FORCE: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

by Vivian Lux

  "I've ah, graduated." The lie sprang to his lips easily.

  He placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her to where he was sitting with the rest of the Sons of Steel and she went willingly. It was better that she didn't know the truth.

  Chapter 10

  Emmy

  What are you doing, what are you doing, what are you doing? The chant inside my head clamored loudly as we walked over to the group of leather clad men. Bikers, as I now understood. I had wandered into a biker bar and agreed to have a drink with one of them. Robert would be scandalized.

  That was why I was doing it.

  Well, that was part of the reason. The other part currently had his warm hand pressed into the small of my back.

  I didn't know why I had agreed to have a drink with him. My brain was shrieking about the danger I was in. J. certainly looked dangerous. He was all in black; black T-shirt, black jeans and heavy black work boots, but what sent my heart racing in fear was the black vest he wore over his muscular chest. It was leather and studded with patches. "Road Captain," it said. "Sons of Steel M.C. Philadelphia, PA" read the back.

  "What are the Sons of Steel?" I felt myself asking, then immediately cursed my naiveté.

  When J. laughed, it was like his whole face lit up. I searched his face for any trace of anger at me, but I only saw warmth in his light brown eyes. "Don't know if I can quite explain it to a citizen."

  "Citizen?" Something about the way he said it made me laugh. "Is that what I'm supposed to be?"

  He pulled out the barstool and gestured for me to sit. I had to grin at the chivalry. Robert would do something similar, but only when people were watching. For J. it seemed like something he would do just because.

  "You don't happen to ride a motorcycle, do you Emmy?" He asked, and I could hear the note of teasing in his voice.

  "Maybe I do," I replied archly, crossing my legs.

  "Oh?" He raised his eyebrows and grinned, flashing deep dimples. "Well then I apologize. Your club must be pretty lax if you're allowed out without your colors."

  I played along, enjoying myself. "I don't have need a club." I gestured to my cut up T-shirt. "These are my 'colors,' yellow and violet."

  He laughed again. "They're kinda bright." He paused and put and appraising finger up to his lips. "But they look good on you." His eyes locked on mine.

  I squirmed in my seat, recognizing something in his gaze, but not allowing myself to dwell on it for too long. I had at first thought his eyes were a warm brown, but now that he was close to me, I saw little flecks of hazel in them, tiny shards of emerald, scattered around the iris. His eyes turned up at the corners ever so slightly and the dark black of his lashes cast a shadow along his high cheekbones. The smile faded from his lips as he held my gaze.

  "Hey there, Emmy," he murmured, and took my hand into his once more. This time it wasn't a handshake. His strong hands were calloused and rough, workman's hands. I inhaled sharply, tasting his scent on my tongue. It tasted like warm leather worn buttery soft with age.

  "Hey," I felt myself breathe.

  A sudden chorus of hoots and hollers broke through the moment. "You gonna drink or what?" I heard one of the bikers shout.

  I almost jumped out of my chair when a huge, blond, Nordic looking biker came stalking unsteadily towards us, a drunken smile plastered across his reddened face.

  "Are you fucking with me?" J. muttered and twisted around in his chair.

  The blond biker slung his arm over J.'s embarrassed shoulder and turned to leer at me. "You need a drink in your hand, beautiful. Tonight's a celebration."

  "My graduation," J. interjected quickly.

  The blond biker blinked and licked his lips. "That's right. This promising young gentleman over here is now a proud graduate. Shall we toast him?"

  His formal manner made me giggle, as did his blatant leering at my chest.

  "I don't have a drink," I protested.

  "We can change that!" he shouted and waved his free arm wildly in the air. J. pinched the bridge of his nose. I laughed again, starting to enjoy myself. "Hey Rosie!" the blond biker shouted. "Three over here!"

  J. uncovered his eyes and shot me a mock-bashful look over the palm of his hand. "Emmy, I apologize for my brother over here. Case gets excited easily."

  I looked back and forth, hesitant, from J.'s smooth mahogany skin to Case's pale, reddened face. "Bro...ther?" I sputtered, then immediately blushed.

