by Mika Lane
Gathering the jacket into her arms, she buried her face in it, letting her tears wet the leather. After a few healthy sobs she sniffled loudly, throwing the ruined thing to the corner of her room.
Buying the jacket was the first time Isabella had ever allowed herself to be extravagant. It had been a treat, a gift. Normally practical through and through, she saved the money she made at Devi’s, only parting with what was required to cover her living expenses and pay her younger sister’s college tuition. The rest was set aside and carefully invested for a rainy day to ensure the financial security she’d missed growing up. Who knew—maybe one day she’d want to open her own small business, drop everything to travel the world, or even settle down with a nice guy. There could be babies in her future. The point was to have choices. And money provided choices.
Like her beloved motorcycle, the jacket had been a sign of her resourcefulness and independence, especially after she and her sister had been shuttled to a different foster home nearly every year of their lives.
Was it ten schools in twelve years? Or twelve schools in ten years?
She didn’t want to remember.
The guilty but clueless dog sat at her feet, looking like the happiest creature in the world. Isabella stood. “C’mon, Taboo. You little shit.”
Hearing his jangling leash, his stumpy legs galloped full speed toward the door. His tail wagged at full throttle, tongue hanging from his panting mouth, as he followed her out and down the stairs for some exercise, fresh air, and a bathroom break. His human was home and taking him for a walk. In his happy little world, it didn’t get much better.
And in her crappy little world, it didn’t get much worse.
Walked and fed, Taboo snuggled into his blanket at the foot of Isabella’s bed. She wiped the last of the dog poop she’d picked up during their walk off her shoe and disgustedly threw the tissue in the toilet.
Why can’t people pick up after their animals?
Whatever. Time to go have some fun.
She changed her clothes and hustled down the street to get her usual barstool at her favorite hangout before the locals and tourists crowded in. The wreck of her expensive jacket still irritated the hell out of her, but she was working hard to ditch the bad mood. She’d been pissed off a good bit of the day and was in desperate need of a break.
As the door to Zeitgeist closed behind her, she looked around the infamous dive for a familiar face. It was full of beat up old picnic tables with attached benches, and the walls were covered in any kind of crap the patrons could think to pin up. Although indoor smoking had been outlawed in California for years, the space somehow always managed to reek of cigarettes while smelling vaguely of some strong and toxic cleaning fluid. Recognizing no one but a couple of neighborhood drunks, one asleep with his chin on his chest, she headed to the corner of the bar where she typically hung out.
“Isabella! Long time. What’ll you have?” asked the spike-haired bleached blonde named Silky, whose breasts were spilling out of a leather bustier stretched to its very breaking point.
“Hey there,” Isabella answered as she slid into her usual seat. “How about a pale ale?”
“Coming right up.” The bartender opened a cooler and returned with a frosty beer bottle. Setting it down in front of Isabella, she leaned across the bar, resting on her elbows. “You, my sweet thing, are not looking too happy.”
Isabella couldn’t help but be tickled by her favorite flirty lesbian. “You’re right, Silky,” she said. “I’ve had a shitty week. But my favorite bar is about to make it a whole lot better.”
“Okay, baby. If there’s anything I can do to help…” She reached to twirl one of Isabella’s wavy locks. Winking, she sashayed away.
The cold beer went down as a welcome distraction from Isabella’s IRS woes, and she swallowed it eagerly, hoping it would also help her forget about the ruined leather jacket and her incorrigible pet. Taboo had been a rescue dog. While enthusiastic and loving, he had never really caught on to the rules of the house. He seemed so…untrainable. She’d lost countless shoes and other items to his relentless chewing habit, but never anything as high dollar as today’s loss.
Why do I keep that little runt around?
But she knew why. She knew what it was like to not have a permanent home, to be shuttled from place to place, feeling unloved. No, she would never turn her back on him or subject him to that world. And what would she do without him, anyway? She loved the little jerk. And what would he do without her?
