by Bijou Hunter
“I’m hot?” I ask Bay who nods.
“I’d date you for the sex,” Bay explains, “but I don’t see us staying hooked up. You’re too high maintenance.”
Nodding, I figure she isn’t wrong since I did try to hurt the guy I now am very interested in kissing. I follow Pepper outside where Oz is giving Blackjack a speech about boundaries and how men are dogs that pee on everything. I don’t know exactly what point he’s making, but the blond Heretics, Camo, keeps snickering. Blackjack just looks bored.
“Blackjack,” Pepper announces, “go to the side of the townhome where you can privately speak with Yarrow. If she tries to kill you again, scream, and we’ll come running.”
Ignoring the snickering around me, I walk away and assume Blackjack will follow. I hear Ginger talking to Oz because neither of them makes any effort to lower their voices. I keep walking until I’m at the front of the townhomes, not far from where Blackjack spooked me, and I swung my blade at him.
➸ Blackjack ★
I’m not a man accustomed to sharing his feelings with others. Privacy means a fucking lot to me. Even my club brothers don’t know my shit. Now I have Oz—who is only a few years older than me—giving me a speech about responsibility and dating. Shit, I’m not a kid, and I don’t need anything dumbed down.
Yarrow might, though, so I restrain my temper and let Oz boss me around. Despite his speech about Yarrow’s delicate psyche, I don’t think he knows much more about her than I do. If he understood her—if any of them did—why are they so startled by her asking if I liked her?
I follow Yarrow to the front of the complex. Her blue eyes don’t study me but, instead, survey the protective fence around the property. She then looks up at the cloudy sky before finally focusing on me.
“Do you want to date me or just have sex with me?” Yarrow asks in the most casual voice.
“I don’t know. Both maybe. Neither is possible too.”
“How come?”
“Which one.”
“Whatever one.”
“I got you under my skin, but I’m not good with women.”
“Were you at the park because of me?”
“I should have stopped that asshole from messing with you.”
“Why? I handled it fine.”
“You were arrested.”
“Oh, well, whatever. You didn’t protect me, but do you want to date me? Yes or no?”
Her simple question holds a complicated answer. Yarrow is beautiful in a million small and big ways. I could look at her face every day and never get bored. On the other hand, we’re fucked-up people, and there’s no denying our chances at a happy pairing are slim.
“I’m not a good guy,” I tell her.
“You’re a criminal. So am I. If you’re making a point, I don’t get it.”
“I can’t promise I won’t hurt you.”
“And I can’t promise I won’t try to hurt you again if you scare me. I still think you’re sexy, and I want to talk to you. We should go on a date unless you’re too scared.”
Even more than the dare in her words, I hear mockery in her tone. She views me as a pussy. I chase her around. I failed at the park. I let Oz push me around. I’m weak. She’s strong. Though she has every right to think that about me, I know she’s wrong.
“Do I have to come here where your friends will babysit us?”
“Yes,” she says and irritation flashes across her face. “But dinner at my townhome means a bed is nearby if I decide I want to have sex with you.”
Having no doubt this little girl knows how to play rough, I smirk at the thought of her asking for sex on a first date. Hmm, what would Oz expect me to do in such a situation? Should I ask my sudden surrogate daddy for advice?
“I’ll be sure to bring condoms just in case.”
Yarrow pulls a move the Everything Nice foxes enjoy and focuses her gaze on my crotch. She doesn’t look up for nearly a minute. What the hell is she thinking? If she was Pepper, I’d think she was threatening my crotch. If she was Clove, I’d assume she was mocking me. With Yarrow, who the hell knows?
When Yarrow’s gaze returns to my face, I can’t read her expression. She nods and crosses her arms.
“Do you have allergies? Can I not cook anything for you?”
“No allergies.”
“I’ll make pork chops. They’re my favorite.”
“You’re supposed to cook what the man wants.”
“I don’t care what the man wants. I want pork chops.”
Grinning, I love how indignant Yarrow looks at my suggestion that she shouldn’t get her precious chops.
