by Dez Burke
“Whoa! Wait a minute,” I interrupt. “We didn’t discuss this part of the arrangement. I’ve got work to do. Why is it my job to babysit her? Can’t one of the Sweet Butts do it?”
Flint raises his eyebrows at me. “Really? You want to trust the Sweet Butts with this? You’re the hero. The one the media wants to know all about. You have to be the one to do it. Don’t be an asshole about this.”
Maggie holds up a hand to interrupt us.
“What are Sweet Butts?” she asks. “I don’t know the lingo.”
“They’re the women that help out around the clubhouse with snacks, cleaning, that kind of thing,” Sam patiently explains. “Like a part-time job. They come around for a few hours a day.”
Maggie frowns. “How old are these girls?”
Do we know? I’ve certainly never asked or even thought about it.
“Not old,” Sam says, making a horrified face at the thought. “We don’t want any old women hanging around with wrinkles, saggy boobs, and all that other shit. That would be bad for the Steel Infidels image. Like we always say, ‘we can teach a pretty girl to sweep, but we can’t teach a good housekeeper to be pretty.’”
Flint shoots him a ‘shut the fuck up’ look.
“Except the Sweet Mamas,” Sam says, trying to backpedal quickly. “It’s perfectly okay if they’re old. They’ve been around a long time and can’t help it. It’s not their fault and we don’t hold it against them. We’re not prejudiced against old ladies.”
“Sam…” Flint says in a warning tone.
Sam’s eyes are wide and confused. As usual, he doesn’t know when to quit and just keeps rattling on. “We believe in equal opportunity for women,” he continues. “Of all ages. We are an equal opportunity employer, except we don’t pay them anything.”
Maggie rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t concerned with how old they are,” she says. “I was wondering how young they might be. Are they all over eighteen?”
Hell! I don’t know.
Some of the Sweet Butts seem awfully young. I always thought someone else was keeping track of that kind of shit. Maggie hasn’t been here an hour yet and she’s already tripping us up.
She looks over at Jesse for clarification.
“Yes, they’re all over eighteen,” he says. “In fact, none of them are younger than twenty-one. The Steel Infidels doesn’t need that kind of trouble, so we check IDs on everyone who hangs with us. There’s alcohol in the clubhouse, and we can’t have any underage drinking going on.”
“That’s good to know,” she says with relief.
It sure as hell is.
“We’re getting off track here,” I say. “Would someone tell me again why it’s my job to play chauffeur? What time length are we talking about anyway? Tonight? Tomorrow? How long is this little project going to take?”
“It’s up to Maggie,” Jesse says. “What’s your schedule? Would you be up to hanging around for a couple of days? Help us work through this mess?”
“Two days?” I say, outraged by the idea. “This is some bullshit. What am I supposed to do with her for two days? I have people to meet and places to go. And where is she spending the night? Here at the clubhouse?”
The clubhouse has a couple of tiny rooms with beds for the crew to bunk in when they’re drunk or hiding out from their Old Ladies. Maggie strikes me as the type of gal who doesn’t like to rough it. I doubt she would appreciate being stuck in a spare room that smells of stale beer and other unmentionable things that I prefer not to think about.
Maggie glares at me.
“I wish you would stop talking about me as if I’m not sitting here,” she says. “It’s condescending and annoying.”
“I’m condescending?” I say. “Like you’re not looking down your uppity nose at us even now? Thinking how you’re better and smarter? I see the way you look at us. Admit it. You’re slumming.”
“Where did that comment come from?” she asks. “The only thing I think is that you have a huge, ugly chip on your shoulder. What is your problem?”
My problem is that I want her.
The way she is now, with her green eyes angry and feisty. I had one taste of her sweet lips and now I’m craving more.
Much more.
I kissed her as a joke, to teach her a lesson about fucking with me. I don’t like people who play games and knew she was trying to con me. What I didn’t expect was how good it would feel to wrap her up in my arms.
