Shotgun's (B)Ride (Men of Valor MC)

by Frankie Love

  3

  Shotgun

  As she tells me a little more about her grandmother, I do everything that I can to keep my eyes on the tattoo. I don’t want to fuck this up. But she’s so damn sexy it’s hard to keep my focus. Hell, I’ve never had a woman like her in my chair, and I wish the tattoo she chose was massive so I’d have her under me for hours on end.

  "...it’s just that she always said they were a new beginning, a fresh start," she explains to me. "And she said that they reminded her of me because they always bloom in spring, and, well, that’s my name."

  "That’s pretty damn sweet," I remark, as I trace out the stem of the tulip in bright green ink on her wrist. This might be her first time, but she’s picked one hell of a difficult place to get her first tattoo, and she’s taking it like a champ. To be honest, it turns me the fuck on – she looks like innocence but is acting brave as hell.

  In that sundress she’s wearing, and with the sunshine pouring through the window, I can practically make out her entire body – she's small, curvy, sexy as all hell, with that mess of blond hair around her shoulders and piercing green eyes that seem to cut right through me. We don’t get many girls in here, and the ones we do get are nothing like her. More leather than lace.

  "I always thought it was kind of a silly name," she replies, pulling a face. "I mean, why not go with Summer? That’s the best time of year, isn’t it?"

  "Not to me," I reply. "Spring all the way. New life, new starts..."

  "I guess you have a point," she agrees, and she smiles at me. Fuck, her smile is gorgeous – is she flirting with me, or does she just look that hot by accident? I turn my attention back down to the flower on her wrist. This is all going way too fast. I could slow it down, but I know that she probably has other shit to do today, doesn’t want to spend all of it sitting in a chair waiting for me to finish up what should be a quick piece.

  "I sure do," I reply, and she laughs.

  "Cocky, huh?”

  "Only when I’m right," I reply.

  She giggles. I like the sound of her laugh. That’s something that a guy could get used to, if he wasn’t careful, and I’m feeling the direct opposite of careful right now.

  This tulip? It’s like a sign. I’ve always been too sentimental for my own good, but there’s no way that I can deny the intensity of this coincidence. I know that this means something. A woman like her, with a smile like that, coming in and asking for a tulip the same morning that I saw all of mine bloom in my yard?

  Yeah, no way I’m going to let that slide. When you know, you fucking know.

  It doesn’t take long before I’m finished, and I reach over for some plastic wrap to cover her arm. Her wrist and her fingers are so delicate, and when I touch her, I move as carefully as possible. I don’t want to break her. She’s too precious for that.

  "I love it," she murmurs, looking down at the picture on her arm. I’m not the biggest believer in my work, but this is one of my favorite pieces. Or maybe it’s just that I’ve got the best possible canvas to show it off on. I lean forward to seal the plastic around her wrist, tucking it in to make sure that the ink’s not going to run, and I notice that her nipples are pressing against the fabric of her sundress.

  I try not to stare, but it’s hard when all I want to do is tease the fabric lower, lean down and take them into my mouth, hear her little gasp of desire when she feels my teeth on them.

  "It’s perfect, really," she remarks, and I don’t pull away quite yet. We are so close to each other that I could have just shifted forward and planted my mouth against hers. Her eyes flick to mine, and it’s almost as though she is daring me to do it.

  "So are you," I reply, before I can think about what I am saying to her. Her eyes widen.

  "What?" she whispers, as though she thinks I might be making a joke at her expense.

  "You’re perfect," I tell her, and I mean it. She stares at me. I am not going to pass up this chance. I know that a girl like this won’t be going out of her way to walk back in here anytime soon, and there isn’t a chance in hell I’m going to miss out on her.

  "Come out with me," I continue.

  "With you?” she gasps. My hand is still on her wrist – I trace my fingers over her arm, and I can see the way that she shivers at my touch. She might not be willing to admit it, but she feels everything that is happening between us just the same way that I do.