“Can I kiss you?” I ask, tempting her to pull a weapon on me again.
“Right now?”
“Unless you’re too scared.”
“No. Does your breath stink?”
I breathe into my hand and realize I’ve smelled better. “A little. Are you picky about that?”
Yarrow digs into her jacket and pulls out a candy container. She pulls out a mint and hands it to me. Then she pops a second mint in her mouth.
“Now we taste the same.”
“I’m sure I’ll enjoy your flavor more than I’d enjoy mine.”
“Well, duh.”
Chewing up the mint, I lift my hands and show her the palms. Yarrow frowns at them until they cup her face. I catch understanding in her blue eyes just before her lips pucker up for me.
I haven’t kissed a woman while sober in a long damn time. My heart bangs in my chest even before my lips cover hers. I’m not afraid of hurting Yarrow or her hurting me. I just don’t want to be a bad kisser since I suspect I might be her first.
Yarrow inhales when our lips meet, and I swear she holds her breath for the entire kiss. I don’t dare slide my tongue into her mouth, worrying she might panic and bite it off. Just the thought of such a reaction makes me smile.
Sucking on her upper lip and then her lower one, I struggle to remain gentle. I’m not THAT guy. I lack patience, and cuddling doesn’t interest me. I want to devour her sweet lips, pulling her against me until her soft flesh becomes one with mine. For Yarrow, though, I’m careful even while savoring her flavor.
Our lips part not out of choice, but in reaction to a shit-ton of clearing throats nearby. Despite knowing we have an audience, I keep my gaze on Yarrow and wait to see her reaction.
“That felt good. You can do it again on our date,” she says in a freakishly casual manner. “Come over tomorrow for dinner.”
“I’ll have to check my calendar.”
“No, you don’t,” she says, narrowing her gaze. “Why are you lying? Is it because of them?”
Yarrow juts her thumb behind her where the crew and Oz stand awkwardly.
“No. I just like fucking with you.”
Yarrow nods for nearly a minute and then smiles. “I like that. Come over at four before it gets dark.”
And with that final order, Yarrow turns around and walks away. Ignoring the nosy fuckers watching me, I instead enjoy the view of Yarrow’s tight little ass before she disappears into the townhome.
This morning, I woke up with an addiction. Now I’ve got myself a fucking date.
Chapter Five
Life Lesson #5: all people are both the same and individuals
➸ Yarrow ☆
Alani’s hair isn’t like mine, and her curls fascinate me. Years ago, my world consisted of visits from my father and his friends in a dark room where I could barely see anything. Now I’m surrounded by so many different people and things. Most new experiences seem pointless to me, but Alani’s hair is an exception.
“Do you not like having your hair played with?” I ask the girl sitting on the living room floor in front of me.
“No, it feels good,” she says and smiles up at my face before returning her gaze to Moana on the TV.
Ginger and Oz are away on a private outing that likely involves sex. Oz’s mom, Tana, joined us earlier and remains at Ginger’s townhome. She put something in t
he oven earlier, and I’m very interested in eating it soon.
“Why cook? You should order food,” Clove says from a nearby chair where she reads on her tablet. “Don’t put too much effort or he’ll come to expect it all the time.”
“But I want to eat pork chops.”
“Men like potatoes,” Tana says from the kitchen. “You could make mashed potatoes with the pork.”
“I don’t care what men want. If I cook, I want to make what I want.”
“Dating involves give and take,” Pepper says with her head in the fridge. “When I started wooing Bay, she wanted to eat sushi and other fish crap. I pretended to want that too. Once I had her under my spell, we stopped eating crap and started eating what I wanted.”
Clove snickers at Pepper’s advice, but I feel my face frowning. “So, you lied?”
“Yes,” Pepper replies immediately. “If I told her sushi sucks on our first date, she might have decided we didn’t fit, or whatever lame crap chicks think.”
“You’re a chick,” Tana points out.