The bar’s change of scenery and bouncy 80’s rock loosened her tense muscles, and a gradual relaxation swept over her. The yummy brew cooled her overheated insides, and she smiled as the bartender focused her attention on another pretty patron who seemed more interested in her advances than Isabella had been. Grateful that the smelly, dive-y Zeitgeist was just a short walk from her place, Isabella came here whenever she needed to clear her head.
“Hey there,” a strange, deep voice said behind her.
She whipped around and her mouth dropped open as heat rose up and across her face. The beer bottle slipped from her hand but fortunately landed upright on the bar.
Holy shit.
It was Mr. P. The handsome, rugged, motorcycle-riding, Devi’s Bliss client, Mr. P. In Zeitgeist. In her neighborhood.
He was fairly recognizable with his clothes on, but he’d clearly been able to easily identify her in something other than her white cotton work kimono. Attire aside, there was no way Isabella could forget his weathered face, square chin, and crooked nose. His off-kilter good looks made her breathless, and left her heart pounding.
After the momentary shock passed, her face lit up.“Well hi, what a surprise. Mr. P, right here in Zeitgeist. Who knew?”
“Hey, you don’t have to call me that silly Mr. P name, you know.”
“Is that right? What would you rather be called then?” She gripped the edge of the bar so he wouldn’t see her hand quiver. Was she grinning like a complete idiot?
“How about my real name?”
“Sure. And what would that name be?” Remain calm, girl…
“You don’t know? Don’t they tell you when we make our appointments?” He helped himself to the barstool next to hers. “May I?”
Are you kidding?
“It’s all yours.” She took a sip of her beer in the hope that the cool liquid would calm her jitters. “All we get is the first initial of your last name. It’s to protect your privacy.”
“I see.” He studied her as if deciding whether to keep his name a secret, just to be a smartass.
“You don’t have to tell me. No pressure.” She shrugged and looked around the bar like she couldn’t care less. But in truth, she wanted to know everything about him.
“Hey,” the bartender said to Mr. P. “Nice to see you. What’ll you have?”
She knows him? Does she call him Mr. P, too?
“I’ll have what my friend here is having. And another for her, of course.”
“Two Sierras coming up.” The bartender walked away, glancing back over her shoulder. She rolled her eyes when Mr. P wasn’t looking, and Isabella stifled a laugh.
As she played with the condensation ring left by her beer bottle, her arm brushed against Mr. P’s. A jolt raced along her skin, igniting her nerves. What was he? An electric eel?
“It’s nice to see you again, and thank you for the beer.” She raised her bottle after Silky had served them, and they clicked theirs together.
“So, Miss Isabella, do you live nearby?”
“Yup. Just a few blocks away. Staggering distance.” She threw her waves of hair over one shoulder to cool the back of her sweaty neck. “And you?”
He gestured with his head. “No, no. I live over in SOMA.”
Well. South of Market. Spendy…
While he tilted his head back to take a gulp of his beer, she had a quick moment to run her gaze over him. Damn if he wasn’t even sexier with his clothes on—if that was possible—with his worn
jeans and faded black T-shirt that accentuated a deliciously flat belly. Isabella’s thoughts wandered back to when her hand had stroked him earlier that day…
Has he told his name yet?
“Whatcha looking at?” Mr. P asked with a grin.
Her attention snapped up to his face. His beautiful, weather-beaten face.
“Just checking out your belt buckle,” she lied. “It’s cool.” Time for a conversation redirect. “So what do you ride?”
“I’ve got a Harley.”
Isabella’s heart sank. Guys who rode screaming loud Harleys were attention-seeking douchebags. Yuck.
“Oh. That’s nice.”
“And you’ve got yourself a Yamaha FZ1.”
“Yes, I do.” She sipped her beer and tried not to gloat over her superior bike.
Take that.
“A girl who likes speed.” He leaned back on his stool, studying her. “That is hot.”
“You think?” Isabella asked, coincidentally feeling hotter by the moment. “You know what I think is hot?”
