“I had no idea.” Maybe Maverick was right. I didn't know him all that well, did I? Maybe it was my wishful thinking, but at least he looked at me when my brother asked about Tiffany – like he wanted me to know that he wasn't there for her. Could it be possible that he cared enough to spare my feelings about her?
“Gotta keep up on the news, sister. If you’d pull your head out of one of those books long enough, you might learn a few things.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, rolling my eyes.
Maverick set his six-pack on the wooden picnic table amidst all the food and condiments and twisted off the cap to one of his beers. He licked his lips before taking a healthy swallow from the bottle and I looked away. I swear he moved, I followed. Could I be any more like Pavlov’s dogs?
“Did your uncle mention where to find her?”
My ears perked up again as I pretended to watch Thayer run around the yard with Echo. Abby stood next to Miranda, Lone Star’s reporter, and while I was waiting for Maverick to respond, it annoyed me that I could hear their laughter all the way over here. Keep it down, ladies, in case I miss something.
Maverick plucked a chip from one of the bowls that sat on the table and shoved it into his mouth. “Haven't asked yet.”
“You going to?”
More potato chips. Another swig of beer. Answer! I wanted to scream. Instead I sipped my margarita and waited quietly.
“I don't fucking know, man. We’ll see.”
That was the end of the conversation but I couldn't help wonder who was ‘she’ that Maverick was looking for. This clearly wasn't a new development since Thatcher seemed to know a thing or two. It wasn't Tiffany, I gathered that much. His mom, maybe. But why? Why didn't he say anything to me? Why would he? Why was I hurt that he hadn’t?
“Grace! These are amazing. They’re so good.”
Lorna settled up next to me on one of the Adirondack chairs. I sat too, slightly unsure what to do with myself. I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to talk to Maverick like I'd been for the past two weeks. But I knew that would only make my brother suspicious and possibly everyone else. Miranda was a reporter after all. I suspect she could smell gossip miles away.
“Thanks. Do you bake?”
“Oh heavens, no. Not since I was married. Cookies with Thayer every now and then but there’s no one to bake for besides myself and Lord knows I don't need extra cushion on my hips.”
“You look amazing, Lorna.”
“How come you didn't bring a date with you tonight? I saw you last week at the gas station after school let out talking to Sam Polinksi’s son. He’s a fine young man.”
My gaze cut to Maverick who was sitting on one side of the picnic table eating the brisket Thatcher had smoked. His paper plate was filled with two sandwiches, watermelon and two of my apple turnovers as well as two of my peach pies. He didn’t appear to be paying much attention to my conversation with Lorna.
“Joel? Yes, he’s nice but he’s just a friend. I'm not dating anyone and I'm not looking. I'm used to being alone so it's no big deal.”
“Did you use fresh peaches for these?” she asked, changing the awkward conversation.
“Canned.”
Seemingly satisfied with that, Lorna stood and went inside and I finished the rest of my margarita all the while pretending not to watch Maverick dig into my dessert. I watched him devour the peaches, licking his index finger once he was finished, happy that even though he may not say, he had enjoyed the dessert I’d made.
As much as I wanted to throw caution to the wind, I didn't know what my next move should be. I wanted him badly. The thrill of knowing he was older and more mature stuck with me, making it hard to imagine anything else. How he would touch me with those working hands of his. Where. What kind of lover would he be like? Always rough around the edges, following through on his promise to leave hickies on my clit? Or a combination of both rough and gentle?
In the Delta Motorcycle Club books I’d read, the guys were always in control. Knew what they wanted and took it. There were things that I couldn't believe the authors wrote about and I imagined that was how it was in real life. Like calling their girlfriends ‘old ladies’ or bitches and telling them not so nicely to go down on them. Eww. I didn't do that and I wasn't up for mean talk.
He was…rough sometimes. Not overly helpful but wasn't ever mean to me either. Rude, yes. I was counting on that and the fact that he knew I wasn't completely experienced with sex like he was that he would take it easy on me. If he would follow through with our arrangement.