“I know, but you get the point. Dating is about putting your best face forward until you get the person hooked. Then you show them the real you. I mean, no one needs to know you’re a gassy person or have bad breath. Sure, logically we know that’s true about everyone at some point, but why ruin a date with too much of the truth.”
“Lying seems like too much effort,” I mumble.
“Lying is wrong,” Alani tells me as I finish braiding her hair. “Dad says liars always get caught.”
“He’s right,” Tana says, and I hear Clove snickering again.
As usual, their in-jokes make no sense to me. I only care about how I want pork chops and French fries, so that’s what I’m cooking.
“What are you wearing?” Alani asks.
I look down at my clothes before realizing she means on the date. “A shirt and pants.”
Clove glances back at me. “You ought to wear the gray sweater you got last year for Christmas. It looks really pretty on you.”
“A sweater?” Alani mumbles. “No, wear something pretty.”
“It is pretty,” Clove tells the eleven-year-old.
“Wear something with flowers,” Alani says and turns around to look at me. “Something with blue like your eyes.”
“I don’t have anything with flowers.”
“You have a blue sweater,” Clove says way too loud.
Alani smiles softly. “I’m going to date a boy one day.”
“Oz won’t like that,” I tell her.
Clove snorts. “No kidding. I wouldn’t want to be that boy showing up to meet the parents and getting jumped by Oz, Ginger, and Tana.”
Alani ignores Clove’s comment, now more interested in the song from the movie. I return to playing with her hair while staring out of the back doors to a darkening evening. I wonder if Blackjack can see the same sky I’m looking at.
When I was first dragged into the world, I used to worry whenever the sun disappeared. Ginger always promised it would return in the morning. In the beginning, I hadn’t believed her. The sun returned maybe a hundred times before I learned to trust in it and her.
Blackjack isn’t a force of nature like the sun or Ginger, but he’s better to look at than anyone else, and that makes him special. Just like when the sun hides behind the moon, I won’t really relax until I see it and Blackjack again.
➸ Blackjack ★
I’m hiding out at the club’s bar, Rusty Cage, when Oz and Ginger show up looking for me. I ignore them and enjoy my cold beer. The alcohol tastes amazing but does little to distract from Yarrow’s flavor. The girl has some sweet lips.
“Hey, man, you busy?” Oz asks and takes my beer.
“Really? Don’t be an asshole.”
Ginger already stands in the back room while Oz baits me with my drink until I follow him.
“What the fuck do you want?” I ask, sitting in the corner and downing a mouthful of booze to soothe what will soon be an angry gut.
“If this date is going to happen, you should know some things about Yarrow,” Oz says as if this ambush was his idea.
Closing my eyes, I lean back in the chair and think of Yarrow. “What’s the big deal? She isn’t a kid, and she asked me out.”
Ginger flicks a beer cap at my head before dropping her ass into a chair across the table from me.
“She might be as close to a kid that an eighteen-year-old can be.”
Sitting up, I study her frowning face. “How so?”
“The rest of the crew grew up shitty, and we grew up too fast, but we grew up in the same world as most people. Until a few years ago, Yarrow’s world was one room.”
Gesturing for her to continue, I ignore Oz crowding me. The fucker chooses a chair where he’s nearly on my lap.
“When I first found Yarrow, she had been living in a bedroom for most of her life. The windows were boarded over on the outside and painted black on the inside. There was no light in the room except for an old TV.”
Ginger’s frown darkens. “Yarrow hadn’t seen the sun in years. Her father was a dealer named Hal. Small-time guy, nothing out of the ordinary. Her mother was one of several possible women who lived with him over the years. So many people came in and out of the house that there was no way for us to track them down after Hal died.”
“How did her old man die?”
“I disemboweled him before I knew about Yarrow. Hal self-medicated for whatever mental crap he suffered from. My crew had just returned to Little Memphis, and we were cleaning up the problems left behind by the former club president’s sloppiness. Hal was stealing from the club and killing him was just business for me. No one knew about Yarrow since she never went to school or left the house.”