  J. just looked amused. "Brothers. M.C. brotherhood."

  He leaned forward, ducking out of Case's increasingly unsteady grasp. "You'd know what I meant if you belonged to a club," he teased, fluttering the hem of my T-shirt. "Instead of being a lone wolf like you are."

  "Lone wolf, is that what I am?" I sat back on my stool. "I kind of like that."

  "Oh Jesus, I'm gonna need more to drink if I have to listen to you two," Case complained. He reached over us to grab the shots that had just been delivered by a plump, middle-aged woman.

  "Thanks Rosie, keep 'em comin'." He spun around between our two stools and leaned against the bar for support. "What's your name again, gorgeous?" he blinked at me.

  "Emilia. Emmy," I repeated.

  He nodded and handed me a shot glass filled to the brim with amber colored liquid. "This shit burns, Emmy" he warned, and raised his glass.

  I looked at J., who nodded encouragingly. I brought the glass to my lips and winced.

  "It smells like gasoline," I complained.

  "Tastes worse too!" Case grinned. "Cheers!"

  I was suddenly looking at myself from the outside in. Me, Emilia, the fianceé of Robert Whitestone III, heir to the Whitestone fortune and the toast of Philadelphia high-society, drinking cheap whiskey with bikers. I had to laugh.

  Then I knocked back the shot in one swallow, just like my dad taught me.

  The bourbon hit my throat like wildfire, burning a savage trail all the way down into my stomach. I felt my eyes water and squeezed them shut as I tried to suppress a cough behind my hand.

  "Need a chaser?" J. was right there when I opened my eyes, wiggling a pint of beer invitingly. Case was already pounding his.

  I lunged for the beer wordlessly and poured two-thirds of it down my open throat before I quenched the burn.

  Case whooped and J. raised his eyebrows in approval. "So you've done some drinking before, huh?"

  The burning settled into a dull, pleasant warmth that radiated out of my stomach and made my limbs droop.

  "You could say it's a family tradition," I replied airily, then immediately regretted it.

  No one wanted to hear my self-pity. Robert had drilled that into my head just as often as he had grilled me for stories of my dad's drunken rampages. It was almost as if he liked picking at my pain.

  "Heh, I hear that," J. nodded, and I saw the telltale knowledge behind his eyes. He knew what I wasn't saying. I braced myself for the questions, readying my lies.

  But instead of poking at me, he just sighed. "Want another?"

  I leaned forward slightly, testing my limbs. "I'm going to need some food in my belly if I'm going to keep drinking," I realized.

  "Let's fix that then!" Case shouted. "Rosie!"

  "Case?" J. asked.

  "Yeah?"

  "Go away."

  I cringed, ready for Case to take offense. I had never heard someone speak so plainly before.

  Case only nodded.

  "Got it. Probably my shift with the bikes anyway. Crash is most likely in a pretty foul mood about missing the party." He stepped between us, but stopped just over my shoulder. He bent towards me, his pale blue eyes bloodshot and unfocused. "Wish I had gotten to you first, Emmy. You're fuckin' gorgeous, you know that?"

  "Uh," I stammered, ducking away from the hot stench of whiskey on his breath. "Thank you?"

  He looked at me a second. "You don't know it," he realized, widening his icy eyes. "Well you are." He stood back up. "I'm an expert."

  "Go the fuck away, Case," J. called ou
t amiably.

  "Going!" The huge blond biker staggered to the door and pushed it open, letting in a blast of heat from the summer night.

  "Fuckin' idiot." J. shook his head. "Hope he didn't freak you out."

  I was still blushing, but I hoped he couldn't tell in the dim light of the bar. "I'm okay," I realized. "He wasn't saying anything mean."

  "He wasn't saying anything untrue, either."

  I blushed again, but this time I was saved by the appearance of Rosie at the bar. "Hey there J. You still need me?" she asked in a broad South Philly accent.

  J. swiveled in his chair. "Is the kitchen still open, Rosie?"

  The bartender wiped her hands on her apron. "It is if you ask me nice."

  "Ain't I always nice to you, gorgeous?" J. flashed his dimples again and I could see they had the same effect on the older woman as they did on me.

  She grinned and leaned forward, treating us to perfect view of the deep valley of her cleavage. "Cheese fries sound good? I still have some bacon crumbles."

