by Bijou Hunter
“Who’s this?” I ask.
“Audrey’s cousin from Kentucky.”
“Is this your girlfriend?” the muscled, tatted stranger asks Keanu.
“No, man. I told you that my girlfriend was visiting her family in Indonesia. I swear it’s like you can’t remember anything while drunk.”
“What’s he drinking?”
“A Korean Kickass,” Keanu says, smirking.
“Does he know about the absinthe?”
My brother’s smile grows. “I believe in allowing life to surprise people, Soso.”
“Huh?” the hunky stranger asks, tilting his head in the most puppy move ever.
Smiling, I ask, “Huh, what?”
“Is Soso code?”
“It’s my name.”
“I’m Bubba.”
I shouldn’t laugh, but he announces his name as if he’s just so blazing proud. His smile falls away.
“It’s stupid. I’m stupid.”
“Was he like this before the Kickass?” I ask Keanu.
“I suspect booze makes this one on the sad side.”
“I’m on vacation,” Bubba says and leans close enough for me to admire the perfect symmetry of his gorgeous face. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Keanu and I share a smile. “He’s wasted,” I mutter.
“Well, you are hot.”
Bubba’s face twists into a stony glare as he growls at Keanu, “Don’t you dare flirt with my woman.”
“Uh, that’s my sister, dumbass.”
“No,” Bubba says, doing his confused puppy head tilt again.
“Yeah.”
“Was she adopted?”
“No, why?” Keanu asks, fucking with the out-of-towner.
“She’s not Korean.”
“You know, I did notice that fact but never felt it was my place to mention anything.”
“Did I just say something racist?” Bubba whispers.
Keanu tries not to laugh. “Yes, and we’re very disappointed in you, Kentucky.”
“I don’t know if you’re messing with me now.”
“We have the same mom,” I explain when Bubba’s confused expression wears down my resolve to ignore his babble.
“Oh. Is she beautiful like you?”
“Yes, but she’s taken. Tough luck.”
“You’re not, though, right?”
“Would it matter?”
“I don’t know,” Bubba says, leaning closer. This time, I realize his eyes are a striking green. “You’re so beautiful that I might break up your marriage.”
“Not married.”
“Good. You can do better.”
Keanu leans back and chuckles at how far Bubba spirals into the rabbit hole. I sip my drink while wondering if I should steal what’s left of his Korean Kickass before he destroys what’s left of his brain.
“Why are you hiding your hair?” Bubba asks, reaching over to push back my hoodie.
I nearly smack away his hand. If he tugs a single strand of hair, I swear I’ll kick his blotto ass. Well, Bubba’s size means I might need to ask my big bro for help.
No one needs to kick anything, though. Bubba’s touch is careful, gentle even. Not bad considering he’s sloppy drunk.
“I want to know you,” he says, sounding sad. “But I’m not anyone worth knowing.”
Before I can console him, my attention shifts to the entrance where Griff, aka Heartbreaker, and Andy, aka Toymaker, eyeball Cap dancing with his tiny wife.
Then I’m spotted by the man who didn’t break my heart—though he did steal my fucking smile and ruin this bar as a social spot. The sinking sensation returns to my stomach. If only I could invent time travel and return to the moment when Griff first flirted with me. I would, without a doubt, vomit in his face.
“I’m weak for hot men, and they’re weaker for me,” I mumble, and Keanu nods.
“I’m sorry,” Bubba says and runs his fingers over my knuckles.
It’s a small, tender gesture. He’s obviously hot for me, but I also suspect he’d be hot for anyone with the right parts. His glassy eyes tell the story of a man far past his booze limit.
“Who the fuck is this cunt?” Griff rages behind Bubba.
I flinch at the sound of his rage while Keanu doesn’t react at all. Without a doubt, my brother is ready to attack if Griff decides to spill blood.
“Audrey’s cousin,” Keanu says.
“Who the fuck is Audrey?”
“Cap Hayes’ wife.”
Griff glances back at where Audrey and Cap pretend as if they don’t notice what we’re saying. This is an old drill. Cap feigns a relaxed demeanor like the happiest giant fool in the world. Then trouble breaks out, and he turns into King Kong tearing up the joint.
