by Goode, Ella
I didn’t care much because they didn’t bother us and we didn’t bother them—for the most part. I know of a couple of patches that have slept with a housewife or two or—fuck—five, for all I know or care.
Those kind of sweet butts never showed up at a mash. They preferred to have sex in their bedrooms, or so said Riot who’d taken care of his share of lonely housewives. Riot claimed they loved it and the dirtier the better. Up the ass with all kinds of toys and they always, always wanted it in the marital bed.
Freaky and weird and not my thing.
Of course that’s probably what people said about my arrangement with Michigan. We always preferred sharing women. There isn’t anything like bringing a woman so much pleasure that she’s a drunk fool over you. When Annie gets that glazed I can’t see anything but you look in her eyes, I feel bigger, better, more turned on than a man’s got a right to be.
Plus, I like watching. A lot. It’s almost as good watching Michigan’s dick disappear inside Annie’s drenched cunt as it is to be there. ‘Almost’ being the key word, because nothing in this word feels better than drilling her into the mattress unless it’s drilling into her ass while Michigan’s in her pussy.
“What are you thinking about?” She breaks into my mini-fantasy.
Looking around I realize I’ve pulled into the parking lot of the clinic and didn't even realize it. Well, shit.
“What do you think?” I grab her hand closest to me and rub it over my hard-on.
“Not here,” she says, scandalized, but her wide eyes tell a slightly different story.
“You’re cute, Annie Bloom.” I lean over and kiss her nose. I love that she’s not just shocked at my suggestion but that there’s a hint of interest too. Michigan and I could not have asked for a better partner. Because she’s had no one but us, she’s not afraid of anything. In fact, she just keeps asking for more.
This Saturday there’s a mash at the clubhouse and it’ll be the first one that Annie gets to attend where she’s completely healthy. She’s already told us that she isn't interested in anything public but that spark in her eyes suggests she might change her mind.
We’ll see. Doesn’t matter, though, because there are plenty of private places for us to take her if she decides that she doesn’t want anyone watching us plow her.
“So does that mean I don’t have to go in?”
“Nope,” I say cheerfully. I slide out of the truck and jog around to the passenger door. I lift her down, letting her slide along my front and feel the rod in my jeans—the one that’s constantly upright and hard around her. “But I’ll fuck you in the backseat of the truck once we’re done.”
“How about at home?” She curls a hand around my neck and pulls me down so that my lips are close to hers.
“Good for me.” I buss her lips and give her a solid whack on the ass.
She yelps. “What’s that for?”
“Baby, you’re stalling. Come on.” I nearly have to drag her inside. At the reception desk is my sister, Mrs. Jilly Brown. She married Rick Brown just out of high school and then popped out three rug rats before she was a quarter-century old. After the third was born Jilly was busy with her three toddlers, and Rick thought about straying but I put the fear of God into him by taking him out to the quarry and putting his dick in a vise. I told him that if I found he’d even so much as thought about another woman while still married to Jilly, he’d be eating ground Rick Dick.
Hadn’t heard a whiff of anything bad about ol’ Rick but he’s definitely still on my shit list. As long as Jilly’s happy, though, his family jewels will stay in one piece. The minute she’s shot of him, I’ll happily grind up his dick and any other parts that happen to get caught up in the machinery.
“Hi, Easy.” Jilly smiles. Jilly and my other sister, Hailee, both call me by my road name—Easy—while the rest of my family refers to me by Van, the name my momma gave me. “You sick? You don’t look it.”
“Not me. It’s Annie. She’s been throwing up every day now for a week.”
Annie shoves an elbow in my side. “I can talk for myself. I’ve got a stomach bug but Easy wouldn’t let it run its course so here I am.”
Jilly clicks her tongue in sympathy. “Easy’s pretty stubborn. He gets his mind set on something and it’s nearly impossible to change his course. Best just to ride it out.”
I bite my tongue to prevent some inappropriate comment on how good Annie rides me from slipping out. Annie is getting to know me real well, because she applies direct pressure on my foot for the same reason.
I wrap my arm around her shoulders and lean over the desk. “Your boss have any time for Annie this morning?”
Jilly scans her appointment book. “Dr. Addams isn’t available but the nurse practitioner is.”
“We’ll take her.”
“Okay, fill out this paperwork. Honey, you have insurance?”
She nods and rifles through her little purse. “Yes, right here. I hope—” She bites her lip. “I hope it’s still good.”
Michigan’s right. We need to do something about Pastor Bloom. I’d nearly forgotten about all the shit he pulled, draining Annie’s bank account, canceling her phone, and shutting her out of the house. That was before he beat the snot out of her.
Over her head, I signal to Jilly that I’ll take care of the bill no matter what. She gives me a tiny nod in return. Annie blissfully is unaware of this exchange. I know the matter of money and how little she has makes her real nervous.
After a few minutes, a nurse calls Annie’s name.
“Easy, you can’t go back with her,” Jilly calls out as I stand with Annie.
“Why the hell not?” I frown.
“Because you aren’t her guardian or spouse. HIPAA rules.”
I open my mouth to protest but Jilly gives me a hard stare. I sit down but I’m not happy about it.
