.

  She catches my line of sight and looks over her shoulder. “Don’t worry a
bout those guys. They’re pretty harmless.”

  “You know them?”

  Shrugging, she says, “Everyone does, but I don’t let them get to me.”

  “Iron Wraiths?” I ask. Her eyebrows shoot up.

  “Yeah, but I like to pretend they’re just regular ol’ nobodies.”

  Smirking, I nod. “Good thinking.”

  Regular ol’ nobodies who have something to do with my girl. Yeah, my girl. Frankie is mine until she point-blank tells me to go jump off a cliff. I know there is something between us. I can feel it. I can read between her lines. I’m starting to learn her nuances and I want to know more. I want to know everything, including what those fuckers have to do with her, what they want with her.

  Giving them one last scathing look, I turn back to the girl. “Thanks,” I say, holding up the bag and not missing the way she looks at me and then back to the table of bikers. There’s a warning in her glance that says, “Don’t poke those bears.”

  I’m not planning on it, but I also want them to know there’s someone new in Frankie’s life and he’s not going anywhere. Not yet, anyway.

  When I pull into Frankie’s drive, her car isn’t there. Taking out one of the jelly-filled donuts, I eat my feelings while I wait.

  It’s over an hour before I see her Mustang turn at the corner and then move slowly up to her drive. If her approach is any indication, she’s not happy to see me here.

  Reluctant, at best.

  Stepping out of the truck, I shut the door behind me and wait for her to get out of her car. She takes her time and that’s fine. I’m willing to take this as slow as she wants, as long as she allows me to stay.

  When she finally gets out of her car, she walks around the front and mimics my stance, similar to that night in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot: arms crossed, back against her car. We both sigh, but neither speak for a few moments. It’s not awkward, and for that I’m thankful. It’s just quiet, thoughtful.