When.
“What's got you in la la land?” Maverick’s voice was a gentle caress in the light summer breeze. Nights were still cool this time of year, but give it another two weeks and the temps would hardly drop below eighty.
I shivered.
“Just thinking,” I answered truthfully.
“About our agreement? You backing out?”
I looked around us to see who might overhear. Thatcher and Abby were throwing a football in the yard to Thayer and a kid that he attended school with. Miranda and Ryan, her significant other, and a friend of Thatcher’s sat at the edge of his patio talking to Lorna and a few other men that Ryan worked with. I knew there were a few more people inside so I kept my voice down.
“I'm not backing out. Are you?” I steeled myself for his response. Scared he would say yes and yet not brave enough to take matters into my own hands if he did.
“Not a fucking chance, Grace. Nice top you’re wearing.” When his gaze dropped to my chest, my breath hitched and heat simmered between us.
“Thank you. So, we’re in this together? Keeping a secret from everyone, especially my brother?”
He let out a sigh and took a drink from his beer, “Looks that way to me. This is only temporary, Gracie. Best if you remember that.”
“Serve you right to remember that. You might get a whole lot more than you bargained for.”
I walked away from Maverick with the last word as I held back my grin. I was electric, tingles jolted the tops of my fingers, curled my toes and sent feeling all the way to my nipples. I didn't know when something would happen but I was addicted to the knowledge that it would. I was giddy with excitement.
“I asked Thatcher to invite your parents but he wouldn't hear any of it.” Abby said when I sidled up next to her.
“I can't say I blame him. They aren't winning Parent of the Year award any time soon.”
“No,” Abby said, “but it would be a nice time for them to get to know Thayer and all. Especially if we can ever get pregnant again. We’ve been trying and trying for months.”
“Really? I’m sorry. He didn’t say anything. It’ll happen, Abby. I promise. Thayer seems happy though being an only child. He seems content not having a strong relationship with his grandparents. My parents have a way of taking all the happiness and excitement out of people.”
“I thought you and your mom were close?” she asked.
“When she needs something, we are.” I shrugged, “Decorate for one of their parties or bake for some impromptu event she decides to host at the last minute. But when I need her, poof, she’s never there.”
“I’m sorry, Grace.” Abby reached out and hugged me quickly. She was much shorter than me but her hug was tight, comforting. I could see what my brother saw in her. Kindness, honesty, loyalty. She was a great mom to Thayer. Had a relationship with her mom that was an equal give and take. They loved one another and it was shown to the world in little ways. I didn't have that with my mom. With anyone.
“It's okay, Abby. I'm used to it.”
“I'm sure you are. Doesn't make it okay. Or easy.”
“Thanks for inviting me over. I've had a great time. The food was outstanding,” I said.
“Thanks so much. Thatcher told me he found you at Cap’s. Made him see stars.”
“It was no big deal. I wish he would lay off me! I'm not a child anymore.”
Abby’s eyes grew wide, “No, you certainly
aren't. He can't help it. You’re his little sister. He wants the best for you.”
“I know, but he has to let me live my life. He can't decide who I go out with, Abby.”
“Oh my word, girl! Are you saying you’re into Cap?” she asked.
I risked a glance over to where Maverick was standing next to my brother and Ryan and Miranda. He was facing me, beer to his lips. The do-rag on his head made him stand out from the crowd. His light-colored denim jeans were frayed along his knees. Even from here, his sexual prowess rolled off him in waves. Dear God, he was…bad. Bad for me. Lava flowed inside me, through the tips of my fingers and along my wrists. Across my chest and stomach, pulling low in my belly.
I was so into Maverick it wasn't even funny.
“No. Not really. I mean he’s cute and all…but, he’s not my type.”