“I’ll be right out and tell you everything,” Annie assures me.
“You better,” I say grumpily. After Annie disappears behind the office door, I pull out my phone to text Michigan so he’s in the loop. He’s making a delivery of goods to Eau Claire. Usually we’d go together but since Annie got hurt, one of us always sticks around Fortune. The last time we left her alone, she was barely alive when we got back. That mistake won’t happen again.
Took Annie to doc’s office
The phone rings about two seconds later. “I’m driving so I can’t text you. What’s going on?”
“She was puking again this morning. Had to take her in.”
“Shit. You think it’s just a stomach virus?”
“Could be.”
“Easy,” Jilly calls waving Annie’s insurance card in the air.
“I’ve got to go. Annie’s insurance may have gotten declined.”
“We’ve got enough to cover that shit.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s just another thing that we’ll be taking our pound of flesh over, right?”
“Right, brother.”
I approach the desk again. “What’s the status of the insurance?”
Jilly smiles. “Looks good. I called and she’s still covered.” She leans forward and gestures me close. “What’s going on, anyway?”
“Just a disagreement with her old man.” I downplay it because there are other people in the waiting room and I don’t want everyone up our business.
“I heard that when you pulled her out of his basement she was barely alive. The nurses over at Memorial said her back looked like mincemeat.”
“So much for doctor/patient privacy.” I roll my eyes toward the door I wasn’t allowed to enter because of HIPAA rules.
Jilly shrugs. “People can’t help but gossip.”
“Well, if you know so much gossip then tell me who posted the bond for Pastor Bloom’s bail.”
“I don’t know. They said it’s one of the members of his church.”
“What’s your best guess?”
“I guess it could have been Mrs. Trainor. Her husband is som
e bigwig with Stagecoach Financial out of the Twin Cities. She’s been a member of the church for a decade.”
“What else—” My next question is interrupted when the door opens and the nurse who pulled Annie inside calls my name.
“Mr. Easy,” she says. “Miss Bloom would like you to step back.”
Jilly grins at the name Mr. Easy and I reach across and knock her on the head. “Go on,” she says with a big taunting smile. She must know something I don’t. “Congratulations,” she mouths as I brush by the nurse.
“Room 4, down the hall and to the right.”
“Thanks.” I nod and follow her directions.
Knocking, I open the door and step inside. Annie’s sitting on a chair beside the small sink and desk the doctor uses and across from the examination table. Her fingers are clenched together and there’s a tight look on her face. Congratulations?Congratulations on what?
I rush to her side and kneel on the ground. “What’s wrong, baby?”
She chokes a little at the word baby and it all comes together for me. The sickness in the morning, Jilly telling me ‘congratulations’. Annie choking up when I called her baby. I press my lips together to keep in the yowl of surprise and elation that’s bursting inside. But I can’t stop the shit-eating grin from breaking out.
“Holy shit. How far along are you?” I reach between us and press my hand against her flat stomach. I can’t believe there’s a baby brewing in there.
“Eight or nine weeks. My period got screwed up when I was sick and then the antibiotics messed with my pill and I just didn’t even think about it when we, you know, started having sex again.” She whispers the last part as if someone else is standing close and could hear. Her cheeks are a bright red and I couldn’t wait to take her home and kiss every pink inch of her.
“Wait until Michigan hears about this.” I pull out my phone but she sticks out her hand to stall me.
“The nurse asked me if we want to do a paternity test. Earliest we can do it is thirteen weeks.”
“What?” I ask, phone halfway to my ear.
“I don’t know which one of you is the father,” she whispers, her voice full of clear distress.
“So what? The baby is ours. Doesn’t matter whose sperm dug inside your little egg. All that matters is we’re having a baby. Emphasis on we.”
“But…” she sputters. It’s clear to me she’s having a difficult time processing this but I couldn’t be happier. She’s going to get round and gorgeous and push out a baby of ours. Her body will be so gorgeous that we are going to be on her at all times. “What will the baby’s last name be? Who’s going on the birth certificate? Who’s going to labor classes with me? Who’s going to parent-teacher conferences?” The last question is a little shrill. She stands up, hands on her hips, and glares down at me. “This matters to me, Easy.”
I straighten and pull her against me. Stiff and uncooperative, she stands like a board in my arms. I try to soothe her, rubbing my hands over her back. “I hear you. We’ll work all of this out. I swear. We’re a team and we’ll make decisions as a team. I love you, baby,” I whisper into her hair and those words are enough to make her melt.
“I’m just worried,” she mumbles into my T-shirt.
“Worry about our kid inside you and let Michigan and me take care of the rest. Can you do that?”
She sighs, big enough that I feel the vibrations. “I can try.”
“That’s all I’m asking for.” I sit down in her now vacated chair and settle her on my lap, cuddling her close. She’s going to need a lot of loving over the upcoming months. I don’t want a second to go by without her knowing that she’s all that I’ll ever want.
As I’m holding her, I punch in Michigan’s contact on my phone.
He answers immediately. “What’s wrong?”
“Dude, are you sitting down?”
“Asshole, I’m driving.”
“You better pull over.”
“Seriously?”