  J. turned to me. "How's that sound Emmy? You said you were hungry."

  I opened my mouth to protest. Cheese fries. All those carbs.

  My mouth watered. "That sounds great, thanks Rosie."

  She smiled at me, "No problem, doll. Anything for these guys." She headed back to the kitchen and I heard her bark something at the staff.

  "What does she mean?" I turned to J. "Why will she do anything for you?"

  "Heh," J. drummed the bar with his fingers. "You remember the flash mobs last summer?"

  "Of course." It had been all over the news. My mother had praised God that I was home for the summer as we watched the breathless newscasters describing the packs of roaming teenagers who overran South Street. Muggings, random beatings and huge acts of vandalism were reported. I got an email from school about it, even though I was home for summer vacation.

  "Those groups of kids who got together and just went wild. That was down here wasn't it?" I realized.

  "Right down the middle of the street,' J. nodded. "There must have been fifty of them, maybe even a hundred. Well Teach," he gestured to an older black man sitting on a stool in the corner, "he saw them coming. The Sons of Steel, we were down here for another celebration, uh..." he paused for a second, "the uh, end of my semester, and Rosie was terrified. A smaller group of kids had come through the weekend before and she was still waiting for her replacement windows. Friend of hers had gotten his store trashed so bad he was thinking of closing."

  "So what happened?"

  J. looked at me. "We stopped 'em."

  "You stopped them?" I looked around. "Is this everyone?" I had counted six men dressed in black leather.

  J. sipped his beer. "What punk kid's gonna go up against bikers? Not a smart one, I'll tell you that." He gestured to Teach again. "He stood in the doorway with his arms folded. Rest of us stood behind him. Told the kids to keep moving. This place was left untouched."

  I was impressed. "They didn't fight you?"

  "Didn't even try. Crash was ready to beat some asses." J. chuckled and took a long pull of his beer. "I think he was kinda disappointed."

  I laughed out loud, and was shocked at myself. "I'm sorry to hear that."

  "Don't be. Sons of Steel eat and drink free here ever since. Teach doesn't want us putting Rosie out of business though, so we only come here for special occasions."

  "Like tonight?"

  "Like tonight."

  I was curious. Finals weren't over yet at the University of the Arts. This was early to have graduated already. "Where did you go?"

  J. drained the last of his beer. "Some place upstate you never heard of."

  "I'm from upstate. Carbon County. Maybe I've heard of it."

  "Trust me you haven't. Let's shut up about me, whaddya say?" The emerald shards in his eyes glinted at me. "I want to know your story. How'd you end up here at Rosie's?"

  I hesitated, groping for a plausible story. "Fighting with my roommate," I blurted.

  J. nodded. "Living with other people is tough."

  I looked at my hands. Lying usually came so easily to me, but his eyes made me want to tell the truth. I was suddenly ashamed of how quickly I could spin stories.

  He watched me. "Hey there, sorry if I touched a nerve."

  I realized I had been holding my breath, waiting for him to press the issue. "You didn't know," I replied.

  "No I didn't know, but I know living with people is tough," he repeated.

  "Why, where do you live?"

  He chuckled ruefully. "At our clubhouse, behind Teach's shop."

  I was taken aback. "You live with them too?"

  I saw his fist clench and shrank back, but just as quickly as I saw it, it was gone again. "I needed a place to crash after I...graduated."

  I was suddenly filled with the intense need to touch him. I pressed my hand against his leather clad back, “I'm kind of dependent on my roommate too. It sucks."

  If he noticed my touch, he didn't comment. He didn't call attention to it. He just accepted my comfort with grace.

  "A man should stand on his own two feet," he muttered, and I wasn't sure if he meant for me to hear.

  Just then Rosie plopped down two full shot glasses and a huge platter of fries in front of us. J. handed me a glass and held his aloft. "What would you like to toast?"

  I thought for a moment. "To the start of something new," I decided.

  His huge grin as he took the shot made me instantly sputter. "I mean, your graduation and all. A new start." Once more the lie sounded so plausible that I decided to believe myself.

  "Gotcha," J. agreed without protest.

