“Rosalie.”
I did not look at High.
I turned until I was looking in the kitchen window.
Carissa was there, at the sink, with Tyra.
They were both laughing at something.
Beyond them, Joker had his head back, taking a pull from his beer while Hop was throwing Travis in the air with Mom standing, looking on, clearly giggling up at a giggling Travis.
Millie moved through the space, opening a bag of chips, but stopped when she was met by Lanie, who had another child attached to her hip, and Millie did this so she could tickle and smile into the face of the baby on Lanie’s hip.
“Honey,” High murmured.
Slowly, I looked to High.
“Did you know my dad?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Before my time.”
“He was a good guy.”
“Didn’t know him, babe, but heard about him, and everything I heard says you tell it true.”
“I miss him right now.”
“Darlin’,” High whispered.
“He’d be doing the liquor run.”
I knew High had read my mood when he murmured, “C’m’ere.”
I didn’t want to go there. I didn’t want to accept what they were offering. I didn’t want to have it and know for certain how extraordinary it really was only to fear having it torn away.
But I went there.
High’s arms opened before I got there and they closed tight around me the instant I made it there.
Yes.
Just as I feared.
It was extraordinary.
Except for the tears I’d shed into the lining of Snap’s cut, I had not cried once since Bounty did their number on me.
And except for the tears I’d shared with Mom in the weeks that passed after we lost Dad, I had not cried for him either.
So when they tore loose while High held me to his warmth and strength in a courtyard of the pretty little house the man I’d inadvertently fallen in love with had given to me, they tore loose.
I sobbed in his arms, holding on to his leather with fingers clenched deep, and I did it for a long time.
Eventually, High shifted in a way I knew he was going to pass me off and I allowed myself to be passed off, thinking I’d be moving into my mother’s arms.
More of the scent of leather, but mingled now with the fresh marine notes of soap assailed me as Snapper’s arms wrapped around me.
“What?” he asked under his breath.
“Her pa,” High answered. “She misses him.”
“Right,” Snap muttered.
I then heard a door close and knew Snapper and I were alone.
I just kept crying.
After a while, Snap asked, “You want me to take you upstairs so we can lay down?”
He’d said “we.”
Man.
“Th-th-they bought me Sephora,” I spluttered.
“They bought you what?” he asked.
“S-s-sephora.”
“Sephora?”
I nodded, my cheek moving on leather but feeling the threads of the patches on his chest too.
“What’s Sephora?” he asked.
“Only the b-b-best s-s-store in the m-m-mall.”
There was a smile in his voice when he said, “See the old ladies took care of you.”
“I n-n-need Corona,” I told him.
“Good Tack’s back with that for you,” he replied.
He was back?
Jeez.
How long had I been crying?
“And t-tequila,” I added.
“How about you stop crying before you get yourself hammered? You can start bawling again after you’re hammered,” he suggested.
“M-maybe a good idea,” I mumbled into his chest, sniffling and pulling myself together.
Though in doing that, I will note, I did not move from his arms.
“I didn’t expect them to do the housewarming party thing, honey. But I’m thinking it’s not a bad idea,” he remarked.
“Mom loves parties and with Dad gone, she doesn’t get to socialize as much as she used to.”
“Okay.”
“She probably could use getting hammered as well,” I continued.
“Probably.”
“Did you meet her?” I asked.
“Yeah, she’s as pretty as you,” he answered.
I hated that I’d missed that.
And I was scared about how much I hated missing it.
I sniffled some more, realizing I was curled into his arms but not holding him. Both my arms were cocked in front of me, my knuckles under my ducked chin, all of this tucked tight to his chest.
It felt nice.
“You painted,” I murmured.
“Yeah.”
“Bought me a new bed.”
He didn’t reply to that.
I lifted my head only slightly, keeping my cheek pressed to his chest.
“Snap, you bought me a beautiful new bed.”
“I like room to move.”
That got my head lifted off his chest.
I looked into his eyes.
The snow was melty.
Very nice.
“We still haven’t had our conversation,” I pointed out.
“We’ll have it over dinner tomorrow. Tonight, we’re partying.”
I could make this deal so I nodded.
“Are you done crying?” he asked.
“I think so,” I answered.
“Wanna tell me why High and you were out here alone?” he asked.
“He wanted to claim responsibility for Bounty being assholes. I refused to let him. Tack remembered what kind of beer I drank. Then I lost it,” I answered.
His lips curled up. “Seems a plausible route to a crying jag.”
My back straightened. “It’s thoughtful to remember the kind of beer someone drinks.”
“Babe, I hate to shatter the image you got of Tack but a man remembers the kind of alcohol a woman likes for reasons that are really not thoughtful.”
“He’s got a woman. He’s got no need to liquor another one up.”
“Now he does that shit outta pure instinct.”
All of a sudden, I started giggling and I did it watching Snapper’s lips form a big smile.
