by Lane Hart
“You’ve got three seconds to tell me what the fuck you want before I bloody your fancy little suit, Strawberry Shortcake.”
“Better, but I’m not exactly short.” He holds out his arms to the side, showing off his gigantic wingspan. “I do taste delicious, though, so I’ll accept it.”
Wait. Is he flirting with me?
“What the fuck do you want?” I ask him again.
“Nothing. I just happen to be blessed with the natural talent of picking out all of the closeted assholes wherever I go.”
Jesus Christ, did he just call me out?
“And just so you know,” he says when he takes a step closer to me so that I’m hit with a whiff of his fruity cologne and the hot cinnamon flavor of his gum. “Unlike you, the guy with the beard you’ve been staring at all afternoon is one hundred percent straight and always will be.”
I can’t help my reaction. My hands slam into his chest as I shove him backward with the force of all my pent-up anger. I expect him to fall to his ass or at least stagger a little. The fucker barely moves! His chest is hard as a fucking slab of concrete.
“Luckily for you, biker boy, fighting is one of my favorite types of foreplay. Had to be since every jock in the closet had to fuck me up a few times before they would beg me to fuck them.”
My jaw falls open at his blatant admission of not only being with men but topping them. And there’s not even the least bit of shame. Some of my anger even fades. He may be an asshole, but he’s got one up on me since the only time I’ve ever been with a man is in my shower fantasies…
Does Rita know? Or Nolan? I start to ask him when we’re interrupted.
“Everything okay over here?” Hugo asks as he comes hurrying over with Reece behind him.
I take two quick steps backward to put more space between me and the dick.
“Yeah. Fine,” I answer. “Just warning Rita’s little brother to watch himself.”
“What you did to Nolan was un-fucking-forgivable,” Hugo growls at the prick.
“I know,” the asshole replies. “I was a stupid kid.”
“Yeah, you were,” Hugo agrees. “And we would kick your ass if it wasn’t Rita’s wedding day, so watch your back.”
The fucker laughs, actually laughs in Hugo’s face. And to be so big and strong, the last thing I expected was for it to come out sounding like a cute, tinkling giggle.
“Something funny?” Hugo grits out.
“Yeah, your buddy here just said nearly the exact same thing. I’ll let him fill you in on my response,” the jerk replies before he straightens his suit jacket and strolls away, still not looking the least bit intimidated.
“I really want to smash in his preppy, pretty-boy face,” Hugo grumbles.
“Pretty?” I repeat in surprise.
My best friend looks at me with his dark brow furrowed. “Put a wig on him, shave his face, and he looks exactly like Rita, right? Pretty.”
“Oh. Yeah. I guess so.” Good, so it’s not just me who thinks some men are attractive.
I can’t help but wonder if the ginger rolls out of bed looking that hot every morning?
Does he sleep in boxers or in the nude?
Nope. Don’t fucking care.
“What did he mean about you filling me in on his response?” Hugo asks.
“Nothing. He said he wouldn’t cause a problem,” I lie instead of telling him the truth about the other man enjoying fighting as foreplay.
Chapter Five
Cory
Yep, I definitely got under the biker boy’s skin. He’s been glaring at me from across the tent for the last half hour of the reception.
And I know that he hates himself a little more each and every single time I catch him staring my way.
He can tell himself he’s pissed at me all he wants, but deep down, we both know the truth.
If I had to guess, based on his temper, he’s never stepped foot out of the closet, no matter how much he wanted to. Nope, he’s been hiding for so long, he may never be able to leave the comfort of hiding in the dark alone.
Either that or he’ll get so pissed at me calling him out that he’ll come after me. He’s got one hell of a body, so I wouldn’t even mind taking a few punches until we get to the good stuff.
The first time a man picked a fight with me for being “fruity,” I was scared to fucking death. Sean was bigger than me when I was barely fifteen and hadn’t hit that final growth spurt yet. Not to mention I was a freshman, and he was a senior with a full-ride wrestling scholarship to Iowa.
