by Kim Jones
PATCHWHORE
Kim Jones
Contents
Untitled
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
1. Mr. Delicious
2. A Number And A Name
3. Tequila With Bikers
4. Prince Charming
5. Breaking And Entering
6. The Plan
7. Patchwhore
8. It Begins
9. The Deal
10. Eagles Road Captain Drake
11. Mr. Big Mouth
12. Mr. Delicious Saves The Day
13. Eagles Secretary Juice
14. Eagles Treasurer Lefty
15. The Warning
16. Eagles Enforcer Clint
17. Eagles Vice President Zack
18. I’m Not Your Prospect
19. The Sleepover…
20. …And The Morning After
21. She’s That Girl: The Clubwhore
22. The Proposal
23. Into The Black
24. Change Isn’t Always A Good Thing
25. By The Light Of The Refrigerator
26. Pops’ Bartender Kat
27. The Great Escape
28. And I’m Not Your Prospect
29. Devil’s Renegades Prospect Cook
30. The Ride
31. Almost Perfect
32. Memories
33. Home
34. Second Chances
Also by Kim Jones
About the Author
PATCHWHORE
KIM JONES
THE BEST WAY TO GET OVER ONE MAN
IS TO GET UNDER ANOTHER.
Copyright © 2016 by Kim Jones
This book belongs to me. If you bought it, thanks! If it was loaned to you, thank you friend! If you stole it, you suck donkey balls.
This book is also a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are of my imagination. I mean, really? You think heroes like this actually exist in real life? Well they don’t. If they did, people wouldn’t read about them, they’d go out and find their own real life book boyfriend.
But honestly, it wouldn’t matter if the fictional men in novels existed or not. Women would still find something to bitch about. They’re too perfect. Too sweet. Dress too nice. Smell too good. We’re miserable creatures—women. Can’t be satisfied. Ever.
So keep being imperfect, gentlemen. Truth is, it doesn’t really make it shit, anyway. But I do thank you. You’re the reason I can continue to make a living doing what I love.
For Georgia, Maria and Mattie:
I look forward to many more smoke-outs with you
Acknowledgments
To God for giving me the gift of life, writing and an eternal love.
Reggie: All those nights spent in bed alone will be worth it one day. I hope.
Amy Owens: Don’t replace me. I’m trying like hell to be a better best friend. It’s just taking a little while.
Parents: We’re gonna get rich one day, I promise.
Sisters: You’ll be rich, too. Maybe.
Katy: Thank you for loving my Cook. Your encouraging words help to breathe life into my characters.
Aunt Kat: I don’t think I could’ve done this without your continued support.
Uncle Don: I never would’ve mentioned Aunt Kat without mentioning you—after all, I am the favorite…author.
Natasha: You held my hand. Well, in spirit.
Josephine: You owe me 87 drinks. BY THE WAY…
Sali: My first ever audiobook listener. I love you.
HNDW: This may just be the one that gets that Bahama bottom rocker.
Hang Le: The cover—perfection.
Amy Tannenbaum: Um…hang on. I’m checking my voicemail. Get back with you soon.
Chelle Bliss: My biggest thanks goes to you. For helping me figure out this damn Mac. You rock.
Mr. Delicious
Despite the warm interior of my car, I can’t suppress the shiver that runs through me as I gaze up at the neon sign hanging haphazardly from the front of the bar. Checking the address on my phone again, I frown when it matches the peeling numbers on the side of the building. According to the reviews, Pop’s is known for its rough customers and rowdy fights—catering to bikers and every other outcast in the greater Lake Charles area. If it weren’t a two hour drive from campus, I’m sure it would have been mentioned as a “place to avoid” in the awareness class my parents demand I attend once a month.”
I dial Emily’s number—my other hand lingering on the gear shift. After all the courage it took to get me here, I somehow feel like I need her approval before I can leave.
“Are you chickening out?” my best friend of ten years asks, disappointment evident in that voice that’s dying to sing, “I told you so.”
“Um, I don’t think this is the right place.”
“Yes it is. He checked in there three times last week on Facebook. If he’s hanging out with his new biker friends, then that’s exactly where he is.” I drop my gaze when a burly man makes eye contact with me from a few parking spots over.
“I know Jud…he wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this.”
“First, you obviously don’t know Jud. Second, he’s a biker now. Bikers hang out in rough places. And three, the most important of all, he screwed half of your sorority sisters. Right under your nose.” It’s been four months, and although the reminder doesn’t rip my heart out of my chest like it used to, it still hurts.
“Are you sure he’s really a biker?” I ask, already knowing the answer. He might have blocked me on Facebook, but was too stupid to block Emily. I guess he thought her being five hundred miles away somehow made him safe from her stalking. It didn’t.
“You want me to re-send the screenshots?”
As she says the words, I scroll through my images and find the evidence in black and white. Or blue and grey—the colors of the riding club he’s now a member of. Eagles—Lake Charles, Louisiana. I thought it took years to become a member of a club. Obviously, I was wrong.
