All I wanted to do was lift her into my lap, peel off those ass-ugly khakis, and stroke her until all that weight lifted off those small shoulders. Yeah, my cock got hard thinkin’ about it, but it wasn’t like that.
My truck is always my second-choice ride, but today…her boy in the back and her beside me…well, the truck’s got its good points.
Ain’t right some asshole left those two alone in the world. And when she dropped the kid off…fuck. He stared after her like he was watching the sun get up and leave.
I kind of understand the feeling. I just let all that sweet walk off sad and scared, and I can’t do anything about it. I mean, what am I gonna do? Take Peaches out on a date? Kids don’t even date these days. They Netflix and chill. And how the fuck does that work with a kid?
And ain’t no takin’ her back to my place. Where would that be? My room at the clubhouse? The storage unit I rent over in Ferndale? My old bedroom at Pops’? Fuck. I got no business even thinkin’ down this road.
Which is why I’m bent over the most rusted-out, road-unworthy, busted-up engine I’ve ever fuckin’ seen inside Steel Bones Autowerks. Scrap’s at my shoulder, tinkerin’ with a valve. He picked up some automotive training when he was upstate, and now he’s out, he’s spendin’ most his time here with Big George.
Hidin’ from a piece of pussy that frequents the clubhouse, some might say. If they was the type to get in other motherfuckers’ business. Which I am not.
Usually.
“Why ain’t we towin’ this piece of shit up the junkyard?” Scrap spits.
“Ain’t mine.”
Scrap eyes me. “You actin’ like it is.”
I ain’t got nothin’ to say to that. “Gonna have to replace the whole engine.” I knew it before we opened the hood.
“Like puttin’ fake tits on my grandma.”
“Missus Raylene? She fine as shit as is, brother.” I snort as Scrap punches my arm. He don’t play around much since he got out, on edge all the time, so it’s nice to see him relax when I bust his balls. Makes some of the wrongness in the day fade.
“You payin’ for this?”
I nod.
“Pissin’ away good money.”
Yeah. It is. I nod and walk over to the office to order the parts. It ain’t like I don’t have the scratch. Back when we got together, Harper was the one with the cash, but the past few years, the dividends on the legit operations have put us about equal. Now that I don’t have half a mortgage to pay, I’m damn near flush.
Instead of ordering vintage fuckin’ Corolla parts online, I should be heading down to Hanover. Lookin’ at a new ride.
Kayla needs a mom vehicle. Like a Highlander but American made. Maybe an Explorer. Something with a video screen so the little man can watch cartoons and shit. They never had that when I was comin’ up. We just had the view up Shirlene and Deb’s shirts when the wind got ‘em as they rode bitch.
I shake my head. What the fuck am I thinking? Kayla got stiff as hell when I had her car towed. Probably thought I was gonna ask for payment in pussy.
I know quite a few men who wouldn’t have hesitated to take payment in kind.
But that ain’t what this is.
This is―
I have no fuckin’ clue. But all day, I keep checkin’ the clock. Six o’clock is takin’ its good sweet time rollin’ around.
I head out so early, I have time to stop for sodas on the way. I put Jimmy’s in the back in the cup holder next to his car seat. It’s weird as fuck seein’ that seat there. I tug the straps to check the fit. It’s snug.
I’m sittin’ in my truck out front of General Goods for a good half hour before the workers start coming through the turnstile gate, one at a time, opening their purses for the loss control guy. The sense of wrongness creeps up my neck again. I don’t want some smarmy fuck checkin’ Kayla up and down, puttin’ a stick in her purse after she comes through a gate like she’s livestock.
Without thinking, I get out of the truck and stand next to the passenger door, leanin’ with my arms crossed. I will that rent-a-cop to look up and see me eye-fuckin’ him, but he’s too busy being a general dick to the ladies as they go past him.
And then Kayla comes through, and I don’t have eyes for anyone else. She’s untucked that ugly red collared shirt, and she has her purse clutched to her belly. Her hair’s springin’ loose from her ponytail, fine and shining, and I can tell she’s tired. Her steps are slow, shuffling.