He pinned me all right. I lost my virginity the hard way with no prep, just pain. Still, I knew it was what I wanted and wouldn’t have changed a thing at the time since I was so horny to be with another guy. While I liked fooling around with girls, they were a dime a dozen. But a hot, built male athlete who could throw me around? That was only a fantasy until Sean.
Now that I think back on it, I’m not certain that Sean even cared if I was bisexual at the time. I could’ve been straight for all he knew, and he still would’ve probably fucked me after he beat all the fight out of me. All I could do was lie there and let him have his way with me.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only thing he took without permission. Sean and a group of his friends went on a B&E spree in their neighborhood, and I ended up providing their temporary storage for the stolen goods while they looked for buyers.
Sean is the reason Nolan went to prison for me.
Not that Rita or her new husband know that or ever will.
Nolan’s friend still holds a lot of resentment. Enough to refuse to give in to what he’s been craving his whole life?
Maybe. Maybe not.
“Abel, man, go easy on the liquor,” I overhear the bearded biker say, snapping his attention off me for a few seconds.
Apparently, his name is Abel, and not only has he been pouring shot after shot down his throat, he’s also been flirting with the curly-haired bartender every time he goes up to the bar for a refill.
The girl is beautiful with stunning blue eyes, but if he gets drunk and goes home with her, then I’ll miss out on my chance to tempt him to the dark side.
Unlike women, who I wouldn’t touch when they’ve been drinking too much and can’t consent, when a closeted man gets wasted, it’s practically an open invitation, an excuse for him to do stupid shit, like let another man suck his cock and finger his asshole.
Fighting or getting shitfaced, that’s the two paths most bisexual or gay guys take to get to their man-on-man encounter with me.
The second time around, I make sure they stay sober enough to beg for what they want.
So, a few minutes later, when Abel heads to the men’s room, I follow him.
After all the drinks he’s been downing, I’m not surprised he had to take a piss. I waltz in and right up to the urinal next to his.
“Nice dick,” I say before I even sneak a glance while pulling my own out of my pants.
Abel stumbles back a step, his urine spray going wild either because he’s drunk or surprised.
“You!” Abel exclaims over the sounds of our simultaneous streams. “Get the fuck away from me before my nice dick and I beat your fucking ass!”
I can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes me. While I haven’t bottomed for anyone in a long damn time and don’t plan to ever again, I refuse to let the obvious joke slide, knowing it will piss him off even more. “Sounds good to me.”
I put my dick away, then turn my back on him. Still, I keep an eye on him in the mirrors, seeing if he’ll take a shot at me.
There’s no threat to worry about. In fact, Abel just stands there frozen. Finally, after I’m finished washing my hands and drying them, I hear the sound of his zipper going up.
We turn toward each other at the same time which is the first look I get at his face since the comment. His cheeks are flushed.
Holy shit. The big, bad biker is actually blushing! I bet that’s not something that happens very often. And
if he had never thought about being with a man, well, he wouldn’t be so damn embarrassed now.
“You know that’s not what I fucking meant!” he exclaims, unable to just let it go.
“That’s too bad, gummy bear. I could finally show you a good time.”
“You can’t show me shit! And gummy bear is by far the stupidest insult I’ve ever heard!”
“Well, too bad. It fits you.”
“No, it fucking doesn’t.”
“Yes, it does. You act all big and tough, but we both know that inside you’re just a little bit fruity…” I hold my finger and thumb up in front of his face an inch apart like the size of the sweet snack. Damn, I should’ve thrown that observation in there too.
The last comment finally makes his temper snap. Abel lunges at me, grabbing my lapels. I’m pretty sure he considers shoving me again before he remembers how badly that went last time. Thinking better of pushing an immovable object, he abruptly drops his hands.
“You and me. Parking lot. After Rita and Nolan leave.”
“To fight or fuck?” I ask him honestly.
