by Hart, Lane
“Hell, me too,” he agrees. “Listen, I’ve got to get back to work. Take care of yourself, and keep your dick out of Lucy!”
“Fuck, I will!” I agree before we both end the call, not knowing what the hell that was about.
Unless…Malcolm is trying to use some form of reverse psychology on me. Does he really think that telling me not to sleep with a girl will make me want to sleep with her?
He’s out of his mind if so, because I will never see Lucy like that. She’s just too innocent looking for me to even consider getting naked with her. And while her shirt was too baggy over her leggings to see much of her body, I’m guessing it’s just as girly as the rest of her, probably with no rack and not the slightest jiggle in her ass. My type has always been tall, pretty blondes who are stacked, not skinny little girls with no meat on their bones, so delicate you could accidentally snap them like a twig if the fucking gets too rough. And honestly, the only kind of fucking that’s good is the one that breaks furniture or leaves holes in the wall.
It’s been so long that I’ve forgotten how fun and destructive sex could be.
Maybe it really is time for me to get back out there and start dating again.
Nah, women are too much work. Besides, I can’t even think about getting naked with anyone until I can look in the mirror without hating what I see.
Lucy
* * *
The next morning, I was hoping for a repeat of the day before. I would tidy up Nash’s place while he slept in; then I would cook us some waffles, and boom, he’d wake up, we’d eat together and have another deep conversation.
Instead, he slept through the cleaning and the waffles. I was too disappointed to wake him up, so I waited around in his apartment watching game shows on his television until almost noon, then left a note on the fridge, and slipped out the door.
On my way down the stairs, I nearly ran head-first into a woman carrying a plate covered in aluminum foil, about the size of a small mountain.
“Oh my god! I’m sorry!” I apologize. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“No, it’s my fault. I wasn’t paying attention,” she says, balancing the plate in one hand to run her fingers through her beautiful, multi-colored hair. “Too much on my mind.”
“I know how that is,” I reply. “Well, have a good day.”
“You too,” she says with a smile before she continues up the remaining steps and I hear her knocking on a door.
Glancing over my shoulder like the nosy person I am, I see her waiting outside Nash’s apartment.
I thought he hadn’t slept with anyone in years? That was such bullshit. And I’m not jealous. Nope, not even a smidge. I just want to slam the pretty girl’s face into his door and rip out her gorgeous hair.
Swallowing down those dark thoughts, I blurt out, “He’s, um, he’s still asleep.”
“Ah, who is asleep?”
“Nash.”
“Oh. You know Nash?” she asks, pointing at his door in surprise, and I can’t help but wonder who she is. One of his admirers trying to get in his pants now that he’s officially divorced maybe…
“Yeah, I do. I live down below him.”
“Oh, okay.”
“I have a key to his apartment,” I brag just a little when I hold it up between my fingers. “Do you want me to let you in?”
“No, not if he’s sleeping. I was just bringing him some brownies. Want one?” She holds out the plate toward me, and I immediately know how Snow White felt when confronted by a witch. I can’t resist chocolate, even from the girl trying to bang the hottest man ever.
“Sure.”
“How about I leave these with you, and you can give them to Nash later when he’s awake and after you eat as many as you want?” she suggests.
“Sounds good to me,” I easily agree when I take the plate from her. “I’m Lucy, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you! I’m Jetta. My boyfriend Devlin is one of Nash’s good friends in the MC.”
“Ah, so he’s one of the Dirty Aces?”
“He is,” she agrees with a growing smile. “And are you and Nash…” she trails off and waggles her eyebrows.
“No, we’re just neighbors. I’m not even sure if we’re friends,” I admit to her.
“Oh, well, Nash isn’t known for dating much because of his wife and all,” she tells me, watching my face closely, I assume to see if I know that about him.
“Ex-wife,” I correct her. “They’re officially divorced now.”
“Is that right? Good for him.”
“I don’t think it was his choice.”
“Oh. Well, either way it’s done. It’s time for Nash to finally move on. He’s a good guy. All of the Dirty Aces are. And I owe them more than I’ll ever be able to repay,” she says with a slight frown tugging down her lips.
I want to ask what she means by that but don’t want to pry.
As the two of us stand there awkwardly on the stairs, I try to think of something else to say.
“I love your hair,” I tell Jetta honestly, no longer wanting to pull it out now that I know she has a man.
“Thank you,” she says, running her fingers through it again.
“I’ve never been brave enough to try colors.”
“Let me know if you change your mind. I just started cosmetology school, but I’ve been coloring my own hair for years.”
“Really? That’s awesome!” I tell her.
“I’m free the rest of the day if you want to try something new.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “I don’t think I’m ready for blues and purples yet, but I would love to go a little blonder maybe?”
“Absolutely!” Jetta replies. “If you want to put those brownies away, then we can head to my place. Actually, it’s Dev’s place, but I’ve been crashing with him after a fallout with my asshole brother.”
“Ugh. The only thing you can count on with family is drama,” I say with a roll of my eyes.