One taste, one touch, and she had me hard and throbbing.
Hell, sex is all I can think about when she’s sitting this close. It doesn’t help matters that she’s even hotter when she’s mad, like now with her eyes shooting daggers at me.
I would be very surprised if she wasn’t a wild spitfire in bed. Willing to do and say things that could blow a man’s mind.
“Maggie can stay at your place,” Jesse says. “Your house is way out on a private dirt road. We can put up roadblocks if needed to keep the media from getting anywhere close.”
“No, sorry, that’s not going to work for me,” I say, shaking my head. “Sadie doesn’t like people staying over.”
It’s true.
Sadie loves everyone, but she doesn’t like it when people get physically close to me because she’s a jealous little shit of a dog.
Maggie’s body goes still beside me. The change isn’t enough for anyone else to notice. I can feel it though. Her breathing has gone slightly shallow. My sniper training taught me how to pick up on almost imperceptible changes in body movement.
“Who is Sadie?” she asks nonchalantly.
Is that a hint of jealousy I see flashing in her pretty eyes? More than a hint maybe?
Ha! Now this is getting interesting. I sit up straighter in my chair.
“My girl,” I reply with a straight face. “And she isn’t particularly fond of other women coming over to the house.”
“Oh,” she says, clearly caught off guard by my answer. “You have a girlfriend? I didn’t realize. That might be awkward then.”
Now she’s wondering why I kissed her this morning if I have a girlfriend staying in my house.
“I guess you could say that. I’m fond of her in my own way. She has these big, expressive brown eyes and when she looks at me, I know in my heart how much she loves me.” I touch my chest. “She never has to say a word. I just know it. Right in here. Have you ever had that feeling?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Sam struggling to keep a straight face. He’s enjoying my game. I hope he appreciates my technique. He was a master player until Lila caught him. One of the best there ever was.
Jesse stands up and walks over to gaze out the window.
“Sorry, Toby,” Jesse says over his shoulder. “She’s staying with you, and Sadie will just have to deal with it. Your house is the best location.”
I sigh heavily and lean back in my chair.
Game over.
Jesse is being quite the party-pooper today. At least he didn’t give my ruse about Sadie away.
“If you’re sure this Sadie person won’t mind,” Maggie says. “I’ll try not to be a bother. It will only be a couple of days.”
“I’ll deal with her,” I grumble while trying not to catch Sam’s eye. “She’ll get over it.” A few dog biscuits will do the trick. Or maybe a tiny piece of cheese.
Jesse leans over and picks up the binoculars on the table then moves back to the window. “This is odd,” he says. “Several of the reporters are getting in their cars and leaving. I wonder why they’re clearing out all of a sudden?”
15
Maggie
The door opens without warning and Aunt Leona sticks her head inside. “Sorry to interrupt,” she says. “The clubhouse phone has been ringing off the hook. Jodi sent me up here to find out what you want her to tell these folks.” She holds up a piece of paper covered with scribbly writing. “Jodi’s been taking down all the messages for you.”
When she can’t see the words clearly, she holds
the paper out farther from her eyes and squints over her glasses.
“Okay, let’s see if I can read her writing. So far you’ve gotten calls from ABC News, Nightline, 20/20, Inside Edition, Oprah, and…” She takes her glasses off and wipes them with the bottom hem of her dress. “You’re not going to believe this one…Dancing with the Stars.”
Sam lets out a hoot and slaps the table hard.
“Dancing with the Stars!” he says. “That would be a sight to see. Especially since Toby has two left feet. Our boy is going to Hollywood to be a fancy movie star.”
“Fuck no!” Toby says, glowering at him. “This boy isn’t going anywhere. Except maybe fishing. I’m already sick of all this mess.”
“They’re interested in you too, Sam,” Aunt Leona says. “So you need to stop making fun of Toby.”