“If ever there were a type! I swear Grace, you get my age and ‘types’ don't matter. Can't place where it gets lost but there comes a moment when none of that matters. Not age or social status. Definitely not who comes from where or what background. Just because Cap rides a motorcycle, doesn't make him any different than you,”
“It’s more than the motorcycle. He’s older. More mature. His dad is in prison.” Even as I said that, I could hear the judgement in my voice. “Which doesn't even matter, in all honesty. I'm not attracted to Maverick. And he isn’t attracted to me. Let's pretend this conversation didn't even happen. Please.”
“I'm not going to meddle in your business now. I just couldn't help notice the way he’s been looking at you all night. Even though he’s unconventional, Cap’s reputation precedes him.”
“In what way? A troublemaker?”
“Oh goodness, no! With the ladies, Grace. Think about it. He is downright sexy, don't you think?”
Downright sexy? As if by some cosmic force, he turned to me. Even this far away, his gaze rooted me in place, searing me with his own dose of erotica. My clit begged for those hickies.
Oh. My. God.
Downright sexy was an understatement.
When Abby nudged me playfully in the arm, heat seeped through my blouse and I couldn't help but laugh.
“It's time for me to go. I have a good book and a bath waiting for me at my apartment. It was so good to see you.”
After saying my goodbyes to everyone, making a point to promise Thayer I would play Hide and Seek the next time, I scooped up Echo and we made our way home. Home being Maverick’s house in order to drop her off.
“Come on baby girl. Can you go potty?” I asked as we stood in front of his house. “Come on little girl. It's going to be a long night.”
A long night indeed. For the both of us. His house was obviously quiet since I’d left him at the barbeque, but a small part of me had hoped he would leave when I did. Standing there now, I found a part of me, okay most of me, straining to hear his motorcycle.
But the rumbles never came.
I put Echo into her crate and lingered in the doorway where he’d kissed me earlier. I’d never been kissed that way before. With so much passion and desire that I was consumed by it. I could still feel the bite of his fingers digging into my waist as he ravished my mouth with his.
Outside, I still yearned to hear his roaring motorcycle. A sound I’d found rather obnoxious but was beginning to look forward to what it brought when it was near. It was strange how attraction toward someone could make things more acceptable, less annoying.
Alone at home, in my bath, my boobs floated along my sides as the heat seeped into my skin faintly easing the constant pain in my back. I was disappointed that Maverick never showed up. Not at his house while I was there and of course not here.
I went to bed disappointed that the rumble of his motorcycle never came.
Chapter Twelve
Maverick
“Where is she?” I hated how I sounded. Like I still cared about her. I didn't. What kind of mother preferred drugs over their own flesh and blood? My uncle Hoop stood staring at me, playing with his beard, as if I didn't ask a bombshell question.
He was in his late fifties. Taller than I was and had an uncanny resemblance to Santa Claus. He wore a vest similar to mine except his had a large patch on the back signifying where he belonged. His cut. The Bastards. Even knowing he would never tell me anything, I made it a point not to ask. I’d wanted to be like my dad my entire young adult life. It’d taken a long time to understand that his choice in pushing me away, made the difference of who I am and where I was today. Sons of men like my father didn’t always get away from that lifestyle unscathed.
“She’s in Longville. You’ll find her at The Champion Horse Therapeutic Center.” He drew the words out in a British accent. This was a bad idea. I could feel it in my gut.
“You know what, Hoop, never mind. I can't do this for him. I don't want to do this. I don't want to see her.”
“I can't let you disappoint your old man, son,” he said. And as threateningly as that sounded, I knew I had nothing to fear.
“Yeah, you can. You go up there and find her. I don't want to see her. I’ve lived almost my entire fucking life without her in it. I don't need a surprise for my fortieth birthday.”
“Your dad wants you to go. It's the only way she’ll give him the time of day.”
“Will she even know what time of day it is? You know what my last memory of her is? Do you want to know? It's not pretty, Hoop. I’d just gotten home from school, eighth grade, and I could hear them. I thought it was my dad. When I headed to my room, there she was bent over our kitchen table—where I ate my Fruit Loops—getting screwed by Big Don. Remember him? Still had the fucking wrap on her arm, needle on the tray. That's bad shit, man. I don't want to see her. I can't.”
