by Lane Hart
But the bottom line is that Lucy and I are just friends, and I plan to keep it that way.
Probably.
No, definitely.
So what if I’ve been jerking off in the shower every night after she leaves? I’m a healthy man in my twenties. My libido is finally making its way back to normal, and it’s perfectly natural to think about the woman I spend most of my days with naked. Usually it starts with her in that little black bikini, and then I rip it off of her, but eventually she’s naked and under me. Or above me. Or on her knees in front of me. I think I’ve fantasized about fucking her every way possible in my new nightly ritual, which is a nice change from rehashing old memories of being with Ellie.
But in real life, I would never make the first move with Lucy. I can’t deny that if she were to straddle me on the sofa and pull my dick out, I doubt I would be strong enough to stop her from riding me. Which is ridiculous considering she’s light as a feather and about as aggressive as a butterfly. In the short time I’ve known her, I’ve figured out that Lucy’s just not the type of girl to pounce on a man, which means the two of us will remain strictly platonic. Unless I get her so drunk one night that she loses her inhibitions…
No. Hell no.
That would be really fucking wrong, and I feel guilty enough about a million other things I’ve done as it is.
At the top of that list would be my continued absence from the Dirty Aces. I miss the guys and worry about what fresh new hell they’ve gotten themselves into while I’ve been MIA. They’re all like brothers to me, the closest thing I’ve ever had to a real family.
I haven’t stepped foot in the pool hall, on the cruise boat, or in an Aces meeting in over four weeks. And so, when I get a group text from Malcolm calling everyone in this afternoon at six before the boat leaves the dock, I finally suck it up, put on my cut and get ready to join the group again.
“Oh, are you heading out?” Lucy asks in surprise from the sink where she’s washing up the dinner dishes, when she notices I’ve put my shoes on.
“Yep. Aces meeting,” I reply.
“Oh,” she says again, shoulders slouching. With that one word and her body language, I know she’s disappointed I’m leaving. I shouldn’t enjoy her obvious sadness due to my absence, but I do. “I’ll lock up when I leave,” she tells me, which now makes me unhappy for some peculiar reason.
“I shouldn’t be gone long if you want to stay,” I offer. “We can finish watching our show when I get back.”
“Okay, sure,” she agrees, flashing me a smile that makes my gut clench.
Am I leading Lucy on unintentionally? If so, it’s fucked up; but I’m too selfish to push her away.
I’m the last one to the table; and as soon as I take my seat, Malcolm bangs his gavel to bring the meeting to order. All of my boys were smiling and greeting my return, but quiet down immediately and turn their attention to our president.
“I ain’t going to take up much of your time, but I’ve got some important updates,” he begins. “Last time we got together, we discussed patching over two more clubs that have been friendly to us in the past. We’ve made some headway on that arrangement. I’ve been in contact with the boys, who were manufacturing the speed Harry Cox was putting out on the streets. We’re going to ‘facilitate’ a new distribution arrangement. These new chapters are going to take over sales of the drugs in a broader area than old Cox used to manage, and we’re going to oversee their progress. If they can show they know how to be profitable, we’ll patch them over. If not, we’ll pull the business and find other clubs who can better meet our needs. Anyone got any problems with that?”
Everyone at the table nods to him silently, with no one raising any objections.
“It keeps our hands pretty clean for now, while still providing a steady income. We get a cut of the sales, of course, which these charters will happily provide since we’re bringing them the business and taking them under our wing. I’ll keep you updated on how that works out as we progress.”
“Speaking of Cox’s business,” I ask as Malcolm pauses to take a sip of the whiskey glass he has at hand, “you heard anything about any blowback for taking him down? Or even worse, any investigations coming down?”
“Not a peep,” Malcolm answers, shaking his head after he empties his glass. “I’ve got several sets of ears to the ground, but so far, nothing. Harry Cox was not a well-loved member of society, so let’s keep our mouths fucking shut and our fingers crossed that we’ve heard the last of him.”
“I hear you. I’ve just been worried about what we did…” I start.
“What we had to do,” Devlin interrupts me. “Harry Cox brought hell down on his own fucking head; and if I have to, I’ll tell a jury the same thing. We did the world a goddamn favor burying that fat bastard.”
“You’re right,” I sigh in agreement with Dev. “I just hope that, if the authorities do make any connections, they see it the same way.”
“You worry too much,” Fiasco grunts.
“And you don’t think enough,” Wirth smirks from across the table.
“Enough!” Malcolm orders. “Unless you’ve got something important to add, this meeting is adjourned. You can go goose each other and play grab ass out in the pool hall, but I don’t want to hear your shit,” he says as he bangs his gavel to dismiss us.
Sighing, Malcolm says, “It is good to have your worry-wart ass back at the table.”
I get to my feet while everyone else rushes out the door in a hurry to get to wherever they need to be tonight.
“Glad to be back,” I tell him honestly.