I do it without thinking. As soon as she comes close, I pull her into my arms, rubbin’ up and down her back, whisperin’ whatever dumb shit comes into my head into her ear. About how she looks tired, how was her day, how I gotta get her off her feet.
She’s so fuckin’ surprised, she lets me cup the back of her neck, take her hand, and lift her up into the truck.
I want to take her home, lay her out on a bed, explore every fuckin’ idea I’ve been toyin’ with all day long about what I want to do with her ripe, sweet body.
But I also want to get her to her boy. Take in the smile that I know’s gonna brighten her face when she sees him. I want to give her what she needs, and I’m so fuckin’ out my depth, I can only turn on the radio and twist open a bottle of Coke, pushin’ it into her hand.
“It’s still cold,” I say.
She sighs, a happy little sigh, and sinks back into her seat. I feel more like a man than I’ve ever felt before.
And I’m scared shitless.
CHAPTER 9
KAYLA
I can’t believe Charge gave my kid a twenty-ounce Coke. Luckily, I saw it before Jimmy did and acted like it was mine. If that kid had gotten ahold of it, he’d be up until three in the morning, bouncing on the bed, going boom and whoosh against some invisible enemy soldiers.
My tummy does a little flip thinking about the sodas, though. And how Charge folded me into him after work—how I let him—and murmured in my ear. I can’t hardly remember what he said, but I can still feel his soft lips glancing over my earlobe.
I shiver, and Charge gives me a look. Then he turns up the heat.
It’s quiet in the truck cab and getting dark. We’re on a long stretch of back country road, hills making black outlines against the almost purple sky.
“Did you fish today?” Jimmy asks Charge out of nowhere.
Charge shoots him a look in the rearview. I can’t read it. Charge isn’t overly friendly like a lot of guys are with other people’s kids. But he’s not cold. Or awkward.
“Nope. Went into the garage.”
“Pops’ garage?”
“The MC’s garage. That’s where we towed your ma’s car.
“Did you fix it?” Jimmy’s real curious now.
“Had to order parts.”
“Are you gonna fix it?”
“Ayup. Once the parts come in.”
“Can I watch?” Jimmy looks at me when he asks. I stiffen, shake my head no a little, but Jimmy doesn’t notice. Or he pretends not to notice.
Lord. I don’t want to be any more obligated to Charge than I am. But do I want to push him away? I mean, if I’m not cool with Charge being in our lives—in this way or whatever way—I need to call it. Put on my big girl britches and call my dad to bail me out.
Ugh.
All I ever wanted was to be an independent woman—like at the beginning of the Kelly Clarkson song. But here I am. Just ugh.
Stuck in my head, I almost miss Charge’s reply. “Ayup. You can help.”
And Jimmy’s face breaks into the widest, happiest grin, and I can’t help but smile back like I made this happen. And now I’m afraid Charge’ll let him down. Or I’ll mess this up. Or I’m making bad choices.
“Can I watch TV when we get home?” Jimmy asks. He must figure he’s on a run. He’s right. After that smile, I have no will to tell that boy no.
“One show. Thirty minutes. Then it’s bedtime.”
“Is tomorrow a school day?”
“Yup.” I try to sound upbeat, but I’m not
a little pissed that I lost my weekend with Jimmy. I have tomorrow off, but he’s in school. I should use the time to drive around and look for a—nope. The Corolla. I’m not going anywhere to look for a new job. At least I can walk to the Rutter’s for milk.
Charge looks down at me. Even though his face is shadowed, I see his lips turn down. Somehow he can read me real easy.
“Can you drive stick?” he asks.
“Yeah. Why do you ask?”
He nods. There’s respect there.
“My granddad taught me before he passed. He had an old Chevy truck. The kind with wood side beams.”
Charge’s gorgeous smile flashes white in the dark. “You a Chevy girl, then?”
“I’m not really particular. But I’ve always liked a manual.”
“Just like the feel of a stick in your hand?”
Did he just—? Did he mean—?
I glance over, and he winks.
Oh, Lord. Yes, he did.
I kind of shrug and find something real interesting to look at out the window. I don’t know what to say when he flirts. My mouth goes dry, and my tongue gets stupid.