“Your dad kept you out of this life. It's all he’s askin’ from you, Cap.”
“What’s wrong with him? Did he tell you why he wants to see her?” I asked.
“He wants to make amends. Apologize – shit like that.”
“Why? The only time people ever realize how fucked up they were is when they’re-” I stopped, the reality of this conversation hitting me like a heavy dose of bricks. “Is he dying?”
Hoop didn’t respond, his eyes dark and insolent. “Why don’t you go see him?”
“Fuck!” I yelled.
I didn't know if my dad would ever be a free man again. They say once you’re in the pen for a certain period of time, that you forget what life was like on the outside. That you get scared. Unfamiliar with the new things in life: smart phones, all those environmental activists who hate motorcycles, emoji’s. It's easier to live inside those walls where you never had to worry. Aside from that, my dad wasn't innocent. I don't imagine prison changed that about him.
My birthday was in a few weeks. I was turning forty. Forty fucking years old and when I looked at Hoop and his ragged beard, saw the same brown eyes of my father in him, the tattoo that signified he was in the club for life and I wasn't, I felt obligated to do this one small thing my dad was asking of me. If nothing for the simple fact that he was family.
What if he was dying?
The horse place he was asking me to go to, where I would find my mother, was a four-hour drive from Lone Star. I wasn't going today, but maybe I’d make time to go tomorrow. Or next weekend.
No rush, right? It wasn't like my dad was going anywhere.
“I gotta go,” I told my uncle. His firm gaze watched me, gave me a look that said I knew what needed to be done.
“We have to do things we don't like sometimes, son.”
I smirked as I hopped on my bike. Give me a fucking break. He was preaching that to me? Why the hell didn’t he go find the woman? Help his brother out.
I rode home in a blur, trying to comprehend how meeting my mother would play out. Knowing she was only four hours away from here made me feel worse than not knowing where the fuck she was. Cemented in all those feelings I had about not being good enough for her. Not being important enough to choose over her next hit.
My front door was open behind the screen door, indicating Grace was at my house. Damn Grace. I've been trying like hell to avoid her. Ever since we agreed to fuck temporarily, I found the task to be easier said than done. Her assurance that that would be all it was didn't sit right with me. Truth be told, I didn't fully understand her motives.
Today she was wearing cutoff jean shorts and a plain white t-shirt that unlocked a little bit of Fort Knox. Just a little. Her hair was pulled back into a pony tail and her sparkling flip flops showed off her fresh pedicure. Orange, this time.
“Grace.”
“Maverick.”
She eyed me warily as I stepped toward her. Her mutt sat at her feet like a guard dog and watched me as I approached her. “Come on,” I said.
“Come where?” She bit her bottom lip.
“With me. Please. Let's go. Put your mutt away.”
She frowned at me. That little mole of hers moving up as her cheeks puffed. She was smart enough not to argue with me, finally for once, and she picked up the fur ball to put away.
Her shorts rode up miles of skin as she bent over and I admired her creamy white skin—that stretched on forever—luscious skin I wanted to sink my teeth into.
“Okay, because you said please. Now what, boss?”
She couldn't help teasing me, could she? Maybe if I said please to her more often…
Focus, Cap.
“C’mon.”
“Oh no,” she said. “No, I can’t get on the back of that.”
“Yes, you can. And you will. Come on, Grace. I promise you the feeling is…wicked.”
“Wicked…good?”
I laughed, “Come on, Princess, and find out.”
“I can't, Maverick. I’m scared. I don't even like motorcycles. What if we crash? What if someone runs into us? What if- “
“No what ifs. Trust me, ok? I’ll take care of you, Princess.”
Her eyes darted nervously around my bike as if it were going to give her a sign. A solemn vow that everything was going to be okay.
“Do you promise, Maverick?”
“Put this on.”
Wicked: A Small Town Romance (Love in Lone Star Book 3) Page 12