“Exactly,” she agrees with a smile. I know right then and there that I’ve finally made my first real friend in this new city.
Chapter Seven
Nash
* * *
“What the hell are you wearing?” Ellie asks as soon as I walk through our apartment door wearing a new denim cut. The leather ones are more badass, but we’re all too broke to afford them just yet.
“Malcolm, Lowell and I have decided to start a new MC – the Dirty Aces,” I say before I turn around and show her the back where there’s a huge patch with an Ace of Spades playing card and skull in the middle.
“You’re kidding, right?” she asks. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“No. We’re serious. All we need is two more members to make it official.”
“I can’t do this again, Nash! I can’t…I won’t worry myself sick about you getting killed because of a stupid MC! You were lucky you weren’t at the bar when it burnt down or I would be a widow right now!”
“This time will be different,” I assure her. “Malcolm will run things, and we’ll be more careful.”
“No,” she says with a shake of her head. “It won’t be any different! Just more of the same dangerous shit! Tell Malcolm and Lowell that you don’t want to be a part of it.”
Her sudden anger and outrage are not uncharacteristic of my gorgeous wife. But for the past few days, she’s barely spoken a word to me, and she sure as hell hasn’t let me touch her, telling me she doesn’t feel like it. The sudden yet continuously growing chasm that’s come between us apparently has us both on edge.
That’s why I take a calming breath before responding. “Ellie, you know I can’t abandon them now, not after everything that’s happened…”
“I gave up everything for you, my home, my friends and my family, my trust fund, and you won’t do this for me?” she asks.
“I didn’t ask you to give up anything!” I remind her. “That was your decision and your price to pay for being with me because nobody thought I w
as good enough for you. And you knew who I was when we met. I’m not going to change for anyone. Ever.”
“Not even me?”
“No,” I say even though the refusal burns my throat. “I love you, Ellie. You know I do. But demanding I walk away from the club…you’re asking too much of me. I need the MC.”
“I’m asking too much of you? God, what about what I need, Nash?”
“What do you need?” I question her.
“I need more...”
“More? What the hell is more? More money you mean?”
“More money for once would be a nice start.”
“What does that mean?” I stare at my wife of only two years, the woman I love more than anything in the world, and at the moment I don’t even recognize her. Lately, we argue about every little thing, and now she’s giving me hell about the MC and talking about needing more money?
“We could move back home to Charlotte. Maybe…maybe my parents would see how much I care about you, and Daddy could help you get a good job with his firm.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” The words come out louder and more brutal than I intended.
“I swear it’s like you enjoy being poor!” she exclaims. “Look around at our tiny ass apartment! We can barely pay for the things we need, like groceries and the rent each month. Who chooses to live like this?”
Money has always been a sore spot for me and my ego. I know the kind of rich family Ellie came from and what she gave up when she agreed to marry me. I gave her more than a year to come to her senses and walk away before I asked her to marry me because I hated that I couldn’t give her everything she needs and everything she deserves.
“Have you ever considered getting a job to help me out instead of putting all this shit on me?” I ask her.
“You want me to drop out of school and get a job?” she whispers quietly, her face paling as if I just asked her to become a prostitute.
“Yeah, you could get a job,” I agree through gritted teeth, hating the idea of not being able to make ends meet on my own but desperate for a temporary break from the burden on my shoulders. “For once, it would be nice if I wasn’t the only one having to constantly bust my ass to try and put food on the table and keep a roof over our heads!”
Ellie’s jaw drops. When she recovers, she asks, “Why didn’t you say something before now?”
“Because I know how much you want to finish your degree. I get it, Ellie. But for people like me, there are more important things than that fucking sheet of paper that takes four years and a shit ton of money to get.”
Now her face is turning red in anger, before she fires back. “We’ve always had different priorities, I know that. I just didn’t think you would be happy being broke forever. Is this how you would prefer to live rather than sucking up your pride and talking to my father so we could do better? Don’t you want us to be able to afford to have a family someday?”
Bracing my hands on my hips, I tell her the truth. I’ve never lied to her before, and I never will. “No, I don’t really see myself leaving this town or ever being a father.”
Judging by the shocked look on her beautiful face, I think a slap upside the head would’ve been less hurtful than the honest words I just spewed. Without responding, she hurries over to our bedroom and slams the door. I hear her push the lock for good measure to keep me out.
“Fuck!” I scream to the ceiling as I tug on two handfuls of my hair.
This is not how I wanted the night to go. I thought she would be happy for me, for the three of us who survived the annihilation of the Ace of Spades MC to start a new club for the best friends and brothers we lost. How did that shit turn into a conversation about being poor and it not being good enough for her anymore? That I’m not good enough for her?
I’m so pissed off and angry at myself for disappointing her that I can’t even sit still. That’s why I walk out the door and ride back to the bar for a drink or ten to give Ellie time to cool down.
My eyes snap open when I reach the part of the recurring nightmare where I always wake up, alone in bed or on the sofa in a cold sweat.
