Under Locke

by Mariana Zapata

  And Dex snickered. “You tellin’ me I’m an asshole?”

  “Grumpy with a side of extra grumpy.” Did that really just come out of my mouth?

  He shook his head, biting his bottom lip in a way that looked pensive. “Huh,” he paused like he was searching for words to explain his nature. “I have a temper.” Like I didn’t know that. “It’s hard for me to shake things off.”

  “Like what kind of things?” I asked though it wasn’t my place to. This was something I’d talked to yia-yia about multiple times. The inability of a person to let go of things that harmed or bothered them. Everyone was guilty of it. "I can keep a secret."

  I swear I think he laughed nervously. “Well, when do you want me to start, babe? The day I said that shit to you? My ma had rung me up and said that Pa had called.”

  Okay, it was safe to assume he wasn’t a fan of his dad. That I understood. Simply thinking of my dad had almost ruined my day in the past, too. Check. That was acceptable. “Okay.”

  “The day after that? I found out my property taxes were goin’ up—“

  “You get that pissed off about property taxes?” I asked him incredulously.

  “They went up a fuckin’ ton,” he explained like that would make perfect sense.

  "You were in a terrible mood, looking at me like I ruined one of your tattoos, all because your property taxes went up?"

  Dex had the decency to grunt. Decency only because tracing the root of his anger to taxes was so absolutely ridiculous it didn't need to get cemented into a fact. I hoped it would have been something better, more worthwhile. Like...finding out his girlfriend had cheated on him or something. That I could understand.

  “Then I'd found out that somebody was stealin' from the bar," he added in afterthought.

  "Someone was stealing from the bar riles you up that much?"

  Once again, he grunted.

  Oh boy.

  "The day after that, I got into an argument with Luther about him messin’ around with girls who aren't old enough to rent a damn car on their own, “ he prattled on until I blew a long breath out of my lips.

  The idea that I could and probably should keep my mouth shut was right there, telling me to not bother saying anything. I couldn’t do it though. It wasn't my place to give him advice or call him out on things he could fix. I had a whole list of things I should fix about myself but I'd never bothered picking it up to look it over.

  “Dex? I completely understand that you get pissed off about stuff, but I don’t think it’s worth you getting so mad. You can fight your property taxes, right?” He didn’t say anything. “You’re smart, you can figure out a way to find out who's stealing. And Luther sleeping with girls that young…”

  Was I going to say it? Yup.

  "It’s pretty friggin’… weird but they’re old enough to know what they’re doing. It’s consensual, and you think it’s going to stop him from doing it?” No answer again. “Probably not. So I don’t think you should waste your time away brooding or calling innocent people bitches and friggin' idiots in retaliation. And the receipts missing? That sucks but don't let it ruin your day. You're going to give yourself a heart condition by stressing out so much about things that don't matter. Trust me. It isn't worth it.”

  Silence. More silence. Triple silence.

  Dex fidgeted in his seat during all of this. Arranging then rearranging his butt position.

  Failing to bring up how right I was, he sighed. "I did have a few ideas on how to figure out who's been takin' money from the register..."

  An hour later, we were still talking over ideas.

  ~ * ~ *

  The three of us dragging our way across the hotel lobby was more than likely one of the most pitiful sights any possible observers would ever see. I probably resembled some sort of hybrid zombie raccoon with my rundown eyeliner and sleepy groans. I know without a doubt that Slim had a line of dry drool from the corner of his mouth down the side of his neck that Dex and I had silently agreed we wouldn’t tell him about. And Dex, carrying his backpack, my little duffel, and something that looked like a toolbox on absolutely no sleep, didn’t look like such hot stuff anymore either.

  Well, that was a lie. Dex, with his disarray of blue-black hair and dry, pink lips, still looked attractive. Just more like an attractive hobo with his wrinkled clothes rather than a stunning one.

  Slim had explained to me through several yawns and eye flutters that Pins usually reserved one hotel room that three people shared to keep the guys focused—on tattooing, I assumed. Not landing between two thighs. Two people got beds and someone tackled the sleeper sofa. As nice as Slim was, he hadn’t already said, “I’ll sleep on the pull-out,” so I wasn’t going to assume he would either. Sleep and hunger always brought out the worst in people and I totally got it. If I went too long without eating, everything annoyed me. Plus, he was actually tattooing when we got up. My job was just to stand there and say hi to strangers.

  “I’m gonna knock out,” Dex finally yawned from a couple steps behind me.

  I staggered, blinking back the fight of slumber. I’d already asked him about four times if he wanted me to help him carry stuff but each time he’d insist that he didn’t. And shoot, I wasn’t about to ask again.

  Instead, I yawned as well. “Me too.”

  Dex’s mouth was wide open, recovering from the nonstop trip that took us to the Hyatt closest to the convention center. The corners of his eyes wrinkled with another yawn, exhaling something that sounded like a groan. A two and a half hour drive in the middle of the night after a full work day would kill anyone.