It’s no shock to watch my ex-boyfriend’s raging expression falter at the thought of becoming a smudge on the floor. His gaze returns to me. Where anger lived just a minute ago, longing now rules his blue eyes. I see such pain in them. I can only hope he finds cold indifference in mine.
“Who is this fucker?” Bubba asks as if awakening from a dream. “Is he hassling you?”
I look at Keanu who struggles not to laugh at Bubba’s bravado. I’m not nearly as contained. My giggles end as soon as Griff gets in the face of the now-standing Bubba.
“You don’t belong here,” Griff growls, full-on pompous biker asshole.
Bubba doesn’t back down. Both men are over six feet, staring eye to eye. The hunky puppy is far prettier, but he’s also sporting a bruised right eye and a fat bottom lip. Very recently, he threw down with someone who put up a decent fight. No reason to think he won’t fuck up Griff to defend my honor.
No way am I sticking around for Griff to whine his way into a fight.
“Later, tater,” I tell Keanu. “I’m heading out.”
My brother only allows a curt nod as his black eyes focus hard on the table. He’s hyper-alert, waiting for the impending violence. If it breaks out, he’ll crack a lot of ribs. It’s his favorite move lately.
Griff hears I’m leaving and decides to stop his staring contest with Bubba. Reaching out for me, his hand gets smacked away by the hunky puppy who’s now growling like a wolfman under a full moon.
Griff charges Bubba and their collision sends the entire bar into an instant violent frenzy. I swear everyone’s been sitting around all night, aching for a brawl. Those hoping to stay safe duck and cover or flee. Those wanting a piece of the action rush to where the two men bash into each other.
I don’t run, hide, or join in. Freezing up, I’m not sure how to handle what’s happening. Keanu is gone from his chair, disappearing into the crowd of men. I never think to worry about him. He’s so much faster than any biker. If they’re lucky, he’ll only play with them tonight.
Cap must be in the mix too. I spot Toymaker go flying like a ragdoll. The only one massive enough to do such a thing is the giant from White Horse.
Once Bubba ends up on the ground, Griff staggers toward me. His bloody mouth says my name, obsessed with owning me. I stare into his eyes and wish he were dead. If it didn't cause issues in the club, I’d have asked my dad to end this asshole months ago.
Like a missile, Bubba tackles Griff to the ground. Snapping out of my fear, I race for the door, dodging the bikers stupid enough to try to take down Cap. Audrey crouches under a table, talking on the phone. The Brotherhood better hope she isn’t calling the Hayes family. The last thing this township needs is for Cap’s father and brother to show up, swinging bats and breaking crap that can’t be fixed.
The damp spring air reinvigorates me, and I nearly run to my Chevy truck parked on the farthest end of the lot.
“Soso!” Griff hollers.
I spin around and can’t believe he’s still coming. The guy is like the Terminator, unable to accept no for a blazing answer.
“Leave me alone!” I scream and throw open my truck door.
Shaking as I start the engine, I think of the gun in my purse. I could put a
bullet in Griff and stop worrying about him around every corner. Except nothing is that easy.
Griff ends up on the ground again as Bubba barrels out of the bar and takes down the obsessed dickhead. I pull my truck out of its spot, ready to disappear into the night.
Bubba and Griff remain in a tangle of flying fists on the ground. Out here in the almost empty lot, the asshole could easily kill Kentucky. I see a flash of Bubba bleeding out on the ground just because his ego demanded that he protect a pretty girl from a stupid fathead.
Even hating myself for being a sap, I still stop the truck next to the men and scream for the Kentucky hunk. He reacts to his name by popping to his feet. The booze has made him both hyper-vigilant and easily distracted. He nearly ends up on his ass when Griff kicks him in the leg.
Eventually, he notices how I’ve opened the passenger door. Bubba catches the hint. I don’t wait until he’s entirely in the truck before I peel out of the parking lot. He manages to get the door shut by the time I’m screeching around a corner and blowing through a stop sign on the empty road.
“I couldn’t let you die,” I say despite him not asking me why.
“I couldn’t let him touch you.”
Shaking my head, I fight a smile. “Fucking idiot.”