  I knocked back my shot to hide my embarrassment. I didn't want to lead him on. I had a boyfriend. No wait, he was my fiancé. The man I was going to marry. I shouldn't be doing shots with a biker, no matter how captivating his eyes were. Or how smooth his skin was. Or how delicious his dimples looked. The whiskey didn't burn me nearly as badly this time. The fire in my belly was caused by something else.

  "Are you going to eat?" I interrupted my thoughts before they gave me away.

  "You go first, Em."

  The fries were smothered in a lake of bright orange cheese. Wafts of fragrant steam hit my face and my mouth immediately watered. "Holy shit, that smells good."

  "Be my guest," J. gestured, pushing the plate towards me.

  I paused. This would blow my diet to hell and back again. It was greasy and nutritionally void. And it definitely wasn't organic. If Robert knew, he would never speak to me again.

  I slid a fry out from the side of the plate and nibbled giddily. "Wow."

  J. was watching me quizzically. "Have you never had a French fry before?"

  I grabbed three more and shoved them into my mouth. The scorching hot cheese seared the roof of my mouth, but I didn't care.

  "It's been a long while," I explained, blowing out my cheeks to cool my mouth. I closed my eyes, tasting the grease. I waited for the guilt to hit me. This was undoing all my hard work all these months. But for some reason, J. made me feel like it was okay. Like there was nothing wrong with just enjoying myself.

  I opened my eyes to see him watching me. His lips were curved into the most beautiful, openhearted smile I had ever seen. I felt a rush of something inside of me, something that couldn't be denied. The whiskey and beer made me bolder that I had ever felt before. I leaned towards him, drawn closer by instinct. He made no moves, but let me slide off my stool in a trance.

  I lifted my lips towards his. He bent his head slightly, and his lips brushed mine as if by accident. It was a soft as the flutter of moth wings, and yet it sent a jolt of pure electricity down my spine. I pressed into him and he folded me into his strong arms. As he kissed me, I could feel the bulge begin to rise in his jeans. The feeling inflamed me.

  He wanted me.

  I could feel it. He wanted me as much as I wanted him. I parted my lips, letting him taste my tongue with his. His lips were soft, but the stubbl
e of his cheeks rasped against mine. His breath quickened and the bulge in his jeans pressed into my stomach. Dazed, I lifted my arms and pulled him closer. I was definitely drunk, both on whiskey and on him. I felt a dull, persistent throbbing inside of me.

  He ran his fingers through the length of my hair, letting the strands flow through his hands like water. Then he smoothed it back, exposing my neck. I gasped to feel his lips press into the sensitive flesh there.

  "Sorry," he murmured without pulling away. "I've wanted to do that since I saw you walk in."

  "You wanted to kiss my neck?"

  He brushed his lips upward, his hot breath in my ear. "No, I wanted to get my fingers in your hair, then kiss your neck."

  I heard myself make a sound, soft and small like a wounded animal. It was halfway between a gasp and a sob. Need rushed in to fill the hollow place inside of me.

  "J.," I whispered from somewhere outside of myself. "J. can we go somewhere? Can we go somewhere, right now?"

  Chapter 11

  J.

  It took everything in J.'s power not to throw her onto the bar and have her right then and there.

  Her lips were just as soft as he had hoped. He pressed himself into her, the blood rushing painfully to his groin. Letting his tongue circle hers, he pushed that kiss deeper and she responded with a soft, kittenish noise that inflamed him. He tasted the soft cream of her skin and it was a sweet as he'd hoped it would be.

  Then she asked him to do the only thing he wanted to do.

  J. pulled back from the kiss, ready to move. Rosie had a back room. Or they could go to the clubhouse. Or fuck, they could do it right here on the bar. He didn't give a shit, he needed to have this woman right now.

  Her eyes fluttered at him, unfocused and dazed. She pitched forward, stumbling into his lap.

  "Oh shit, Emmy? You okay?"

  Her head lolled as she looked up at him. She raised her arms sleepily. "Come back," she slurred, eyelids half-closed.

  J. punched himself in the thigh, hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. She was drunk. He wanted her, but not like this. "Hey Emmy, you need to eat some more. Can you eat some more?"