My mind struggles to imagine Yarrow locked away. Despite her panicked look when I spooked her days ago, she’s resilient and achingly free. Even when the cops had her locked up, she looked unbothered.
“What was she like back then?” I ask and hear an unfamiliar fear in my voice.
“People need stimuli. They need to watch other people to know how to act. That’s how we learn, but Yarrow spent most of her time in a closet. She only came out when there was a client. Hal fed her like a dog. Someone told us that he kept her in the dark because that’s how he kept his parrot quiet and figured it would work the same with a kid.”
Ginger exhales in a way that would hint impending tears with any other woman.
“The doctor warned us that her brain was likely mush after so long. I mean she barely talked when we found her. She either spoke too quiet or screamed because she had no practice talking to anyone. Yarrow couldn’t use a fork or drink out of a cup.”
Ginger glares at Oz as if he’s the reason she has to relive such painful memories. He doesn’t react to her angry stare, so she continues. “After we killed Hal, one of the whores living there said he kept a hooker locked in a room. That’s the only reason we went in there. Sitting in the closet was a broken little girl in the body of a nearly grown woman. She didn’t cry when she saw us. Fuck, Yarrow didn’t do a damn thing while we stared down at her. I thought she was mute maybe. Or so traumatized she’d be a limp doll.”
Exhaling hard, Ginger reveals a smirk. “Yeah, then we tried to make her leave the room. You know, to help her. That’s when the silent, big-eyed doll turned into a biting, scratching devil. Even with three of us holding her, we couldn’t drag her past the doorway. Every time she saw the sunlight, Yarrow headbutted whoever was close enough to reach. Then she’d scramble back into the closet. Once there, she was fine again.”
Ginger starts laughing. “Pepper got bit so hard that she needed stitches and the ER doctor thought she’d been attacked by an animal. We finally paid the club’s doctor to pump Yarrow full of shit to keep her sedated long enough for us to move her out of the filthy house. With Hal dead and stinking up the place, we needed to set the place on fire and get rid of evidence. Those drugs kept her out long enough for us to get her t
o our apartment complex.”
“Why not take her to the hospital?”
Ginger loses her smile. “The system doesn’t work for people like Yarrow. She’d be locked up.”
I don’t buy Ginger’s reasoning. Someone like Yarrow needed professional care, and no way did they not lock her up in their apartments. Still, I don’t press the issue.
“She saw doctors, of course. We kept her sedated a lot during those first weeks. If we didn’t, she couldn’t function. Everything from cleaning her to giving her food and medicine resulted in Yarrow trying to bite a chunk out of someone. The light freaked her out. Noise freaked her out. Wearing clothes freaked her out. She didn’t want to change anything.”
Ginger stops to drink her beer. Based on how much she downs, I suspect she’ll remain in a bad mood long after she leaves this bar.
“The thing you have to understand is what took us a long time to get. And that’s how she didn’t want to be saved. Yarrow didn’t know there was anything else in life. She was fine where she was. Then we came along and dragged her from her home and routine. We made her wear clothes and stay awake all day. We expected her to talk and clean herself. Yarrow thought we were punishing her.”
“So what happened between then and the person she is now?”
“She liked music and got the hang of wearing sunglasses when around bright light. Mostly, she liked cuddling. She fought whenever we put her in the shower but then would sit very still while someone brushed her hair. She liked having her feet massaged too. That’s how the cuddling started. Yarrow would throw a brush at someone to ask for hair brushing. Then we’d get her to stay put after her hair was done. The behavioral therapist said we could begin to teach her to do things she disliked by letting her know the hair brushing was her reward for complying. Soon, she’d eat with a fork and spoon rather than shoving her face into a plate. She knew if she ate the way we wanted that she’d get candy. We trained her to become more self-sufficient.”
“So, she did see a therapist?”
“Of course, asshole,” Ginger hisses before shaking out her shoulders. “We hired speech therapists, physical therapists, and behavioral specialists. We could have pawned Yarrow off to someone else, but we’d seen how she lived. That made her our responsibility.”