“Are you talking about you or me?” he says, sounding tired now.
“Why not both?”
I race home, thinking if I’m behind the walls of my A-frame house that I’ll be safe.
Only a few blocks out from my house, I’m struck with the realization that Bubba might be a danger I’m inviting into my sanctuary.
Then I catch him in the darkness wearing that dopey smile. He watches me like he’s where he needs to be. In a way, it’s the same needy gaze Griff gets. I should be nervous, but my heart wants to believe he’s a good guy.
I just hope Bubba from Kentucky doesn’t turn my bad taste in men into a habit.
THE CHAPTER WHERE THE RUNAWAY AND THE BOHEMIAN OFFICIALLY MEET
THE RUNAWAY
The word “awkward” doesn’t do justice to the feeling I suffer while staring into the eyes of a woman I’m already soft on, yet whose name I can’t remember. Her soft brown eyes hold amusement. Does she know I don’t know? Or is she happy about last night and thinks I’m happy too? Hell, I’d be plenty happy if I knew her fucking name.
“I’m going to go on a limb and guess you’re having trouble remembering how you got here last night,” she says, standing in her living room while I remain stuck in the kitchen.
“Yeah, it’s a little foggy.”
“Do you remember meeting me at Salty Peanuts?”
“A little,” I lie.
“Do you remember me driving you here?”
“A little less.”
Her soft smile makes my heart beat a little faster. My dick voiced its approval back when she was stretching, but I’m starting to remember why I thought she was “the one” last night. There’s something intoxicating about the way she looks at me.
“Seems like Bubba from Kentucky wasn’t ready for so many Korean Kickasses.”
Her distance from me makes me doubt my memories from last night. If we fucked like rabbits, why is she still standing so far away and watching me as if I’m a possible threat? Was I rough? For fuck’s sake, did I hurt this woman?
“We fucked, right?” I ask before realizing some things need to be left in my damn head. Or at least, worded better.
She bites her smiling lower lip and fights laughter. “No, Bubba, we just talked, and you fell asleep.”
“Why was I in your bed?”
“Because you’re too big to fit on the couch.”
“No,” I say, rubbing my pounding head. “I remember us doing stuff.”
“Then, you must have enjoyed one helluva dream. Or more likely, the absinthe gave you a hallucination.”
Staring at her like a dipshit, I’m not usually this incompetent with women. I don’t know what I said or did last night. I mean, it’s probably best we didn’t fuck. Sloppy drunk people are notoriously bad in bed. When I get between this woman’s legs, I want her to forget every other man exists.
First, though, I really should learn her name, but how the hell do I ask that question?
THE BOHEMIAN
Bubba staggers onto my front porch and stares in awe at my house. He remained mostly quiet in the truck on the way over. He only spoke when I stopped at a red light and texted my brother, who worried about my disappearance. I mentioned Bubba was with me, and I’d return him safely to his cousin tomorrow. You know, assuming I wasn’t forced to gut the asshole.
While Keanu doesn’t demand to check on me, I bet he’ll keep his phone close just in case I need him. My big bro takes his job very seriously.
“It’s a circle,” Bubba says as I unlock the front door. “No, wait, that other shape.”
I shouldn’t smile at his drunken babble, but he sounds so young. I think that’s why I’m trusting him to behave. He doesn’t act like a grown man looking for pussy, but a lost child needing safe passage.
However, I nearly chicken out. Standing in my house, I watch him still outside, staring slack-jawed at the shape of my house. I could lock him out and let him sleep off his stupor on the porch. The weather’s chilly, but he’ll survive. I could even call Keanu to get his bestie to pick up the hunky puppy. These options flash through my mind, but I still allow Bubba to stumble inside.
“I’m too soft,” I mutter.
Bubba stands next to me, his wide eyes taking in the sight of what’s not that interesting to a sober person. It’s a small, A-frame house. On the righthand side is a kitchen along a short wall. The living room sits directly in front of us. Before reaching the double doors at the back, there’s a small detour with a bedroom and bathroom created by a set of half-walls.
My cousins, Lincoln and Lennox, put them up after I moved in. Though the only other owner of this house hadn’t worried about modesty, I want to be able to take a crap without an audience.
