Swagger and Sass

by Autumn Jones Lake

  “Miss Shelby, the water is only four feet deep here,” the cop says, smirking at me like he thinks I’m an utter nitwit.

  “I realize that now, officer,” I answer as respectfully as I can. “But in the moment, it was scary.”

  He glances down at Rooster and then at his partner. “All right. Get him up.”

  “What’s going on?” A low, commanding voice asks from behind us. I turn and yet another biker wearing the same patches these guys have is staring at us. The beautiful brunette at his side takes a step back as he drills Sparky and Jigsaw with a stare. “What did I tell you?”

  My gaze skips to the patch over his heart. President.

  “Uh-oh. Are you in trouble?” I whisper to Sparky.

  Sparky snorts. Jigsaw laughs. “No.”

  “Keep your boys in line while you’re in town, Prez,” the first officer says with a nasty sneer.

  The president ignores the attitude and nods. “I’ll handle it.”

  The cops write out a few tickets. Two for Brad, one for Rooster, and one for me.

  “I didn’t go in the water on purpose!” I shout. I don’t have fifty bucks let alone five hundred to pay the fine.

  The cop who recognized me shrugs apologetically. “Explain it to the judge. He’ll probably let it go.”

  Like I have time for that shit.

  “You still gonna be at the Tipsy Saddle Friday night?” he asks me.

  “That’s why we were taking the photos.” If he shows up after writing me a ticket, I’m dumping a pitcher of beer in his dang lap.

  This has been the worst day.

  Except for Rooster.

  “Dumb bitch,” Brad sneers.

  “Kiss my go-to-hell!” I shoot back.

  Brad hurls a few more insults at me, and the cops threaten to arrest him before he finally goes away.

  “You sure you’re all right, Miss Shelby?” The cop asks me, throwing plenty of stink eye at the bikers now surrounding me.

  “I’m fine.”

  The cops take off on their bicycles, leaving me with the pack of bikers.

  The biker president’s patient face slips into something more disciplinary as he zeroes in on Rooster. “What’d I tell you?”

  “Z, the girl went in the water. What was I supposed to do, let her drown?”

  Z turns his laser blue eyes my way and smiles down at me, dimples flashing. How does this terrifying looking man actually have dimples? “You all right?”

  “Yes.” It takes effort to meet his commanding stare. “Rooster really did come rescue me.”

  He nods once. The woman at his side tugs on his hand and whispers something in his ear. “You got this?” he asks Rooster.

  Rooster confirms it with a chin lift, and the pack of bikers continues along the river walk. A few hassle Rooster as they pass, but mercifully, most of them ignore me.

  Rooster’s gaze bounces from Sparky to Jigsaw and finally lands on me. “You need a ride, Shelby?” he asks.

  “Actually, yes.” Oh, shit. “My purse is in Brad’s truck.” Hot tears threaten to rain down my cheeks. Brad’s probably long gone. He’ll probably toss my purse out the window. How did my day turn to shit so dang fast?

  “Let’s go get it. Where’d he park?” Rooster asks.

  Jigsaw’s already cracking his knuckles, apparently looking forward to the confrontation.

  “You can’t.”

  Rooster cocks his head, a devilish smile playing over his lips. “Why’s that?”

  I wave my hands in the direction the cops rode off. “Because you barely missed getting arrested. I don’t want to cause any more trouble for you.”

  “You’re no trouble, darlin’.” He glances at the stairs leading to the street level. “Where’d he park?”

  “In the garage on East Houston street. But really—”

  “Let’s go,” he says, cutting off my protest. “We’re parked near there anyway.”

  Jigsaw and Sparky follow us as I lead the way.

  “That’s him!” I shout as we reach the end of the block. Like a lunatic, I point at the small silver truck about to exit the garage.

  “Stay here,” Rooster orders.

  “No way.” I reach out and grab his arm. “He’s not worth it. Please don’t get in trouble.”

  His mouth quirks. “I like you.”