  "Midnight Oil," I reply. "Tonight. I’m taking you out."

  "I’ve never been there before," she protests, but there is a small smile spreading out over her face and I know that she is not going to turn me down.

  "I know," I reply. "Because I’d remember if you had been."

  She laughs again, her eyes shining with excitement, and then, finally, she nods.

  "Okay, you got me," she giggles. "It’s a date?”

  "It’s a date," I reply, and I lean back in my seat. And I know that whatever happens tonight, I'm not going to forget it anytime soon.

  4

  Spring

  I check myself out in the full-length mirror of my bedroom, twisting this way and that, and offer myself a smile. Yeah, I think I look pretty damn good, actually. Good enough to get away with spending a night with a man as hot as Shotgun, that’s for sure.

  Shotgun. That’s really his name. I have to stifle a grin as I think about how much it suits him. He’s straight to the point, honest, blunt. It’s what I like about him. Well, that, and the fact that he’s about as far removed as possible from anyone else I’ve ever met before in my life.

  I can already hear my dad and Todd chatting outside. Dad is leaving tonight for a work conference in Denver, and Todd is house sitting. Really, I know my dad wants him here to watch over me. Forgetting, once again, that I am a grown woman.

  I know the moment I walk outside the two of them will start to grill me on where the hell I’m off to – thank goodness I told Shotgun that I would meet him at the bar. I know that if a guy like that turned up at my dad’s house, he would flip his shit.

  But mainly I know he hates the idea of me getting involved with anyone that he doesn’t approve of. He’s had Todd Chadwick picked out for me for months now, ever since he graduated, playing for the same college football team that my dad did. Look, I get school loyalty and everything, but Todd is pretty much everything that I don’t want in a man. The thought of having to spend more than an awkward dinner with him is enough to make my head hurt.

  I know he’s the kind of guy that people would pick out for me. He’s a cop, I work at a daycare, we’re clean-cut and we make a lot of sense together. But there is no spark. No chemistry. No butterflies.

  But gosh, sometimes a girl wants a little more fun, you know? And something about the way that my tattoo artist touched me today made it impossible to deny how much I wanted him. He spoke to me like he could already tell that I needed him in my life, and who was I to deny it?

  I haven’t even shown my father the tattoo that I got today. Only downside of living in an apartment above his garage is that he still seems to think he has a say in what I do with my body. Not that I let him actually get the last word. If I did, I would already be married off to Todd, and that’s the last thing I want right now.

  I have picked out this little blue dress that cuts off mid-thigh, a thin white cardigan, and even gone out of my way to ditch my normal sandals and come up with something a little more glamorous in a pair of heels. I think I look nice, but as soon as I step out of the apartment and head downstairs to meet my cab, Todd and my father turn to look at me as though I am some sort of crazy woman.

  "Well, that’s hardly a dress," my father remarks.

  "You have a hot date tonight, Spring?" Todd asks. Why is it that he always sounds sweaty? How does a person go about doing that? I don’t know, and frankly, I don’t want to know.

  "I’m just going out with some of my friends," I reply. "That’s it."

  They both stand there and look at me for a moment longer, and I know that they are w
aiting for me to give them more of an explanation. I don’t owe them anything. Not a damn thing. Before they can ask any more questions, my car mercifully arrives.

  “Have a safe trip, Dad,” I say, giving him a hug and kiss on the cheek. “See you on Monday, right?”

  “Yes, sweetheart, and Todd will be here if you need anything,” he says.

  “Love you,” I say, not addressing his comment. Then I hop in the back before either of them can say anything to stop me.

  I give the driver the address, and he shoots me a strange look – he probably doesn’t take many people to that side of town from this one, that’s for sure, but I am not going to let that stop me. I grin as I look out of the window, feeling that prickling in my wrist where my tattoo is still healing. Or maybe I am just remembering the way that Shotgun’s fingers felt against my skin.