“Your house is all wrong,” Bubba says, but there isn’t the anger in his voice like when Griff saw this place.
My ex wanted me to be fun and different but never too fun and different. I don’t know if I’m fun at all really. Different, yes, but that’s only because I grew up seeing Keanu stand out in a crowd. Why wouldn’t I want to do the same?
“Listen up, Kentucky,” I say, refusing to use his name now that I’m reminded of his massive size. Back at the bar, he was tall at a few inches over six feet and wide in the shoulders. He was reasonable there surrounded by other large men. But in my small house, I’m getting that Godzilla-about-to-tear-up-the-place vibe.
His gaze finally leaves the ceiling he’s fascinated by. With the amount of absinthe that he ingested, everything is awe-inspiring.
“I’m letting you stay here tonight as a thank-you for helping with Griff, but you and I will not be fucking,” I say in my hardest voice. “If you touch me, I will hurt you. Do you understand?”
“He shouldn’t touch you,” Bubba says in a somber tone that would probably be intimidating if the words weren’t so slurred.
“Yeah, and neither should you. Don’t make me regret bringing you here.”
Bubba nods like an obedient child, and I struggle not to smile at the earnest expression he’s wearing. I instruct him to remove his jacket and shoes and to put them in the front armoire.
“There are no closets in the house,” I say when he only stares at first.
Turning my back on him to open a kitchen drawer, I find the gold and blue switchblade that my father bought me for my eighteenth birthday. I'm probably paranoid, but I worry Bubba could be another Griff, and I don’t want to end up wishing I had a weapon if things get iffy.
“A dog,” Bubba says, now sitting on my low, wide couch.
I smile at the sight of his long legs struggling to make sense of the small space. He looks at Freki as if he’s never seen a dog up close before. Then again, maybe he hasn’t. I don’t know
jack shit about this guy.
“He’s nervous around men,” I say without explaining why.
Bubba doesn’t reach out for my skittish black and brown Yorkie. He leans back on the couch and smiles in that dopey drunk way. “My family has a dog named Frenchie. Wanna hear why he has such a stupid name?”
“Sure,” I mumble while removing my shoes.
“My pop adopted the mutt from the shelter, and we planned to name him something tough like Magnum or Big Dick. That last one was my brother Buzz’s idea. But then Mom had a dream where the dog wore a beret. She said he looked French, so Pop started calling him Frenchie.”
“That’s cute,” I say, choosing those words because I find the story sweet and I’d also like to poke at his ego to see if he gets nasty. “Here’s an ice pack for your face.”
Bubba doesn’t respond immediately. I freeze, thinking he’s about to get angry. Then I realize he doesn’t understand what I mean about the ice pack. Either the booze dulled the pain, or he was so banged up from his first fight that he doesn’t feel what Griff did to him.
I press the ice pack to his jaw where I witnessed an elbow make contact earlier. He catches the hint and takes it from me. His gaze holds mine, and I can’t deny there’s something sexy about being the only thing he sees.
“I’m on vacation from being me,” he says, and his shoulders sag, making him look like a giant disappointed kid.
I sit on the other end of the couch and carefully slip the knife under me. “What’s wrong with being you?”
“My brother hates me, and I hate him,” he says between gritted teeth. “I always took care of him, and he was my best friend, but that’s all shit now.”
“Is he the one that beat you up?”
“I kicked his ass too,” Bubba growls and then deflates. “I’m not a smart man. I fucking suck.”
“Why don’t you just tell me what the deal is with your brother and then maybe you can crash on the couch for the night?”
Bubba’s gaze searches the house, again fixating on the ceiling. “Why do you live here?”
“Someone has to.”
“But it’s a triangle.”
Smiling at his comment, I pick up Freki and set the dog in my lap. “The man who built this house might have been mentally ill. He lived in the woods for decades. Then a relative of his died and left him money. Nylon Dolphy went from homeless to buying half an acre on what was then just an empty road. Rumor has it that he feared the Illuminati and thought if his house was shaped like a pyramid that he would be safe. He lived here for over twenty years. After he died, no one wanted such a small, odd house. They also thought it was haunted.”