  He extracts his arm from my hold and jerks his head toward the garage. All three of them jog over to the exit. Brad must see them because he revs the engine. He can’t go anywhere because the guard hasn’t lifted the gate yet.

  My breath catches in my throat as Jigsaw slams his hands on the hood of the truck. Rooster walks right up to Brad’s door and yanks it open.

  Shouts bounce off the brick walls. Rough, angry voices drowning out Brad’s pitiful protests. Brad must not give up my purse fast enough because, five seconds later, Rooster jerks my ex out of the truck and punches him. Sparky sneaks in between them and searches the front seats, emerging victorious with my green leather backpack purse raised above his head.

  Rooster leans down and shares a few tense words with Brad, before releasing him and stalking away. His grim face twists into something almost apologetic when he notices me standing at the curb.

  “Told you to stay over there.” He almost sounds angry.

  “I was worried about you.”

  The tension in his expression melts as he hands me my purse. “I can handle myself, sugar.”

  Sugar’s a pretty common endearment at the bar. The guys who drop it as they’re trying to peek up my dress or extract my phone number out of me are usually annoying. From Rooster, I find it charming.

  Somehow, we end up holding hands. Rooster glances down as if he’s surprised but not alarmed. “Let’s get you home.”

  Butterflies stir in my stomach. Is he going to expect me to invite him in? Want some form of payment for the rescue? Will I be insulted if he doesn’t?

  “How long were you two together?”

  “Not long.” Whenever Brad kissed me, I basically zoned out. I’d go over a mental list of chores. Not even on purpose. There was no burning need or spark of desire. I can’t say any of that to this man who’s a stranger. This man who’s making my insides melt with need by simply holding my hand. I won’t admit that, either.

  Just the simple, casual way Rooster swaggers down the sidewalk as if he owns the entire city is crazy-hot.

  Three large, intimidating motorcycles are backed in against the curb. Rooster goes straight for the matte black one at the front of the pack.

  I laugh, and he turns to me with a raised eyebrow.

  “Who knew my white knight would drive a big, black Harley.”

  “Ride, sugar. We ride, not drive. And no one’s ever accused me of being a white knight before.”

  So there was something special about me that made him dive into the foul river water? A thrill runs down my spine at the thought.

  My gaze is drawn to the bike again. A blue and silver skull and crown decorate the gas tank. Underneath it reads, Lost Kings MC.

  “Lost Kings MC. You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “Nope. Whole club’s out on a run to strengthen the bonds of brotherhood.” From someone else that might sound sarcastic, but Rooster seems genuine in his affection for his club.

  “Bonding? If you’re all brothers, shouldn’t you already be bonded?” I knew at least a little bit from the bikers who drifted into the bar every now and then.

  His smile fades. “It’s been a rough year.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “You’re sweet.”

  Sweat rolls between my breasts, but that’s not why my cheeks are so hot. It’s the intense way Rooster’s staring down at me making me blush. His curious eyes search my face for a moment before he touches my chin, tipping my head back. “How old are you, Shelby?” he asks in a low voice.

  “Twenty-two. Why?” I stare up at him, studying his face. With the beard, it’s hard to tell if he’s my age or a lo
t older.

  Instead of answering my question, he leans down and presses his lips to mine.

  Fireworks.

  That’s the only way to describe it. There’s no checking out of this kiss. I’m one hundred percent invested. His kiss does more than light a spark of desire; I’m a raging inferno of need in two seconds flat.

  When he’s tired of leaning over to compensate for our height difference, he doesn’t break the kiss. Instead, he wraps his arms around me and lifts me up and into his body. I loop my arms around his neck, hanging on tight. My legs dangle off the ground, and I almost wrap them around his waist, but I’m still painfully aware that we’re standing on a busy street in the middle of the day.

  His beard is softer than I expected and tickles my chin. When I laugh, he deepens our kiss.

  “That didn’t take long,” someone says behind us.

  Rooster groans and sets me down. Keeping an arm around me, he turns to glare at Jigsaw.