  The Midnight Oil is the kind of club that you end up at, not the one you start with. But when I get there, and I see him waiting outside to greet me, I know that I am in the right place. He offers me a hand to help me get out of the cab.

  "I’d prefer to pick you up next time," he tells me. His warm skin on mine is enough to make it hard to think straight.

  "It’s easiest this way," I reply, and he offers me his arm – I take it, sliding my hands around it, feeling the strength of him and wondering just how much more of this I will be able to take before I just have to throw myself at him bodily.

  "So, you come here a lot?" I ask, and he nods as he pushes open the door for me.

  "Whenever I get the chance."

  "Surprised you did such a good job with my tattoo, then," I tease lightly, and he laughs. I like the sound of his laugh, and I know at once that I am going to do everything that I can to hear as much of it as possible over the course of this night.

  Inside, everyone seems to know him. As in, everyone. The bartender grins at him, waves him over to the bar, hands him a beer before he’s even sat down – his arm slides around my waist as he introduces me, and it’s like he has always known how to touch me like that.

  “Nova,” he tells the bartender, “this is Spring, look out for her, will you?”

  Nova nods. “You got it, and I’ll spread the word.”

  There is a sense of camaraderie here I wasn’t expecting, and it helps me relax. This is a biker bar, but the people here seem like they have one another’s backs.

  Shotgun takes my hand, leading me through the crowded bar. I can smell his scent again, leather and pine, and it takes everything I have not to nuzzle into him to steal a little more of a hint of it.

  By the time that we make it to the table, it seems like we have been stopped by almost everyone here – and my drinks are on the house, apparently, since I’m a first-timer.

  I take a sip of my drink, trying not to grimace.

  "You don’t drink much, do you?" he asks me playfully.

  "How can you tell?” I ask.

  "Just something about the way you drink," he remarks.

  "Must be the daycare teacher in me," I admit.

  "I wouldn’t have had you pegged for that."

  "Not even the paint stains on my dress when I came in today gave me away?”

  "I guess I wasn’t looking at those," he replies, leaning a little closer. I feel a heat burning in my belly, and I see his eyes drift down to my lips. Even though I’ve only had a single sip of my drink, I am starting to feel a little tipsy. Something about the way he looks at me makes it hard to think of anything else.

  "Guess not. Can you give me a second?" I ask him. I can already feel the heat starting to grow inside of me, and I know that I need a break before I do something that I can’t take back. He nods to the restrooms, and I can feel his eyes on me as I walk away. He doesn’t feel the need to pretend that he is anything other than totally into me. And, honestly, it feels pretty damn good.

  I make it to the restrooms, check my make-up; my cheeks are a little more flushed than they were when I arrived, but that’s to be expected. Another woman is in here, slicking on a dark red lipstick, and she smiles at me.

  "You’re with Shotgun, right?"

  "Yeah, I am," I reply. I eye her – is she his bit on the side or something? I don’t want any drama...

  "You be good to that boy," she remarks. "He’s one of the good ones."

  "I will," I promise her, and I can’t help but smile back. So, it’s not just me who gets a good feeling off of him. Clearly, he has the right kind of reputation around here, and that comes as something of a relief.

  By the time that I head back out to join him, some guy is leaning over the table to talk to him – he really is popular around here, huh? I slide back in beside him, and Shotgun drapes his arm over the back of the chair at once, like he’s staking a claim over me.

  "I ordered you a whisky sour," he tells me, pushing a drink across the table to me. I cock my head to the side.

  "And why’s that?"

  "Because I thought a straight whisky might be a little too much for you to handle," he teases lightly. I reach out to take the drink from him, my fingers grazing his for the briefest moment. The shock of electricity that passes between us makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Can he tell? Can he feel it, too? I have no idea.