He looked at her with a question mark on his face. That goddamn handsome face.
“That tattoo on your arm. Is it a compass?” she asked, running her fingers over his ink.
He pulled his T-shirt sleeve up to expose a rock hard bicep. And the tattoo as well. “Yeah, it’s a compass rose with vines.”
“Very nice.” So very nice. He couldn’t hear her heart pounding, could he?
“And you? I like the feather on your wrist. Any other ink?” he asked.
“I’ve got a tree of life on this wrist.” She displayed her other arm. “And a lace tattoo between my shoulder blades. It was covered by my robe when we met earlier,” she teased. Maybe she’d show him later…
“I enjoyed my time with you this morning.” He looked at her intensely.
“I enjoyed it, too. It was the highlight of an otherwise rotten day.” She shook her head and laughed.
He knit his brows together. “What do you mean? What happened?”
She took a deep breath. “Well, for one, my darling little mutt, Taboo, chewed up my brand new leather jacket.” Her lips pressed together in an ironic smile. “It was a huge splurge. A gift to myself.”
“You’re kidding. He chewed right through the leather?”
“Yup, he certainly did.” She described the sorry state of her former favorite piece of clothing. A piece of clothing she’d never worn, not even once. And never would.
“And, I had to tangle with the IRS,” she continued.
“Oh that sucks. What’s up with you and the IRS?”
She contemplated changing the subject, but she was hungry for a sympathetic ear.
Might as well go for it.
“When I was married a few years ago, my husband ran up a huge tax bill. He disappeared, and now it’s my problem.” She skimmed through her sorry tale of doing her best to reduce the debt, and the bureaucratic nightmare that was the IRS. Her blood began to boil all over again as she relived the day’s frustration.
Calm down, dammit.
He swiveled in his barstool to face her. “You definitely did have a bad day. How ‘bout I get you another beer?” He waved at the bartender, who ignored him until Isabella flagged her over.
“She doesn’t like men,” Isabella explained. “And she’s had the hots for me since forever. But I will take just one more, thank you.”
“Hey, baby,” Silky said, leaning over the bar to get closer to Isabella, her cleavage threatening to pop out of its leather restraint. “What can I get you?”
She ran her tongue along her upper lip as she tested Isabella like a hunter looking for the right time to strike.
“Calm down, sweetie.” Isabella tittered. “I told you I don’t play for your team. But if I ever decided to switch, you’ll be the first I’ll call.”
“Bitch,” Silky said with a laugh, and quickly returned with two more beers that she set directly in front of Isabella. She grabbed Mr. P’s money off the bar without as much as a glance in his direction.
“Ah, she’s always like that,” he said, laughing and holding his bottle up for another toast. “Cheers. Here’s to bad dogs and the fucking IRS.”
“Cheers. I guess.” Isabella clinked her bottle against his again and laughed in spite of herself. The dark cloud hanging over her head seemed to be breaking up thanks in part to his sympathetic ear. And of course, his freaking hot good looks.
In the face of the man-hating bartender, they managed to consume another beer each, and Isabella marveled at her easy conversation with a guy who met her three main criteria—he rode, was intelligent, and made her panties wet.
The freaking pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
When he excused himself for the restroom, Silky headed right for Isabella. “You like that guy?” Her voice was low.
“Maybe. Do you know him?”
Why is she asking?
“Yeah. He comes in here once in awhile. You know I’m not a fan of the penis, but he seems like a good guy.” Silky didn’t approve of many men, even though at least fifty percent of her livelihood depended on them.
“Okay. I appreciate that. Thank you.” Isabella had to admit the seal of approval made her spirits jump.
“Anything for the apple of my eye.” Silky blew a kiss and walked away.