God, he was handsome.
Being stupid, stupid Rosalie in the arms of handsome Snapper, I uncurled my fingers so I could press them to his chest, pressing myself there with them so I fit more perfectly in his arms.
And just to say, I fit pretty perfectly in his arms already.
Those arms closed snugger around me.
“The house is really amazing, Snap,” I told him.
“Minute I saw it, thought you’d like it.”
I blinked.
Then I stared.
After that, I started freaking again.
“When did you buy it?” I asked.
“Little over a year ago.”
“Snap,” I whispered.
“Babe, tomorrow night we can get into the heavy. Now we’re either gonna make out or go in and get drunk.”
I one hundred percent wanted to make out, and in that instant I didn’t think that made me stupid, stupid Rosalie at all.
I looked to his lips.
He started chuckling.
I looked to his eyes. “What’s funny?”
He dipped his face closer. “Baby, I like that, what you’re sayin’, but I was joking. I get my mouth on you I’ll want it all over you, and the housewarming party will last approximately two more minutes before I throw all their asses out.”
“That won’t help Mom have a night where she can let her hair down,” I noted.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
“But I wasn’t sure I was saying anything.”
“Man tells you he’s thinking of making out with you, you look at his mouth, means you want his tongue in your mouth.”
“My eyes were wandering,” I lied.
“Rosie, even be
fore shit started changing with us, you’d stare at my mouth and it wasn’t about your eyes wandering.”
This I did not find surprising he’d noticed.
He had a crazy-fabulous mouth.
“I’m currently experiencing significant amounts of emotional turmoil,” I explained.
“That isn’t lost on me.”
“And kinda have been for a while.”
“And that hasn’t been lost on me for a while.”
“In fact, I think I need about three months of mellow times before I make any more big life decisions.”
“That I can give you.”
I found that disappointing.
I also found my mouth asking, “Really?” before I could stop it.
“Trust me, you’re gonna find it impossible to be anything but mellow after I’m through with that body, and once I get it, I intend to spend as much time working it as I can.”
Oh man.
I shivered and in Snap’s arms it had nothing to do with standing outside in fifty-degree weather in February.
His brows rode low over his eyes. “You gonna stand here turning me on so I gotta hang out here to get my shit sorted or go in with you and have to adjust my crotch so they don’t see my cock is stiff?”
Against my volition, my belly swayed so I could test the validity of this statement.
This statement was valid.
Very nice.
A growly noise slid up his throat.
Crazy nice.
I melted deeper into his arms, running my hands inside his cut and over his pecs.
Also super nice.
“I see the answer to my question is yes,” he said.
What was I doing?
I halted the progress of my hands.
“I’m not intentionally turning you on,” I told him, and that was actually (kind of) true.
“Baby, watched you do your skip-jog to your car yesterday and stood on the steps to a cop shop fighting back a hard-on. Essentially you gotta breathe in my vicinity and I’m struggling with a boner.”
I started giggling again.
“She thinks it’s funny,” he murmured.
“Maybe we should go inside,” I suggested.
“Definitely you should go inside and get me a beer. I’ll be in when I can walk in the door and my dick isn’t entering the house before me.”
And more giggles.
“Get used to that,” he ordered.
“What?” I asked, still laughing.
“A time in your life where you’ll spend a lot of it laughing.”
Oh man.
I stopped laughing.
“Baby,” he whispered, “go get your man a beer.”
“You want Fat Tire, Coors, or Corona Light?”
His expression shifted like he was hiding something.
And what he was hiding was looking hurt.
“Fat Tire,” I said swiftly, having seen him drink that not only at the Compound when I was with Shy, but also order it at Colombo’s in the times he was not there to have cannoli and coffee but there to have pizza at the bar and I’d find times to break away and chat with him.
The veil drifted away and Snap was all good again.
It was in that moment I felt it imperative he knew.
So I told him.
“I was as into you as you were into me, Snapper. It was just all messed up then and it’s all messed up now.”
“Heavy shit tomorrow, honey,” he replied.
I nodded.
“Beer,” he reminded me.
I nodded again, started to pull at his arms but then stopped and rolled up on my toes to touch my lips to his before I pulled free and went in to get Snap’s beer.
The lip touch was about Sephora.
It was about Joe-joe-kah.
It was about the bed.
It was about Corona Light.
And also about tequila.
It was about the laughter.
And the tears.
It was about the house.
But oddly, most of all…
It was about the paint.
Chapter Five
Dawn
Rosalie
The sun was shining when my eyes opened.
So it was a sun-washed, tanned, defined, partially tatted male torso that my eyes hit the instant they opened.
I knew where I was.
I was in my new bed in the carriage house pressed down the side of Snapper.
And I knew why I was there.
I’d scratched the surface of precisely how extraordinary being a part of Chaos was.