“Fight! And if you tell your sister, I’ll tell her you like dick.”
“Fine,” I mutter since I’m not scared of taking a few punches. If that’s what he wants before he finally caves and asks for what he needs, then the pain will be worth it. “May want to lay off the booze, though. It wouldn’t be fair to lay you out when you’re too drunk to stand up.”
His jaw ticks, and I know that instead of heeding my advice, he’ll start drinking even harder for spite. Ah, reverse psychology is a very fine thing.
Chapter Six
Selina
“Back again so soon?” I ask the gorgeous biker with golden skin and beautiful dark green eyes. We’ve already exchanged names, so I know his is Abel. “Another Jack and Coke?”
He nods his closely shaved head that’s the same length and color as the dark brown scruff covering his jaw and sensual lips.
“Heavy on the Jack, and keep them coming all night, baby girl.”
“Sure thing,” I agree with a smile as I start pouring.
How I found myself bartending at Rita Collins’s wedding to a Savage King is pretty funny. And the timing couldn’t have been better.
If the woman running the catering company pays me in cash after the shift is over, I should have enough to afford a room in a crappy motel tonight. If not, then I guess I’ll be sleeping in the truck again.
After I followed the Savage King who left Rita’s address, he went to the clubhouse and then they all came here – for his wedding.
When I parked my truck in the hotel parking lot to keep my distance from where the bikers gathered over at the gardens, a woman pulled up in a catering van beside me – Seaside Catering Services. We both just so happened to get out of our vehicles at the same time. She took one look at my black jeans, black boots, and white tee, then said, “What part of white button-down shirts do people not understand? And it’s supposed to be black dress pants, not jeans, but I guess this will do. At least you’re half an hour early…”
“Huh?”
“You’re the bartender who answered the online ad, right?” Before I could say no, she snapped her fingers. “It’s your lucky day! I have an extra shirt with me. Since you’re a little smaller in the front, it should fit okay. Next time, though, bring your own damn shirt!”
“You’re catering that biker wedding over there?”
“Yes, and I need help setting up. I’ll pay you twenty an hour instead of fifteen if you’ll help me set up the tables and clean up afterward. I’m going to be a waitress short, so I need all the help I can get.”
“Twenty bucks an hour?” I repeated.
“And twenty extra at the end of the night if no one complains that your drinks taste like ass.”
I’ve mixed and poured so many drinks at the Rebel Henchmen’s bar that I’m practically a pro, able to handle anything from complicated girly drinks to angry, drunk assholes.
“Sounds great to me,” I agreed. “And, um, sorry about the outfit. I recently had to up and move, so I’m strapped.”
“I get it. We’ve all been there,” the woman replied. She walked around to the back of the van and opened the double doors. Climbing up inside, she came back out with a folded shirt that she offered to me. “Dry-clean and then wear it for next week’s event. Oh, and my name is Leigh. You’re Sarah, right?”
“Uh-huh.” Sarah, Selina, close enough. I’ll be anybody I have to be to make twenty bucks an hour slinging drinks.
And that is how I ended up here in the tent in the garden, surrounded by Savage Kings and Rita Collins, all of whom may have been responsible for killing Dubois and the Rebel Henchmen.
I have to admit that these bikers are a hell of a lot hotter than the much older, rounder Henchmen. Dubois was almost forty while the hottie in front of me, the biker who has been throwing back Jack and Cokes like it was his life’s mission, looks a few years away from thirty.
I pour him another drink and hand it to him. He throws it back in one gulp like a shot and then slams the glass on the portable bar. “Another.”
Since it’s an open bar, I do what he asked. “You gonna be able to get yourself home tonight in one piece, big guy?” I ask him.
With a cocky grin, he leans his forearms so heavily on the bar that I’m surprised the thing doesn’t tip over. “Probably not. How close is your place, baby girl?”