“Hot damn!” Sam says, clapping his hands together. “We should do it! I can square dance with the best of them.” He jumps up from the table and grabs his Aunt Leona’s hand. In a deft move which she obviously knows well, he twirls her under his arm before sliding an arm around her waist and promenading her across the room. “Swing your partner round and round. Do si do and don’t fall down.”
“Stop it, Sam,” she says, laughing and out of breath. “You’re going to cause me to break my glasses. Whew! This old gal is out of shape.”
“You’ve still got mad moves,” Sam says, giving her hand one last squeeze before turning her loose. “Maybe you could be my partner on the dancing show.” He looks over at Toby. “Do you remember when they used to hold square dances in the high school gym during the Sorghum Festival? There would be so many people dancing at one time that they’d open up the doors and run the line all the way out one door and back through the other.”
Toby laughs and his face lights up from the inside. “Those were the good old days,” he says. “The best. Doing the same thing every weekend. Friday nights meant making a beer run across the mountain and Saturday nights were the square dances. The whole town would be out there having fun.”
Beer runs? Square dances? What strange land have I stepped into?
“Let me guess,” I say dryly. “At least one of you owns either a Trans Am, a Mustang, or a Corvette.”
Toby chuckles again and his possessive hand on my leg tightens. For someone who doesn’t like me, he sure seems determined to keep me within touching range.
“Guilty as charged,” Sam says with a grin. “And proud of it.”
“I’ve got to go, boys,” Leona says with a regretful sigh. “I would love to hang around longer, but there’s been too much excitement today and I’m worn out. Are the reporters still out there?” She walks over to the window and pats Jesse affectionately on the back while peeking out behind the curtains.
“Most of them are getting into their cars and heading out,” he says. “Must be dinnertime.”
“That or my special cookies,” she says, trying to hide a giggle behind a wrinkled hand. “I thought it was time they moved along and gave you fellas some breathing space. There’s too many vehicles out there blocking the way. You can’t stay holed up in here all night.”
“Aunt Leona, what did you do this time?” Jesse asks, giving her a stern look.
“Nothing too bad,” she says innocently. “Nothing criminal in any case. I handed out a batch of my oatmeal cookies. A special recipe with a couple of added ingredients. Let’s just say they’re good for the digestive system. Similar to fiber cookies, except a whole lot stronger. And works much faster.”
She gives Jesse one more pat on the back and turns to leave. “If you want to make an escape, now is the time,” she says. “I told my good friend Myra who runs the gas station down the road to lock the bathroom doors, so the reporters will need to drive all the way back into town. When things calm down, bring the kids over and I’ll show them my new baby calf in the barn.”
Toby pokes me in the ribs with his elbow. “How many special cookies did you eat, Maggie?” he asks while trying not to smile.
He thinks that I don’t see him wink over at Sam.
“None,” I say. “Are you disappointed? You want to be rid of me that bad?”
“You know I wouldn’t give her any of those cookies,” Leona scolds. “Here, I have a few good ones left in my pocketbook.”
She digs down in the bottom of the big brown bag on her shoulder and comes out with a handful of cookies wrapped in cellophane. They’re nothing but crumbs now after being dragged around in her purse. She drops them onto the table, and the guys snatch them up like starving wolves.
“Nice meeting you, Maggie,” she says, slinging her purse back over her shoulder.
“It was my pleasure,” I say. “I hope to see you again soon.”
Toby waits until she leaves the room before speaking. “I don’t have time for all this silly shit,” he says. “Being stuck in this room all day is making me go stir-crazy. I’ve got to get out of here. You all know how I can’t stand being cooped up.” He stands up and stretches his arms over his head. I notice him wincing in pain and rubbing his shoulder.
“Did you get hurt yesterday?” I ask in concern.
He turns to me, surprised at my question. “Nah…it’s just an old football injury acting up. If I woke up in the morning and wasn’t hurting all over, I would think I was dead. Are you ready to make a run for it? Because I’m leaving. My bike is parked around back. Now that it’s getting dark out there, we should be able to make our getaway without too much attention.”