I guess Jud used his charm on his biker brothers like he had on me. And the entire Velta Di sorority on the LSU campus. Because in less than a year, he’d managed to make friends with the club and become a member—completely reinventing himself. He still had the motorcycle he’d had since high school. But gone was the Sperry, khaki, polo wearing boy I’d fallen in love with. Now he wears a leather vest and rides with outlaws.
I look down at my own attire and roll my eyes. I’ve been planning this night for a month. Now that it’s here, I’m starting to feel ridiculous. In my head, it had been perfect. The moment. The scene. The mood. Even the song. I was going to give him a taste of his own medicine. He’d screwed my sisters, now I was going to screw his brothers—aka fellow club members. Or so Emily had said after doing a little research.
“Stop thinking, Carmen,” Emily snaps. “Get out. Go in. Order a drink. Order another one. Then make that bastard pay.” I nod with each command—willing myself to follow through.
“I’ll call you when it’s done.” Hanging up, I blow out a breath and grip the steering wheel. I’m way out of my comfort zone. But I’ve been good for too long. It’s time for me to live on the edge. Take chances. Chase a thrill. Understand the feeling of danger—not just the definition.
Without giving myself time to change my mind, I step out of the car and into the dark parking lot littered with bikes and a few old trucks. I feel even more out of place when I hit the lock button on my keypad, and the two loud chirps of my alarm system echo in the night as the LED headlights of my E Class Mercedes illuminate the front of the building.
My head jerks from side to side—searching the lot for anyone paying attention. I’m all alone and the realization has me shovin
g my hands into the front pockets of my coat and sprinting toward the entrance. Although, I’m not sure if I’m running from danger, or into the hands of it.
A cloud of smoke billows over my head as I pull open the heavy glass door. Loud music blasts from speakers hanging on the dark-colored walls covered in posters of half-naked women and neon beer signs. The bar makes a huge U in the center of the room. Nearly every stool is occupied with men donned in black leather vests covered in patches—some the same, some different.
Several tables are scattered to my left—most empty. To my right are a row of pool tables where another crowd of men are gathered. I quickly make my way to one of the empty tables at the furthest corner of the room and take a seat—feeling a little safer in the shadows.
“What ya drinkin’ doll?” I jump, startled as I meet the inquisitive eyes of the waitress. She’s smacking on a piece of gum, her pen tapping impatiently on the tray in her hands.
“Chardonnay, please.”
The corner of her mouth turns up as she drags her eyes down my body. I swallow and shift in my seat. “We don’t serve Chardonnay.”
“Right.” I let out a nervous laugh. “Sorry, I’ve never been here before.”
“No reason to apologize,” she says, pulling out the chair next to mine. “I’ll fix you up somethin’ good. But first…” She leans in, her jaws working overtime as she chews her gum furiously. “Tell me why a girl like you is in a place like this.”
Her gaze is so penetrating that I’m forced to look away. My eyes scan the room for something else to focus on. That’s when I see him. Jud. My ex-boyfriend. The man I’d been planning to marry since my sophomore year in high school. The guy with the dark brown hair that curls at the nape of his neck and around his face. The one with the golden eyes and small dimple that appears in his right cheek when he smiles.
His arm—the strong arm that once held me is now draped over a girl’s shoulders as he shakes hands with several of the bikers at the bar. Not just any girl. Clarissa. One of my sorority sisters. Regret starts to sink in as I take in her tall, perfect frame—dressed to ride. Her hair is a sexy mess from her helmet. Her cheeks flushed from the wind. Her eyes bright with excitement. Could that be me if I weren’t always so scared to ride?
“You know them folks or somethin’?” the waitress asks, looking from me to Jud and Clarissa and back.
“He’s my ex. She was my friend,” I say, unable to look away from them.
There’s a brief moment of silence before she gives my arm a squeeze and whispers, “I’ll get you that drink.” She disappears through a door, leaving me in the darkened corner with only my thoughts.
Seeing them together, in the flesh, is a lot different than hearing the rumors or seeing pictures. It hurts more—deeper. My throat constricts. Stomach tightens. Tears prick the back of my eyes as the ache intensifies. That place in my heart reserved only for Jud is now hollow. And I realize it’s the emptiness that makes it so painful.
The waitress appears and I grab one of the glasses from her tray, not bothering to even ask what it is before I toss it back. The welcome burn in my throat and belly helps to dull the agony. In hopes I can numb it, I reach for another shot…and then another.
“Figured you’d need those.”
“Thank you.” I manage to stifle the hiccup that bubbles in my throat. At least it’s not a sob.
“Here.” She takes a seat, passing me a plastic cup. “It’s Diet Coke. Goes good with the whiskey.” I sip the drink while she takes a seat and lights a cigarette—both of us watching the two lovers too caught up in their throes of passion to notice anyone else.
There must be something special about Clarissa. He’s never held my hands above my head, rocked his fully clothed body against mine or made out with me in a public place. Then again, I haven’t slept with half of the guys on LSU campus either. She’s an experienced slut. Her sluttiness got her your man…
I grab another shot from the tray, quickly chasing it with a sip of Diet Coke. When I lean back in my seat, I finally start to feel the effects of the alcohol. It’s definitely doing its job. My buzz is numbing. And with every kiss, hair pull, giggle and hip thrust I witness, my sadness dissipates—replaced with anger.