  After the confessional slash strategy session we had back in the truck—which he finally mentioned belonged to Luther—we’d exchanged maybe twenty more words. Each and every single time consisted of me asking if he was fine, and Dex responding with an assured “Yeah.” One heart-to-heart was enough.

  The second that the door was unlocked and the hotel room was open, I beelined toward the couch the instant I was inside. It was almost six in the morning and we had to be up by ten and parked in front of the convention area to unload around eleven before setting up the booth.

  The idea of unpacking—even worse—the idea of even taking off my clothes to crawl onto the couch made me sleepier. I pulled the cushions off and threw them on the desk across the carpet before unbuckling my belt.

  "Ritz."

  My mind was completely focused on getting in that friggin' bed as quickly as I could, as I yanked the mattress out. "Yes?"

  "What are you doin', babe?" Dex asked.

  "Going to sleep," I said, shoving my pants down to my ankles. It was a blessing my shirt was so long it covered the most important piece of my anatomy.

  “What the hell?” was Slim’s lazily yawned question.

  I barely turned my head to look over my shoulder. Barely. My eyes were somehow managing to stay open but they were about to lose the battle. So I hardly managed the effort to see Slim standing at the foot of the bed the closest to me, holding the hem of his shirt in hands. Dex meanwhile, stood at the sink across from the bed, a hand braced around the edge of the sink, eyes on me through the reflection.

  I didn’t even have the decency to blush.

  “So sorry guys. I’m tired.” It was the truth. I was embarrassed that I’d just been an exhibitionist and yanked down my pants in front of two men that I didn’t think even knew my last name.

  "Get the bed, honey," Dex said.

  I waved him off. "You can have the bed. Just wake me up please,” I muttered, smiling in the general direction of where they’d been standing a moment before. “Goodnight, suckers.”

  Two "goodnights" wafted through the room. I closed my eyes and tried to go to sleep. As tired as I'd been the entire drive and walk to the room, I couldn't shut off my brain. The sound of the sink running, sheets rustling, and low murmurs kept me up. No matter how hard I tried to fall asleep, I couldn't. The light from the guys' half of the room was right smack on my face either
way I lay.

  At some point, the whispers and the running water stopped. The sheets shuffled once more, and I heard one sigh after the other before silence ensued. I tried to steady my breathing, and I still couldn't fall asleep.

  And then, I heard it.

  It started as a whisper, a hiss, a pssssssssst.

  And then it grew progressively louder before the smell hit me.

  But by that point, my stomach was hurting. Pure, pleasurable pain stabbed me right in the gut. And I started giggling like crazy. Crazy. Tears pooled in my eyes and I gasped.

  A deep growl of a laugh mixed with mine from the other side of the room. It was Dex. Dex!

  "Oh my God," I wheezed, smothering my mouth with my hand. "Did you crap your pants?"

  Another bout of grumbling laughter came over Dex that made me suck in a breath.

  My stomach hurt even more as I heard his wind-breaking in my imagination. The badass Dex Locke that Trip and Sonny had told me about so carefully, the one who probably beat a man for talking smack to him, was passing gas like he was on the verge of pooping his pants. And he laughed about it.

  "I thought you were sleepin'," he muttered before laughing even harder. The sound was even richer, more pure in the dark room.

  I pinched my nose to keep from laughing louder. It was only a miracle that Slim was a heavy sleeper and didn't wake up. "Holy moly, I want my own room."

  “Go to sleep,” his gruff voice barked at the end of a laugh.

  “Sleep?” I gagged so loud it was another miracle that Slim still hadn’t woken up. “How am I supposed to go to sleep after that?”

  Dex groaned. “Ritz.”

  My stomach hurt from how hard my muscles were cramping. “Your butt should be a weapon of mass destruction.”

  Dex chuckled low, rough and sugar sweet at the same time. “Get to bed.”

  I let out a long breath trying to control myself. It worked.

  For about half a second.

  And then I started laughing all over again, pulling the extra pillow over my face to muffle it. I really had no idea why I thought it was so funny. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been around Will the Farting Machine most of my life. His goal for the longest time had been to fart the alphabet. I mean, everyone passed gas. Everyone.

  But this was Dex. My smoking biker boss that wore black on a regular basis.

  I pulled the pillow away just long enough to hear him having another laughing fit as well.

  So I said what came to mind. “You’re funny.”

  Because he was, who would have known? My chest felt all loose and fun for the first time...in forever.

  It might have been because the dark took away the intimacy of my admission but whatever. It just came out of my mouth. “I can’t remember the last time I laughed so much.”

  “Me neither,” his low voice carried across the room right before I felt something hit my stomach. It was a pillow. He’d thrown a pillow at me. “Night, baby.”