“I’m ready,” I say, standing up. “I’ll follow you in my car. It’s parked outside the fence with all the rest of the news vans.”
“Leave it,” Toby says. “You can ride with me on the bike. I’ll grab an extra helmet downstairs for you.”
The thought of being stuck with him without transportation of my own makes me nervous. “Why can’t I take my car?”
“Because you’ll be followed by the other media,” he says. “Right to my house.”
“What about my stuff? Like my overnight case? I’ll need clothes.”
“Rocco can drop it off at the house for you later,” Flint offers. “Where are your keys?”
I take them out of my purse and hand them to him.
“Alright, let’s get out of here while we have a chance,” Toby says.
Five minutes later, I’m standing beside his motorcycle with the borrowed helmet strapped on my head. My head feels weird and heavy. It’s too big for me and I can barely see out of it. The sun has gone down and it’s getting darker.
“Here’s the plan,” Toby says. “If the press hears a motorcycle engine, they’ll know we’re coming. I’m going to roll the bike right up to the gate. We’ve cut all the outside lights on the building, so hopefully they won’t see us until we’re right on top of them. When I say the word, jump on behind me and grab my waist. Or anything else that you want to hang onto.”
He glances over at me for my reaction to his lewd joke. I ignore it.
“Rocco will open the gate and then we’ll make our way through the mess of people out front the best we can. Once we’re on the road, be sure to hold on tight. I’ve been known to drive faster than a bat out of hell.”
“Nice time to tell me,” I say.
I’m not looking forward to this. Riding on a motorcycle on country roads at night without street lights isn’t my idea of fun. I’m a city girl all the way.
“Have you ever had a wreck?” I ask.
“That would depend on your definition of ‘wreck.’ Do you mean laying the bike down on the road and skidding across the asphalt at sixty miles an hour?”
My eyes widen and I nod.
“Not lately,” he says. “Why? Are you scared? Don’t be. You’ve been through hell already, and you made it out alive. A little bike ride isn’t going to hurt you. Besides, I never drive faster than my angel can fly.”
“You don’t believe in guardian angels, do you?” I ask.
I can’t tell if he’s serious or joking.
/> “The proverbial proof is in the pudding,” he answers. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”
I walk alongside him as he pushes the bike quietly around the side of the building and through the front parking lot. A few members of the press are still hanging around their vehicles outside the fence. Obviously the ones who missed out on the special cookies. With any luck, they won’t see us until we’re on our way through the gate. When we’re within a few feet of the fence, Toby stops walking and climbs on the bike.
“Are you ready?” he says. “Let’s do this.”
I nod and climb on behind him. He scooches up a little to give me more room. Tentatively, I place my hands lightly on his waist. There’s something intimate about being on the bike behind him and I’m almost too shy to touch him. Especially since I already know how appealing those ab muscles would feel underneath my fingertips. Reaching down, he grabs hold of my forearms and pulls them tighter across his rock-hard stomach muscles.
“When I said hold on tight, I wasn’t joking,” he says. “Don’t loosen your hold or fall off. I hate scraping girls off the pavement. It’s not a pretty sight.”
“Wait a second! You didn’t mention anything about falling off!”
He sighs loudly in exasperation. “Damn, girl! You’re not going to fall off. I’m joking. Just hang on and lean with me when we go around the curves. You’ll get the hang of it in no time. It’s no different than riding a bicycle. You’ll be a badass biker girl before you know it.”
I wrap my arms around him as tight as I can. He’s warm and the heat feels good against my face in the cold February night air. Snuggling up against his back, I place my cheek against his leather jacket.
“Maggie, I appreciate you listening to me for once, but now I can’t breathe,” he says over his shoulder. “Loosen up a bit, darling.”
The word ‘darling’ slips off his tongue like warm butter. I could listen to him talk in his deep Southern voice all day.
And night.