  I’d be embarrassed, but I really just want to keep kissing Rooster.

  Jigsaw’s gaze darts between Rooster and me. Asking him some silent question? Rooster gives him a subtle head shake and tightens his hold on me. Jigsaw lifts his hands as if he’s surrendering.

  What’s up with that?

  “Sparky, I need to give you back your shirt.” I grasp the hem to lift it up, even though my dress is probably still see-through, but Rooster stops me.

  “I’ll get it later,” Sparky says, with a good-natured smile. He slips on his helmet and holds out his hands, palms up. “We going or what?” he asks Jigsaw.

  “Yeah.” Jigsaw slaps Rooster’s chest twice. “Z wants us at the table no later than six.”

  “Got it,” Rooster growls.

  “I have to work at five,” I say.

  “Nice meeting you, Shelby.” Jigsaw grabs his helmet and nods.

  The rumble from their bikes is deafening. I can’t imagine what it must sound like when all three of them are fired up. Jigsaw takes off first, and Sparky follows. Rooster watches them until they turn the corner. The aggressive roar of the bikes can be heard long after they’re out of sight.

  My gaze strays from the direction the bikers went to find Rooster watching me intently. “What are you doing until five?”

  I tug my sticky, damp dress away from my skin. “Well, I’d like to shower and change.”

  The corners of his mouth quirk. “I can help you with that.”

  Oh, wow. My heart flutters like a hummingbird on a sugar binge. I might be in over my head here.

  Chapter Three

  Rooster

  Shelby’s either getting sunburned, or she’s shy. She didn’t kiss like a shy girl. But the offer to soap her up leaves her flustered.

  My bad. We just met. She’s not some random club girl. Offering to shower with her less than an hour after meeting might have been a bit much.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  Must not have scared her too much. She gives me the address and enough directions to find her place. “It’s about seventeen minutes—”

  “Seventeen, huh? That’s real specific.”

  She blushes and unleashes that pretty smile again. “Off 1-10 West. I hope it’s not out of your way.”

  “Not at all. We’re staying at a ranch off 291.”

  “There are a bunch of them.”

  Ranch probably paints the wrong picture. It’s the compound of a club we’re friendly with down here. Four different clubs have taken up residence on the six hundred acre ranch this week. Hanging out. Partying. Conducting business. Strengthening alliances. Most of the officers, including me, have rooms inside the massive clubhouse. Everyone else is either bunking in a tent on the property or wherever they find room. Every night’s been a party. I’d like to bring Shelby back with me. It should be calm during the day. But she’s also an unpatched woman walking into a clubhouse that’s housing a lot of different bikers.

  “I’ve noticed.” I reach over and grab my helmet, handing it to her. “Lot of open spaces.”

  “Bet you don’t see that in New York.”

  “I’m a good hour or two above the city. We have lots of rural areas. It’s just flatter here.”

  “We have mountains.”

  I chuckle. “Those are hills.”

  She laughs, not offended.

  “Where’s your helmet?”

  “I’ll be fine.” I study her long dress and sandals. “I’m more worried about you riding in that dress and open shoes.”

  “I’ll be okay.” She glances at the bike and winces. “I think.”

  “I’ll go easy.”

  That must be enough to reassure her. She eagerly climbs on behind me and wraps her arms around my middle. Feels good having her soft, warm little body hugging mine. Been a while since anyone’s been back there.

  “Hang on.”

  The sunglasses I slipped on keep most of the dust and road dirt out of my eyes. But don’t do a whole lot to keep bugs from smacking into my cheeks. I take it easy through the city and open it up a bit more on the highway. Shelby’s a good passenger. Moves when I move, but, otherwise, she’s pretty still.

  For some absurd reason, I’m jealous that she might have done this with another guy.