My issues weren’t ever with the MC but with myself, trying to come to terms with the killing. I knew I was capable of ending a life if I had to; I just wasn’t prepared for how it fucked with my head afterward. The fact that I would do it again in the same circumstances means I made the right decision, even if it’s a fucked up one. Some things just have to be done; the consequences be damned.
“Where are you headed off to in a rush?” he asks when I start for the door.
“Home.”
“That’s it?” He narrows his eyes like he thinks there’s more to it.
“Yep.”
I take another step toward the door when Malcolm says, “How are things going with Lucy?”
“Fine.”
“She’s a handful. You haven’t run her peppy ass off yet?”
“Nope. You’re paying her to cook and clean. I would be stupid to get rid of her,” I tell him.
“Nothing else going on between you two?”
“Definitely not,” I reply, which is the truth. Coming in my hand while thinking about her doesn’t count. That’s just my incredibly horny and overactive imagination.
“Good,” Malcolm mutters. “Her life’s been hard enough without you leading her on and breaking her heart again.”
“What do you mean again?” I ask curiously. “She just get out of a relationship?”
“Yep.”
“How the hell do you know that? You two besties?” I snap at him, a little jealous that he knows more about her life than I do. Now that I think about it, she hasn’t told me anything about herself.
He raises his eyebrow at me in warning. “You think I wouldn’t run a background check on the girl before I gave her the key to your apartment? You know I have major fucking trust issues.”
“So? What did you find out?” I ask, going back over to brace my hands on the back of my chair.
Malcolm whistles as he leans back. “Whew. Where to start…”
“Just tell me, jackass!”
Chuckling, he says, “Fine. Lucy’s ex-boyfriend is getting ready to marry her, ah, cousin in a few weeks.”
“Damn. That’s fucked up,” I mutter, feeling terrible for the cute, quirky girl. I can definitely commiserate with her heartache. “Hold on. That’s the wedding she’s talking about going to?” I ask in surprise.
“She’s going, huh?” Malcolm asks. “That’s fucking insan
e. Why would she torture herself like that?”
“Her mom called the other night and pretty much demanded she attend. No wonder she wouldn’t want to go watch the man she used to care about marry another woman.”
“That cousin is a real piece of work,” he sneers as if she’s personally offended him too.
“Is it a shotgun wedding? Did they just break up pretty recently? How do you know all of this?”
“Apparently it was a big scandal in their hometown and all over social media. People talk about that shit. And as far as I know, it was recent, which is probably why Lucy moved out here, to get away from the bullshit.”
“Yeah, that makes sense,” I agree.
“You really haven’t fucked her yet?” Malcolm asks bluntly, catching me off-guard at the sudden change in direction of our conversation.
“No,” I respond a little too quickly.
“Admit it. You’ve at least thought about it, haven’t you?”
“God, no.” That answer came out more adamantly than I intended, making me sound like the liar I am. Which is why I add, “She’s not really my type, and she’s too young for me.”
“There’s barely four years age difference,” Malcolm points out. “Not that I’m advocating that you should screw her or anything. If you need a quick fuck, do it with a club slut or someone who won’t expect you to propose to her before the cum dries. Lucy’s a good girl, but she’s wife material. I doubt you’ll ever fucking want to say vows again.”
“That’s true,” I admit after getting burnt by Ellie. And Malcolm’s right — Lucy is the type of girl who is looking for a man to marry, not fuck on the side. Sleeping with her would give her the wrong idea about us, no matter how good it may feel. Oh, and I bet it would feel so fucking good…
Goddamn it.
I have got to stop thinking about her naked.
And since porn won’t break my heart or abandon me, it’s the only option I have left to try and get her out of my head.
Chapter Eleven
Lucy
* * *
I did a bad, bad thing.
While Nash was at his meeting, I got bored and nosy, so I went on his laptop, looking up his search and website history. Mostly his browsing was for motorcycle parts, video games, the dead guys’ obits, and other normal guy stuff. Still, I installed some software on his laptop that will allow me to remotely access his computer from my apartment. I convinced myself that I will only use it to make sure he’s not buying any guns or research other ways to hurt himself. Malcolm did tell me to keep an eye on him.
It’s a bullshit excuse since I believe what Nash said about how he was drunk that night on the roof and just wanted to feel something after being numb for so long. I don’t think he would try anything like that again, but who knows, right? I’d rather be nosy and safe than sorry.
Still, I feel awful for invading his privacy since he’s not one of the cheating assholes I usually go after, looking for dirt or skeletons in their closets to give their wives a sense of revenge.
So, when Nash comes in from his meeting, I’m uncharacteristically at a loss for words.
“Hey,” I say in greeting from my seat on his sofa.
“Hey,” he replies, not meeting my eyes before he heads around the bar counter to grab a beer from the fridge. It’s the first one I’ve seen him drink in several days.
“Your meeting go okay?”
“Yep.” His curt answer makes me think he doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t come over to the living room either; just leans his back against the counter and drinks from his bottle, staring at the floor.
There’s an awkward tension in the air that isn’t usually there. I blame it on my shame for spying on him.