“As serious as a heart attack.”
I press mute while Michigan pulls over. “Here’s what you should be worrying about.”
“What’s that?” An adorable furrow appears in the middle of her forehead. I press a kiss on the wrinkles.
“Michigan’s not going to want you to do anything, maybe not even walk. That’s what you’re going to have to worry about.”
The furrow gets deeper as she scrunches up her nose. “Do not like.”
I chuckle but Michigan interrupts with a sharp “What the fuck is going on” in my ear.
“Our baby is having a baby.”
“What?” he yells. I hold the phone away from my head so my eardrum doesn’t get blown out.
“Yeah, Annie is pregnant. That’s why she’s been puking up every day.”
“I thought it was supposed to be morning sickness.”
I raise my eyebrows in question toward Annie. She shrugs. “It can be in the morning, all day, all night or not at all.”
“You hear that?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He sounds stunned. “Thanks for telling me to pull over. Good call there.”
“Thought so.”
“Shit.”
Annie looks worried but I wink at her. This is Michigan. He can’t believe it when good things happen to him. The day he patched into the Death Lords, he walked around shaking his head and saying “goddamn” all day.
“Shit,” he says again and this time it’s all wonderment. “I can’t fucking believe it. Can you feel anything? Like is the kid moving? Do we know the sex?”
“No, she looks like she’s not even eating enough, let alone pregnant.” I have to hold up my arm to fend off an indignant slap by Annie.
“Holy shit. Fuck. I gotta get home. Why does the thought of Annie knocked up make me harder than hell?” He doesn’t wait for an answer but plows ahead. “Go home. Feed her. Put her to bed. Jesus. Should she even be walking? Make sure you carry her. Holy shit. What a fucking amazing day.”
He hangs up before either Annie or I can say another word.
“Is he upset?” Annie asks worriedly.
“Nope. Actually, yeah, probably. He wants to be home, making sure you aren’t on your feet and carrying anything heavier than a feather.”
“This is going to be bad, isn’t it?” She covers her face with her hands.
“Not for me.” I grin. The fireworks between the two of them are going to entertain me for months. “But let’s get some food in you. You’re eating for two now.”
Chapter Three
Annie
“How are you feeling?” Easy asks for the tenth time in the last ten minutes.
“Don’t you have to go to work?”
“No. Michigan and I usually do deliveries together but we’ve worked it out so one of us can be around.”
Meaning they think I need constant protecting. What I need is to start my job at Judge’s custom auto shop as soon as possible. The nurse practitioner had given me a huge box of vitamins and instructions on how to combat pregnancy nausea, including drinking Coca Cola and wearing motion sickness bands. After Easy thoroughly embarrassed me about asking how much sex I could have (no hanging from the ceilings, she’d said very seriously) and at what point we’d need to stop (apparently up until the day I gave birth), he hustled me to the drugstore where we proceeded to order a million more vitamins and then buy every pregnancy related item he could find. If he thought I was going to use the plastic spoon advertised to collect my pee, he had another think coming.
“I think I’ll walk over to Judge’s and see if I can’t get started.”
“What?” Easy explodes. “You can’t walk over there! It’s clear on the other side of town. Plus, there’s no need for you to work. You’ve got a baby cooking in there. I don’t think you should be around paint fumes and gasoline.”
I leave him ranting in the kitchen to get dressed although I wondered what an office person at an auto shop wore. Overalls? I don’t own any of those. I have my skin
ny jeans and tight T-shirts that the guys had bought me at the Harley store in Minneapolis and a small selection of ugly tan and denim skirts with church-appropriate blouses.
I opt for the jeans and tight T-shirts. Michigan and Easy rode Harleys and Judge’s business was all about motors and engines and tires. Harley wear had to be appropriate. The jeans fit fine and as I pat my flat stomach, I’m weirdly disappointed. If I do have a baby inside me, I feel like I should show—immediately. I want to run out and buy maternity jeans and tiny little clothes. I guess that’s how my excitement is manifesting itself, whereas Easy is going a little crazy trying to wrap me up in bubble wrap.
He likes to joke that Michigan is more protective but the truth is that they both can go overboard. I wish I had started working before we found out. That way the fight wouldn’t be as hard and while it’s going to be a fight, it’s one I’m going to win.
I can’t cave to them now or I’ll never have any independence. Straightening my back, I march out of the bedroom to find Easy on the phone with a pen in his hand.
When he spots me, he waves for me to stop and then says into the phone, “Thanks for all that, Mom.”
I pick up my purse from the entry table and slide it onto my shoulder. There are a pair of gray flats and a pair of black boots. Boots seem better suited to a garage. I turn around to retrieve a pair of socks. Easy follows me.
“Where’re you going?”
“To work.” In the dresser, I find a pair of thin white socks and pull them on.
“Should you be wearing jeans?” he questions. His feet are shoulder width apart and his arms are crossed in what I suppose should be a menacing and intimidating pose but I’m too annoyed to be cowed.
“Yes, and I swear, Easy, I will leave this house and go live in Pippa’s trailer out in the country if you and Michigan are constantly going to question what I eat, what I wear, and whether I can work.” I push by him and step outside.