  I rolled over and tossed my leg over my new pillow with a snort. “Night, Charlie.”

  I fell asleep with my cheeks hurting that night.

  ~ * ~ *

  “I don’t fuck my employees, man.”

  Shane shook his head, and then tilted it forward just a little. “Not even that one?”

  I was trying my best to pretend that I couldn’t hear them. Like I was so wrapped up in watching Slim transfer the fresh stencil onto the customer in the chair, that I was able to zone out my boss and his friend. But I couldn’t, and a huge part of me, the sadistic part, didn’t want to.

  For the last thirty minutes I’d been trying to ignore Dex and this Shane fella talk about who'd they’d seen up until that point at the convention. Up until Shane had shown up, I’d been having a good time with both of my coworkers. Dex had teased me about how I thought everything was cool while we’d walked around bringing the shop's things in.

  That’s right. Dex was teasing me. Apparently our middle of the night hysterical laughing session had been a transition in the Iris/Dex battle. Who would have known? I still felt a little uneasy and unsure but it wasn’t anything like before. I’d take it. I had told myself before I wasn’t going to be pissed off at him any more, and I was going to stick to my guns and go with this new attitude for however long it lasted.

  Because it wouldn’t last but I’d worry about that when the time came.

  We spent the morning making our way around like zombies trying to set up the booth before opening. The people, the colors, the designs, everything in our surroundings sucked me in with the back and forth trekking from the truck.

  The people and the piercings were beyond interesting. I'd seen one girl who had rows of piercings that lined up her back with streams of ribbon laced through that made it look like she was wearing a corset. Another man I’d seen setting up a table down the row from ours had tattoos all over his face. There was literally no inch of clear skin on his entire head except around his eyes. That was just the start, Slim had warned me.

  It was fun. Taking in all the unconventional people, imagining what kind of stories the tattoos on their bodies told. There was no doubt in my mind both Slim and Dex could sense my curiosity and excitement.

  We were having a really good time.

  Until Shane came in with his big, ringing words, retelling stories about how many girls he and Dex bagged every time he visited Shane's shop in Dallas. From the amount of time he'd spent with us, I figured his booth wasn't exactly busy. I’d stood up to grab Slim a new water bottle for rinsing, and that was when Shane noticed me. Leading to the question that made me wary. The same question that had me clocking in our wagon of friendly as a twelve hour truce.

  Well, it’d been fun while it lasted.

  I saw Dex cut me a glance out of my peripheral vision, though I’m not sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, before sighing out, “No.”

  Sheesh.

  “Especially not that one,” he added.

  Dick!

  The stab to my pride flared up my chest painfully.

  Screw him for not wanting to sleep with especially me. Dick face. It's not like I wanted someone like him to add to the nonexistent list of people I'd slept with in my life.

  I flicked my gaze over in their direction, catching Shane’s eyes on me, and forced a hard smile to my face. I wasn't a vain person. I was happy with myself and regardless of whether Dex thought my B cups were too small or whether my facial features weren't up to par. I had some pride. So I gritted my teeth, locked my gaze on Dex's throat and grabbed the bottled water I'd filled up hours before.

  Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick.

  "What's wrong with her?" the snooty little jerk asked.

  Was there something wrong with me? Besides my arm, which no one friggin' knew about, I didn't think there was anything wrong with me. I wasn't going to be on the cover of a magazine anytime soon—or ever—but I didn't look like I’d gone head to head with a surgeon’s scalpel and lost.

  "Nothin' besides the fact Sonny would rip your asshole outta your mouth if he saw you lookin' at her ass," Dex replied in a low laugh.

  There was a low groan. "That's Son's sis?"

  "The only one we know of."

  God, the thought that there could be another Curt Taylor offspring in the world made me want to vomit even more than the realization that Dex didn't find me at least attractive enough to stand up for me.

  Dickface.

  Shane made a humming noise. "So I can't try—"

  "Shut the fuck up, man," Dex groaned.

  "Dude. You can't tell me you haven't thought about hittin' that."

  Oh God. Was I mad or annoyed? I should feel insulted or pissed that I was being objectified, but strangely, I think I was more annoyed than anything else.

  Dex's answer only fueled the part of me that was pissed off. Completely overshadowing my annoyance. "Why would I?"

  And here I thought we were sort-of friends. Jerk. Slimy, moody, tiny balls. Weren't recluse spiders
common in Texas? Maybe I could—

  "I think we're talking too loud," Shane stated.

  There was a short pause before Dex stated evenly in the same volume, “Ritz.“

  I ignored him, focusing at the thought of finding a spider to bite his precious arm.

  Here was this man I thought was beautiful, nearly perfect on the outside, hotter than a light bulb that had been left on all day—a bit of a dick but whatever. And he didn’t even find me attractive enough to be polite when referring to my looks. Not even a little and it made my sternum burn.