When minutes pass and neither of us speak, I jump to my feet, unable to take another second of the uncomfortable atmosphere. “I think I’ll head out early!”
“Yeah?” Nash asks, sounding a little curious about my sudden departure.
“Yeah. Tomorrow I have to get up and go shopping, however long it takes to find a dress for the wedding and rehearsal next week. A few cute outfits would probably be good too.” Great, now I’m rambling about women’s clothes, the topic most men hate.
“Your cousin’s wedding, right?”
“Ah, yeah,” I say, shocked he remembered that from my mom’s call the other night. I thought he was too drunk.
“It’s a dick move by your ex, marrying someone you’re related to.”
My lips part on a gasp of surprise at his comment since I know I’ve never mentioned Barry to him. “How did you…”
“Malcolm told me.”
“Oh, right.”
“Sorry,” Nash says.
“No, it’s fine. I am so much better off without him!” I say. Isn’t that what all dumped women are supposed to claim? “But I can’t show up to their wedding looking stupid; hence, the shopping trip tomorrow until I find the perfect dress. Or dresses.”
“Yeah,” he agrees.
“I asked Jetta to come along to help me out, but she has school all week and I’m running out of time.” I don’t know why I’m standing here, boring Nash with this conversation. I just can’t seem to get my feet to leave or my mouth to shut up as I try to avoid looking in the direction of his room where I tampered with his laptop. He left me here alone, trusted me not to screw around with his stuff, and I did it anyway.
“Jetta’s in beauty school now, right?” he asks.
“Yep.”
“I guess I could go with you,” Nash offers out of the blue.
“You want to go shopping with me?” I say in disbelief.
“Sure. Why not? I could use a few new shirts. That’s what friends are for, right? Making sure you don’t buy shit that makes you look stupid.”
“Yes, right,” I agree, although I’m not sure I like his emphasis on us being ‘friends.’ But of course that’s all we’ll ever be. I’m an idiot to think I ever had even the slightest chance with Nash. Dorks date other dorks, not hot, outlaw bikers who could moonlight as models.
“Just let me know when you want to leave,” Nash says.
“How about after breakfast?”
“Sounds good.”
“Okay,” I reply, finally able to get my feet to carry me to the door. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See ya,” he says as I slip out and jog down the stairs to get back to my apartment.
As soon as I have a chance, I’ll delete the software from his laptop, because it feels so wrong and makes me even more nervous around Nash.
That doesn’t mean a couple of hours later that I don’t take a peek when I get an alert on my phone that he’s online.
Taking a seat on the sofa with my laptop, I hold my breath as I watch the search engine come up and the words being typed into the bar in shock.
Porn. He’s searching for porn!
There weren’t any naughty links in his browser history, so why now?
Just a few minutes later, I’m unfortunately watching the same video as Nash, but I can’t seem to look away. There’s a pretty brunette in a tight, red dress sitting in front of the camera with nothing on below the waist softly speaking in a foreign language. She hikes up the hem to reveal a better look at her bare flesh. Spreading her legs wide, she then proceeds to pump her fingers inside, grinding on them a few times before rubbing them and her juices over her clit. She keeps that up until she’s moaning and trembling when she gets herself off.
I’ve watched my fair share of porn, but I never watched a woman do that before. It was hot, especially knowing Nash was also watching her. Was he taking himself in his hand at the same time?
Probably so. Isn’t that the point of why guys watch porn?
God, I bet he looks insanely hot jerking off.
And while I know I could easily access the camera on his laptop to find out exactly what he’s doing when he replays the video from the very beginning, I don’t. That’s just too invasive. More so than what I’ve al
ready done to invade his privacy.
But you can bet your ass that before I fall asleep in bed later that night, I copy the porn woman’s actions, thinking of Nash sitting on his sofa, fucking his own hand.
Chapter Twelve
Nash
* * *
The porn was nothing more than a temporary fix last night.
As soon as I laid down to go to sleep and closed my eyes, it was Lucy I saw. She wasn’t even naked; it was just her pretty, triangular face with her big glasses, smiling at me, happy like earlier when I asked her to stay.
That was all it took to get me hard again. No tits. No jiggling ass. No fingers in her pussy. Just. Her. Face.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
And like some pathetic asshole, I volunteered to go shopping with Lucy today, something no normal man would ever agree to do without the promise of a million blowjobs afterward. Still, I offered because I could tell Lucy was sad that Jetta couldn’t go with her and she doesn’t have any other friends in town except for apparently Malcolm, who I know without a doubt would never have agreed to a shopping trip.
If he ever found out I had been on one, he would laugh his ass off and then tell me to just cut my balls off and hand them over to her.
I was just trying to be a decent friend, that’s all. It’s the least I could do since Lucy has been cooking me two meals a day and cleaning my apartment. Also, she’s been keeping me company, which is even better than the other two things.
How bad could shopping with Lucy really be anyway? She will pick a few dresses off a rack, try them on, and buy the one she likes the best while I sit in a chair and play on my phone occasionally giving my male opinion, right? Easy.