“I’m gonna leave you the keys to this truck. Registration is in the glove box.”
“You are?”
“Ayup.”
“I—I don’t understand.”
“In case you need to get Jimmy or somethin’.”
“I— I couldn’t―”
“Corolla won’t be ready for a week or two. You need a ride in the meantime.”
This is too much. No one—not anyone in my life ever—has helped me out like this. Well, except for Sue. But Charge is not at all like Sue.
He seems to sense my reluctance. “If Pops needs something when you check on him, you need a way to get it. Yeah?”
I relax back into the seat. I hadn’t realized how rigid I’d gone. “Yeah.”
“Plus, can you pick up his prescriptions this week? At Walnut Drug? Downtown.”
“Of course.” I forgot. This is business. Or friends doing each other favors. My nerves ease up as we pull up to a stop light.
“Kayla?”
I glance up, catch his eyes, and I’m stuck. They sparkle in the dark, and his lips are curled up in the corners, soft and so close. My breath stops, and my thighs clench together.
I nod.
“Don’t wreck my truck.”
“Okay, Mister Charge.” I mean it playfully, but my voice catches halfway through. It becomes something else.
“Whatever I say, right?” His voice dips down, low and gravelly.
“Right.” I exhale. He reaches out and gently tweaks my chin with his calloused fingers and something in my belly unfurls.
He drops his hand to the seat, inches from my thigh, and that’s where he leaves it for the last twenty minutes of the drive home. It drives me crazy. So close, but he doesn’t move it. Doesn’t reach over. Doesn’t grab my hand or squeeze my thigh. And I’m too shy to inch my hand over to touch his.
And I want to so bad.
Because I’m a total idiot. A guy’s nice to me, and I want to jump his bones.
Or hold his hand.
When we pull into the parking area between my place and Pops’, Charge takes the keys out of the ignition and starts wrangling one off the key chain. Jimmy leaps right out of the truck.
“Bye, Charge. Keys, Mama?” He sticks his open hand in my face.
“You got it by yourself, kiddo?”
He nods, and I give him the house keys, watching him bound up the stairs and let himself in. A few seconds later, the light of the television flickers in the window.
“Kid has places to be.” Charge’s voice is low, amused.
I smile and shake my head. “By the time I get up there, he’ll have a bowl of snack crackers in the bed and crumbs all in the covers.”
“You not gonna kick him out, are you?”
“Not for eating crackers.” I smile. It’s getting a little easier. This flirting thing.
“He gonna be occupied awhile?”
I think about how many times I have to say his name before he looks at me if Robo Rangers is on.
“Yeah.”
“Kayla.” Charge’s voice is rough. Needy. He unbuckles me in one move, dropping the truck key in my purse.
“Yeah?” My voice is so breathy. I’m watching him, and I know he’s going to touch me—he’s pushing his seat back—and I don’t know what to do. Where to put my hands. What to say.
But I know I want this. Whatever it’s going to be.
“Come here,” he growls and lifts me, drawing me onto his lap, facing him. My knees are propped on the seat on either side of his ribs, kind of tucked under his armpits. I gasp. I can feel him. Hard. Between my legs. The seam of my khakis dulls the sensation, but it’s there. Big. Demanding.
I freeze.
He holds my face still between his hands.
“Just a kiss, okay?” He waits for my answer, stroking my cheeks with his calloused thumbs.
“Okay,” I whisper.
And then he ghosts his lips across mine. I moan. I can’t help it. My cheeks heat instantly, and I screw my eyes shut. I can’t look at him.
He must know I don’t know what I’m doing.
He chuckles. “Fuck, I wish the moon was out. I want to see your face. Watch your eyes get all dopey for me.”
He does?
He takes my bottom lip and tugs, then eases his tongue into my mouth, teasing, gentle. I part my lips, let him in.
“That’s right, Peaches.” He moves a hand to cradle the back of my head, and like the other night, I can tell he’s done this before. A lot. He’s tender, and then he’s insistent, exploring my mouth, nipping my upper lip, and I imagine this must look like a movie kiss, but it’s dark, so I can only feel.