I smile at his pickup line, knowing from experience that based on the amount of alcohol he’s drinking, he won’t be hooking up with anything but a toilet bowl later tonight. Still, maybe if I get him drunk enough, I can ask him about the Rebel Henchmen and if the Savage Kings had any part in their demise.
“So? You gonna give me a ride, Selina?” he asks, heavy on the innuendo as he stares at my boobs or lack thereof.
“I have to stay and clean up after everyone leaves. You going to wait for me in the parking lot?” I ask.
Something about my comment has him sobering up fast and straightening from the bar. “Ah, yeah. Maybe I’ll see you then. If I’m lucky, I’ll be the one with a few busted knuckles. If I’m not, I’ll have a busted face.”
“Is that right?” I ask, even though I have no idea what the hell he’s talking about.
“Either way, we’ll go back to your place, and I’ll make you scream my name. That’s a promise.” He slaps his palm on the bar. “I’m a great fucking lay. Ask any woman in town.”
“I don’t doubt that one bit, Abel,” I assure him.
Honestly, he probably won’t even remember this conversation in ten minutes, much less a few hours when I get finished up. Too bad I desperately need the money, or I would take him up on his offer right now to try and get answers about Leroy and the Henchmen.
Chapter Seven
Abel
“Why does shit have to be so fucking complicated? Why can’t the people we love just love us back in the same way, the same amount? Is that too much to ask? It’s fucking wrong when it’s all one-sided,” I tell the tall woman while fondling her bare tit. Her nipple is rock hard under my fingers.
“Who the fuck you talking to, Abel?” a familiar deep voice asks from behind me.
“Hugo? That you, fucker?” I glance over my shoulder and see his dark form in the shadows. When the hell did it get dark? “Meet Dixie,” I say with a pat to the cold tit. “She’s my new friend.”
“She’s a statue, man. And if you don’t go a little easier on her tit, you might break it off.”
“She’s invincible,” I assure him as I tweak her nipple.
It sounds like Hugo sighs heavily. “You ready to head home? Nolan and Rita just left.”
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Let me call a cab or see if one of the other guys drove a car,” he says, and then there’s a glow as his cell phone screen lights up his bearded face. That’s right, there’s no way Hugo would let me ride on the back of his bike. Someone might get the wrong idea.
“Oh fuck.”
“What?” Hugo asks.
“I’ve got plans! Which way is the parking lot?”
“You’re right beside it if you slip through those hedges, man. But you’re not driving.”
“No, shit,” I respond with a chuckle. “I can barely walk! You think I want to total my bike and wrap myself around a pole? No fucking thank you.” I laugh again. “That made me sound like a stripper. Dancing on a pole. You’re not really going to find Felicity, are you?” I ask my best friend. “Can’t make a ho out of a housewife.”
“Pretty sure the saying is ‘can’t make a housewife out of a hoe.’”
“That’s what I said! Felicity is a big ole gold-digging hoe. She’ll take all your money, and then your dick will rot off!”
“Thanks for the concern, but my dick isn’t going to rot off. Besides, Reece already found her.”
“Motherfucker,” I huff as I slump down against Dixie’s stand. I think that means I owe someone money. Nolan, maybe? I bet someone a grand that Reece wouldn’t find her. I hate being wrong and losing a thousand dollars.
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“What?” I snap, certain I misheard him.
“Felicity supposedly lives up along the Virginia coast with her sister. I’m gonna ride up there tomorrow.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. Why now of all fucking times? It’s been years, man. Years! She’s probably OD’d by now.”
“That’s fucked-up to say, man. But I guess I’m going to find out,” Hugo replies.
He’s actually going to drive five or six hours to see a woman he ain’t seen in as many years. What the fuck is wrong with him? By now, the stripper is probably fat and ugly as fuck, living with a pimp. No, wait, that’s whores, not strippers, right?
Still, if Hugo is insisting on this mission, I’m sure as shit going with him. It’ll be sad but funny when he realizes the memory of the woman he fucked a few times with me is nothing compared to the real thing.