The past four months have been hell. Being betrayed by my friends and my lover has resulted in me having to move out of the sorority house. Change my classes. My routine. Schedule. Even my gym membership. I’ve had to rearrange my entire life to move past this. And because I refuse to burden my family with my personal problems, I’ve started to waitress just to make rent this summer. Why? Because I’m a good damn person. And it’s gotten me nowhere but here—front row seats to a dry humping show.
It’s time for another shot.
Unlike the burning liquor, this one is sweet with a butterscotch flavor. When I set the empty glass down, my attention is drawn to a group of men standing around a table next to Jud and Clarissa—one man in particular. He’s looking at me. His head turned slightly as he appraises me, and even though I can’t make out all his features through the cloud of smoke, I’m pretty sure he’s smiling.
The waitress gives me a smirk when she catches me ogling him. “He’s hot, huh?”
“Can’t really tell from here.” Even still, I can’t seem to drag my gaze back to the couple I need to watch in order to fuel my anger.
“You know what they say…” She stands, tucking the tray under her arm before shoving a piece of gum between her lips. “Best way to get over one man is to get under another one.”
Little does she know, that’s exactly why I’m here. But I won’t do to someone else what’s been done to me. So I ask, “Is he married? Have a girlfriend?” She shakes her head. “Are you sure? Just because a guy doesn’t wear a ring doesn’t mean he’s single.”
She rolls her eyes. “Girl, I know everybody in here. He ain’t married.”
“You think he’s interested?” She studies my face. Taking in my hazel eyes and pouty lips framed in perfectly curled, long brown hair. She slides her eyes suggestively toward my cleavage which is nearly non-existent without the help of a bra, before taking in my legs which always receive compliments. Although I think they’re a little too thick.
Muttering something under her breath, she raises a brow at me. “You really think he wouldn’t be into a girl who looks like you? Besides, who you think bought your drinks?”
When her lingering eyes start to make me a little uncomfortable, I look back at the guy. I wish I could make out more of him, but even from a distance, I can tell he’s confident. And the waitress said he was hot. Although at this point, it really doesn’t matter.
This is my night. My chance. An opportunity to make Jud feel what I’ve been feeling for months. Even if it’s just a taste. I may not know Jud like I thought I did, but there’s one thing I’m sure of. He’s the most prideful, possessive, jealous guy I’ve ever met. And seeing me with someone else may not crush him, but it’ll definitely piss him off.
“Do you have a … juke box or something?” She pulls an iPod from her apron. “Dangerous Woman. Can you play it for me?” With a swipe of her finger, the track playing ends. Several people shout their complaints, but their voices are soon lost to the song that gives life to the daydream I’ve played over and over in my head.
I’m acutely aware of heads turning as I cross the floor. Despite my wobbly knees, I’m able to place one stiletto in front of the other without wavering. My palms are sweaty. I can feel sweat trickling down the back of my neck. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.
Stay focused.
You can do this.
Make him suffer…
I force my eyes to stay on the stranger, whose amused smile becomes evident the closer I get to him. And his smile isn’t the only thing becoming clear.
The man is gorgeous. Standing over six feet tall with light colored hair that’s a perfect mess on his head. Long, sculpted arms hang at his sides. Thick, muscular legs covered in faded jeans. Dusty boo
ts on his feet. Leather vest. Black T-shirt. Head still tilted. Chin slightly raised. Full lips curved on one side. Piercing blue eyes that pull me to him.
When I’ve closed the distance, I start to fidget with the belt at my waist. He gives me an expectant look, but waits patiently for me to say or do something. I cast my eyes sideways at Jud and Clarissa who have their backs to me, before I focus on the man’s throat and take a breath.
“Hi,” I squeak, then press my lips in a hard line, lick them and try again. “Hi.” This time, I meet his eyes. They’re intrigued, and friendly.
His smile widens and he nods his head slightly. “Hello.”
Shifting my weight, I fidget like crazy—feeling even more odd and out of place now that I’m the center of attention. I try not to think of all the people who may be staring at us. Or what they’ll say about me if this man takes me up on my offer.
Then his voice jerks me from my thoughts. “Can I help you with something, gorgeous?” I flush and drop my gaze. A giggle erupts from behind me. I stiffen at the familiar sound of Clarissa’s annoying laugh. It’s enough to motivate me to get back to the reason I’m here.
Tentatively, I reach out and run my shaky hands up his strong arms and around his neck. I stumble slightly and end up with my body flush against his. My cheeks darken when a wave of heat crashes over my entire body. I shouldn’t be embarrassed by my reaction, I mean, it’s not like he knows. Then again, something in those darkening blue eyes tells me he might.
“I want you to have sex with me,” I blurt, wanting to kick myself for not sounding sexier.
He raises an eyebrow. “Have sex with you?”
“Yes, please.”
His smile is so wide his lips pull back to show his teeth—white and straight and pretty. Who cares that he’s beaming at my expense? “Why don’t you tell me what you really want.” Suddenly I’m aware of his hands on my hips. His grip tightens slightly, then releases. Like he’s fighting the urge to hold me closer … or push me away.