Isabella grabbed her purse and jacket and slipped off her stool. With Silky’s back to her, she glanced around to make sure no one else was paying attention. As a regular at Zeitgeist, she knew enough faces to say hello, but at this moment she didn’t need anyone in her business. Half-walking, half-running, she scooted past the end of the bar to the corridor leading to the restrooms, offices, and kitchen. Looking behind her, it seemed like she’d gotten away unnoticed. She heaved open the door to the men’s room, stepped inside, locked it behind her, and leaned back.
Mr. P turned from the sink, shaking his just-washed hands. “Whoa. Hi.”
Her purse fell to the floor and she moved her arms behind her back.
Am I making a total ass of myself…?
“What are you doing in the men’s room?” he asked, walking toward her with slow steps. Agonizingly slow steps.
She didn’t respond. Her lips pressed together, and she looked at the floor, heart racing. Embarrassed by her bold move, she couldn’t quite meet his eyes.
But with one more step, he was right in front of her. His breath whispered by her temple, but she kept her eyes down like a naughty schoolgirl. He bent to move into her gaze, but she avoided him by looking the other way.
“Isabella.” His finger hooked under her chin and he lifted her face to his. The jolt of electricity between them made her twitch.
Did he notice that?
“Isabella. Look at me.”
Their eyes met.
Thank god I’m leaning against this door.
His breath touched her lips, and she was emboldened. But he held back anything more. His gaze locked on hers and he leaned a large hand on either side of her, supporting himself against the door. One hand filled with her hair, and he pulled lightly, snapping her head back.
She sucked in her breath at the forceful move and found herself pinned, her neck exposed and vulnerable. Her lips parted and her nipples poked the fabric of her blouse. The heat emanating from Mr. P that had been tickling her lips now blew on her neck as his mouth closed in on her goosebumped flesh.
Oh god.
A sigh escaped Isabella’s throat. She pushed her hands against the wall behind her to keep her shaking knees from buckling, and her eyes fluttered closed. Mr. P’s light, torturous kisses began falling on her neck from her earlobe down to her collar. When he reached the hollow in the front of her neck, he moved to the other side. Her breath rasped, and she squirmed in panties that were quickly dampening.
“Mr. P…” she whispered.
“Butterfly…” he answered.
A zing of electricity shot through her body, straight to her core.
His lips found he
rs, drinking her taste, nibbling and caressing and exploring with painful attention. Then he suddenly stopped, lifting his head. She gasped at his absence and her eyes flew open.
“What—”
“Isabella, don’t you think we should get back to the bar? Someone might be waiting to use the bathroom.” He stepped back and titled his head thoughtfully.
Was that a smirk on his face?
“Um, yes. Of course.” She cleared her throat as if to cleanse herself of the ache that had nearly felled her right there on the sticky bathroom floor. But truthfully, the filth wouldn’t have bothered her. In fact, she might not even have noticed it, so entranced she was by the smooth confidence of this man.
She finger combed her hair with one hand and used the back of the other to rub the smudged lipstick off that had migrated from her lips.
“C’mon, Butterfly.” He took her hand and opened the bathroom door.
A patron leaned against the wall outside the men’s room, smiling when he spotted Isabella emerge closely behind Mr. P, who mumbled an apology for taking so long.
“No problem, man,” the guy said with a laugh as he closed the bathroom door.
Mr. P led her back to their bar stools where their beers were sweating in their bottles. Silky spotted them together and rolled her eyes.
“You okay?” he asked Isabella, grinning. “Cat got your tongue?”
Clearing her throat, she said, “Yeah, yes, I’m fine. Great really.” She took a swig of her beer, trying to pull the world’s best no big deal expression out of her ass. And she was great. Just a bit unfulfilled. But there’d be time to take care of that later.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you liked the way I kissed you.”
She nearly fell off her stool from the crazy twinge that grabbed her throbbing sex. Fucker. He had her pegged. So much for mystery.
And still no name.
When she finally turned from her beer, she looked around the bar, not ready to grant him her full attention. “It was okay.” She tilted her head back to finish, and set the bottle down with a thump. She shrugged, trying to hide a smile.
He laughed. “Funny girl.”