  I take a sip of the drink. I already feel drunk on the way that he is looking at me. And I know that this night has only just begun. I don’t know where it’s going to take me – but I am sure as hell eager to find out.

  5

  Shotgun

  She slips her hand into mine as the two of us make our way out of the bar together. She’s leaning against me, the smell of her perfume filling my senses all over again. Maybe it’s the couple of drinks I’ve had, maybe it’s something else, but I am buzzing with excitement right now. I feel as though I can hardly be expected to keep my hands to myself.

  "Not much of a dancer, huh?” she remarks to me. The two of us had cut loose from the bar as soon as the band for the night had started. I grin.

  "Two left feet here," I reply. My fingers are interlocked with hers, and that’s all I can think about right now. Her touch, how good it feels to be near her.

  "Me too," she agrees. "I’ve never been able to dance. I just end up making a fool of myself."

  "I bet you’ve got some moves," I assure her, and she laughs.

  "I’ll have to show you sometime," she replies. "Maybe then you’ll get it."

  "I’d like to see it."

  She flashes me a smile. She’s flirting with me, and damn, it’s tempting to just pick right up on that and play along. But I don’t want to rush this. Don’t want to mess things up. When you get a girl like her, you might just have her for life if you play it right. And there’s no way that I’m going to mess this up.

  My place isn’t far from here, and she told me that she wanted to see the flowers that I’d told her about; she eyes the motorcycles outside the club as she passes them, and then glances at me.

  "You’re part of that group, aren’t you?” she asks. “The Men of Valor?”

  No point denying it. I nod. "Yeah, I am."

  "Why?” she asks bluntly.

  I shrug. "I was in the Marines, serving overseas," I reply. "It’s hard to come back from that and not feel like you’re missing something when you don’t have the same brotherhood around you that you did before. That’s what the Men of Valor are about. Giving each other purpose. A place where we can feel at home again."

  "You guys get into a lot of trouble?” she asks warily.

  I sigh. Crooked cops are constantly trying to paint us as bad guys, but honestly, I know that we do more good for this city than they ever could.

  "Not really," I reply.

  "I’ve heard some rough stuff about you guys," she remarks.

  I shake my head. "Rumors stir up all kinds of crazy shit," I reply. "You must know that, working with kids."

  "I guess so," she agrees, and I squeeze her hand. I want to tell her any way that I can that she has nothing to worry about, but I know b
etter than to just announce it. She needs me to show her. Not tell her. People don’t tend to buy into the idea that we’re better for this town than most of the fucking cops who run it, until they actually get to see what we do close up.

  Finally, we turn the corner onto my lawn – and she gasps when she sees the flowers blooming in front of her.

  "Those are the flowers...?” she murmurs, and I nod.

  "Tulips," I finish up. "Just like the one on your tattoo."

  "No wonder you drew it so well, you see them every day," she replies, shaking her head. "These are... these are really beautiful. You planted them?”

  "Every last one," I reply, and she gazes up at me.

  "Why tulips?" she asks me.

  "My nana’s favorite. Guess we’re both sentimental, huh?" I don’t come clean about this to many people – there's just something a little personal about telling the truth of everything that I went through with her, and sometimes, the reality of her loss is more than I can take.

  "She used to do a lot of gardening, and she always loved flowers," I explain. "Tulips were her very favorite. So I planted these bulbs to make sure I’d have something to remind me of her."

  "That’s so sweet," she breathes, and she reaches down to trail her delicate fingers over the blooming bud of one of the flowers below her. The way she touches it, like it’s the most precious thing in the world, it’s hard not to feel something for her. I might not believe in fate, but when I see her touch that bud, I know that this is meant to be. That it has always been meant to be.

  I slide my arm around her waist as she straightens back up, and her eyes meet mine – softer, gentler than before. I know what she wants, and I know that I want it, too. Brushing the back of my fingers over her cheek, I feel her body tense against mine, and it sends the most delicious lick of lust through me.