But more, I’d dug deeper into just how extraordinary having Snapper in my life could be.
To say Carissa and Joker had filled my cupboards was an understatement. It was a wonder the kitchen didn’t sink down into the foundations a foot, it was groaning so much from food.
We made a dent in it eating chips and dip and sandwiches and drinking beer and wine, cosmos and tequila shooters (I just had beer).
It was all fine and dandy until (what it did not take very long to learn was) a hilarious woman named Elvira came over with her incredibly handsome fiancé Malik and then all hell broke loose when she and Mom talked the other women into playing quarters on my coffee table.
I decided to hang on the floor in the corner by the stairs with Snap and Joker, letting Travis and Nash (Lanie and Hop’s son) crawl all over us.
We got into tickle wars, fake wrestling, and generally being human jungle gyms while chatting. Or the men did this. Any time one of the little ones did something that might jar me, Snap snatched them up and let them crawl all over him.
It was sweet.
It was Snap.
And seeing how amazing he was with kids was doing a number on me.
While we sat and drank and played with the boys, we talked about Joker’s builds (he was young, younger than me, but he’d become the guy at Ride who designed and built their custom bikes and cars), Carissa’s plans to become a hair stylist, and going through properties on Snap’s phone that he was considering adding to his real estate empire.
It was then I learned that he didn’t just buy them. He bought them, fixed them up like the one we were in, then rented them undoubtedly at high rates in order to attract a certain tenant that wouldn’t give him shit or leave his places trashed and probably lined his world with cash.
He wasn’t trying to be a real estate mogul.
But as I listened to him talk casually to Joker about how he handled six properties, his work at Ride, and his work with the Club, like it was nothing, not to mention looking to add to his modest but growing dynasty, he just simply was.
A biker becoming a mogul.
It was impressive.
It was attractive.
And it was surprising, but listening to him, I realized it was another side of what was all just Snap.
The older men kicked back on my furniture surrounding the women who were on their asses or their knees around my coffee table as they proceeded to loudly and hilariously get smashed playing a game only college students were unwise enough to play.
In that time, listening to the talk, enjoying the laughter, I did this assessing my surroundings.
And I decided on a smaller dining room table so I could have another seating area on that side of the house, definitely a reading nook so that chair could be dragged in when I had company, and a portable crib that I could keep in the garage (this last I added when Travis passed out on Joker’s chest, and to my utter agony and profound delight, Nash did the same on Snap).
The women got shitfaced and loud, all but Carissa, who was surprisingly crazy-good at quarters.
Eventually their men peeled them off the floor as they declared undying love for each other, gave shit to their men for spoiling the fun, and made plans to get shitfaced again, and soon, all the while their men guided them into their coats, out the door, and then poured them in their trucks.
Except Joker and Carissa, who stayed, hanging wit
h Mom, Snap, and me, them cuddled on one side of my couch, curled around each other providing a human crib for Travis, Mom in my armchair, and me and Snap cuddled into the other side of my couch.
Yes, I said cuddled.
I wasn’t being stupid, stupid Rosalie.
I was being stupid, dreamer, happy Rosalie.
And stupid, dreamer, happy Rosalie was the “dreamer” and “happy” part of that because I saw that the night had just made my mom the “happy” part.
There was also, of course, the important addition of Snapper being a crazy-good cuddler.
Like we’d done it a million times before, with skills innate to males and females passed down from generation to generation, even if we were all together, the men talked and the women talked, holding entirely different conversations in the same space.
Mom and I learned Joker wasn’t Travis’s dad. He was Travis’s really awesome stepdad. They lived together, had Travis every other week, Carissa worked at LeLane’s, and they’d gone to high school together, been in love with each other then, but it wasn’t until relatively recently they hooked up.
She gave us more and Carissa learned a lot about Mom and me.
Through this, sipping Corona, I watched her with Joker, the ease they had with each other and with Travis, and I wondered if she knew about the shit storm that was swirling around the Chaos MC.
If she did, it didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest.
She had her man. She had her son. Her man loved her son and her son worshiped her man.
In the bubble of Carissa’s world, all was good and happy even if the bigger bubble of the Chaos world was in danger of exploding.
Along with this I came to realize that I really liked Carissa and Joker. I liked them all. I liked that there was food and booze and fun and loudness and laughter. I liked that no one pushed Snap and Joker and me to join in, they let us be quiet in the corner with the kids. I liked that there were kids and they were part of what was happening in a natural way. I liked that once some folks left, we got something different, mellow and comfortable and relaxed. I liked that Snap fit into all of this like he was born to it. And I liked that Snapper fit me (and Mom) into it like we’d been there for years.
Liking all of this, lulled by all of this, eventually I passed out on Snapper’s chest, still in the throes of nodding to try to stay awake as Mom and Carissa chatted.
Rough Ride: A Chaos Novella Page 10