For the past three years, I’ve replayed that argument with Ellie over and over again in my mind, wondering what the fuck I could’ve done differently. I had no idea that by the time I decided to drag my sorry ass home that night that Ellie would be long gone. She just packed up all of her things in her car and left me.
It was a brutal argument, no doubt about it. But we had been married for two years. I thought we were strong enough to get through anything, especially another argument over money or our lack thereof. Guess I was wrong.
I had no idea she hated the idea of me forming another MC so much or that telling her I didn’t think I would ever leave town or be a father would be the final straw.
Boy, was I fucking wrong.
A clattering of pots or pans comes from my kitchen, telling me I’m not alone in my apartment. That’s probably what woke me up from my mid-day nap that followed my early-morning nap. Sleeping and drinking are pretty much the only things I’ve done these past two weeks or so.
Knowing better than to try and head into the kitchen before I’m clean and smelling decent, I go straight for the shower, washing quickly and then throwing on a pair of black sweatpants and a white t-shirt that are now clean thanks to Lucy. Maybe I’m not all that pissed about Malcolm somehow strong-arming her into being my housekeeper slash cook.
When I walk into the living room, I have to do a double take at the back of the girl standing in my kitchen. Her hair is definitely blonder, so much so that she sort of looks like a mini-Ellie. I’ve always had a thing for blondes…
Shaking those thoughts from my head, I ask her, “What time is it?” since I don’t have a clue and there are no clocks on the wall. My microwave has been blinking twelve o’clock for years.
“It’s almost five,” Lucy replies without looking at me, focused on the task in front of her, running a pizza cutter through the crust of a smoking pie that is only slightly black around the edges. “Did you have a late night?”
“Nope. Just nothing better to do.”
When she turns around with sauce and cheese dripping from the cutter, I notice she’s wearing a white, see-through dress that clearly shows a black bikini underneath. “I’m going swimming after dinner if you want to come.”
Our apartment complex has an outdoor pool, but I don’t think I’ve been in it more than three or four times in all the years I’ve lived here. In the summer, it’s always packed with residents and their friends.
“No thanks,” I tell her. Going over to the cabinet, I grab two plates while studying her. “Did you do something to your hair?”
“Oh, yeah! Jetta just colored it for me and added in some highlights.”
“Jetta?” I repeat. “You know Jetta?”
“I didn’t until earlier today.” Washing her hands in the sink and drying them on a towel, she turns to me and says, “We met on the stairs when she brought you that big plate of brownies.” Lucy nods over to the bar counter where there’s a huge plate covered by aluminum foil.
“Was she planning on everyone in the building having a brownie?”
“Nope, just for you! Although she did say I could help myself to them,” Lucy replies. “That was really nice of her. She mentioned something about owing you…”
When she leaves the sentence hanging in the air, I know she’s waiting for me to provide details as we take our plates to the small table and sit down across from each other. Never gonna happen.
“If she says so,” I respond with a shrug, refusing to go into details. The last thing I’ll ever do is spill my guts about the Dirty Aces’ business to some random girl I barely know. But somehow, she seems to know a lot about me. “How did you know to talk to Malcolm about me the other day?” I ask.
“What do you mean?” Lucy asks, freezing with a slice of pizza halfway to her mouth.
“He said you showed up at the pool hall looking for
him to talk about me.”
“I went to the pool hall because I knew the place was connected to the Dirty Aces and I had seen your cut…”
“That’s what Malcolm said too, about you putting together our association because you had seen the back of my cut up on the roof the other night. I may have been drunk off my ass, but I know for a fact that I wasn’t wearing my cut that night. I haven’t put it on in weeks.”
“Oh, well, I’m just good at finding things out about people online.”
“Must be since you didn’t even know my name. We had never met before.”
“Right, I didn’t know your name, but it’s not that hard to do a reverse search from someone’s address to match them up with a name.”
“How did you know which apartment was mine?”
“You live right above me!”
“Hmm,” I mutter since there are still a lot of questions up in the air.
“So, I think I’m gonna get going, get in some pool laps and get some sun before it sets,” Lucy says when she suddenly gets to her feet without finishing a slice of pizza. Dumping the leftovers in the trash, she takes her plate to the sink to rinse it like she’s in a hurry to get away from this conversation.
“What about the dishes?” I ask since I didn’t ask the questions with the intention of running her off before she could finish eating. She just got here!
“I’ll do them tomorrow,” she assures me, which is crazy because they are my dirty dishes. If anyone should be washing them, it’s me.
Still, I’ll probably leave them right there in the sink, not only because I’m lazy, but to give her a reason to come back tomorrow. I’m pretty sure she was over here earlier today, cleaning while I was passed out. And while I don’t really trust her just yet, I do like that she’s making a habit out of coming by each day.
I barely blink and Lucy is out the door without another word, leaving the apartment so much quieter with nothing but the remnants of her fruity floral scent in the air.