  Her place is easy enough to find. A modest home on a postage-stamp sized piece of property. Modest might have been too generous. As I pull into the narrow, cracked driveway, I notice the yellow exterior could use a fresh coat of paint. Someone tried to cheer the place up by painting the trim a bright green. Can’t say it’s an improvement. Not that I’m judging. I mean, for fuck’s sake, I live in a clubhouse with a bunch of bikers back home. More like a girl as sweet and pretty as Shelby should live in nicer surroundings.

  Shelby braces herself on my shoulders to hop off and hands me the helmet. She’s fidgety as all hell now. “It’s no ranch.” She waves her hand at the house. “I live with my mom.”

  Something about that makes me sadder.

  “She home?”

  “No.” She stares at me for a minute then tugs on the T-shirt she’s wearing. “Do you want to come in? I should probably give this to you, so you can give it to Sparky. I feel so bad he had to ride without his shirt.”

  “He’ll be fine.” Actually, he’s probably fried to a crisp right about now. Fucker almost never leaves the basement. This is more sun than his pasty skin has seen in a couple years. But the more my club’s been mixing with our upstate charter, the better I’ve gotten to know Sparky. It doesn’t surprise me he’d give a girl the shirt off his back. Even if he knows damn well he has no chance of bagging her.

  And while Shelby looks damn fine in my club’s colors, I can’t say I care for her wearing another man’s shirt. Even if it belongs to a brother and was for an emergency.

  Her fidgeting only increases as we approach the front door. She slips a key out of her purse, opens the door, and steps inside. A wave of heat rolls over us, and she rushes to crank the knobs on an old window unit. It does little to cool the place off. I stop to unlace my soggy boots and leave them by the front door.

  “Do you want lemonade? Iced tea?”

  “Sure.”

  “Which one?”

  “Whatever you’re having.”

  She hesitates and glances over her shoulder. “Uh, I was going to take a shower.”

  I step closer and curl my hand over her hip. “Have some tea with me first.”

  “Okay.” She turns, and I follow her the short distance into the kitchen.

  There’s a small round table with four off-white chairs. I nod to the impressive line of baskets nailed along the top of the wall like some country version of crown molding. “You collect ’em?”

  “No. My mom does.” She grabs two glasses, setting them on the counter with a thunk, then moves to the refrigerator. “You want half-and-half?

  “What’s that?” I can’t really think with her bending over in front of me.

  “Half lemonade, half tea.”

  “Sure. I’
m pretty easy to please, Shelby.”

  “Ugh.” She sets the two pitchers on the counter and whips off her shirt.

  Now I really almost lose my frickin’ mind. But no, she’s not getting naked for me. There’s a washing machine in the kitchen, and she tosses the shirt in. “Do you want me to do yours?” she offers.

  The corners of my mouth twitch. “Then I’ll be shirtless.”

  “I was—”

  I slip off my cut and drape it on the back of one of the chairs. “I’m just messing with you, Shelby.”

  I toss her the shirt, and she catches it midair. My jeans are what really need the wash. As if she heard the thought, her gaze drops to my crotch, but she doesn’t offer.

  Pulling one of the chairs all the way out, I turn it, so I can watch her. After the laundry’s started, she brings over the glasses, setting one on the table in front of me. Before she moves away, I place my hands on her hips and turn her to face me. “Thanks.”

  “It’s the least I can do after what you did for me today. You and your friends.”

  “You looked terrified. I couldn’t leave you.”

  She ducks her head. “I feel so silly now.”

  “Don’t.” I pull her closer, so she’s standing between my legs, then sit upright, placing my hand at the back of her head, drawing her down for a kiss. Haven’t stopped thinking about getting my mouth on hers again.

  She tastes like sugar and lemons.

  A soft moan drags out of her throat, and she staggers closer.

  I bring my hands to her hips again, slowly sliding her dress up and encouraging her to straddle my lap, so I can keep kissing her. Fuck if she doesn’t slide right into my lap like she was made for me. She presses her hot center right up against my already stiff-as-fuck cock, and I groan.

  Abruptly, she pulls back. “I’m not having sex with you.”

  Huh. First time a girl has ever said that to me. “I’m just having fun kissing you right now, Shelby.”