My body’s going all weird on me. My stomach’s swooping, and there’s a pulse between my legs where his hardness is notched. I wiggle, testing; I can’t help it. It feels so good. Not exactly scratching an itch, but close. I rock, slow, and Charge wraps his arms around me, moving his hands to the small of my back, keeping them light. No pressure.
Charge laughs low in his throat. “That’s it, baby. Do what feels good.”
Do what feels good? Okay. I grind down harder, loving the groan that escapes Charge’s lips. I did that. His breath goes ragged, and I want…I want more.
But Jimmy’s upstairs. Waiting for me. And how long have I been lost in this kiss? An episode of his favorite show is eighteen minutes. I know this because that’s how long I give myself to shower in the morning.
It’s been—
Oh. I moan again. Charge’s hands have moved, cupping my ass and pressing me more firmly against him, making that longing grow. My hips grind down on their own, seeking more of the hardness.
“Like that,” Charge urges. His breath speeds up, and I peek up to see him looking down where our bodies are connected. He rests his forehead on mine.
And I want to keep going, block out everything, but I can’t. I can’t.
Jimmy’s waiting for me.
I drag in a deep breath and push my palm against Charge’s chest.
“I gotta go in.”
His hands tighten on my hips for just a second, and then he lets go. Tucks a stray hair behind my ear.
“Yeah,” he rasps. “Okay.”
He sets me back down in my seat, and while I’m scrounging on the floor for my purse, he comes over and opens my door. He helps me down, and then he walks me up the stairs.
I don’t know what to say. Thank you?
It feels weird to thank the guy I’ve been riding like a cowgirl.
There’s light on the landing, and I want to study his face. See if his mind is blown like mine. Probably not. He’s probably made out with a hundred girls. In that truck. That same seat. My stomach sinks.
Oh, damn, I’m that girl. The one who fools around with boys in cars.
The girl my father thinks I am.
“Goodnight,” I rush and
through the door, flipping the deadbolt after me. I don’t dare look up, see if it’s true, if there’s a leer on Charge’s too pretty face. Gloating.
I’m shaking, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. For a long moment, I stand, bent over, propping myself up on the kitchen counter. Inhale. Exhale.
Think about what Sue would say. Ignore the voices in my head. Especially the ones with nothing nice to say. Focus on putting one foot in front of another.
I pull myself together and stare around the shadowy room.
Jimmy has fallen asleep with the television on and his hand stuck in a pack of fruit snacks. I’ve got to brush that kid’s teeth and get him in some pajamas.
I have things to do.
Really, it doesn’t really matter if the world thinks I’m a slut or a fool or a piece of trash. At the end of the day—every day including this one—I am a mom. Fact, not opinion.
I’ve gotta keep my eye on the prize.
No making out with boys.
And no freaking out.
CHAPTER 10
CHARGE
Kayla’s freaked out. Which is fair. cause I’m freaked the fuck out too.
I knock on her door the next morning, and she acts like she isn’t home. Her car’s at my garage and my truck was still parked out front. She ain’t gone nowhere.
At least she takes the truck the rest of the week. And she checks on Pops mornings and after work. He calls me each time she visits and tells me what she’s wearin’ and whether she looks good. So far, she’s been hot, damn hot, and pretty hot for a lady wearin’ elastic slacks.
I’ve been ridin’ around all week with a boner you could pound nails with and the craziest fuckin’ ideas. Like askin’ Shirlene to babysit the kid so I can take Kayla to one of those hotels with the tubs shaped like champagne glasses. Or just sayin’ fuck it, sign over the house in Gracy’s Corner to Harper, and buy a place in town with the kind of neighbors a kid can play with.
Pop’s been keepin’ Jimmy busy fishin’, but it’s only a matter of time before he falls in with those delinquent punks who run wild round here, poppin’ wheelies on their dirt bikes all hours.
The irony doesn’t escape me. Nickel, Heavy, and me could pop some badass wheelies back in the day. And I don’t think Jimmy’s weak. Besides that Cal Porter business, Pops told me that he seen the kid buck at that little red-headed shit who lives up the way. Kid took the fishin’ pole Pops had given him. Wouldn’t hand it back. Jimmy stepped up and pushed back hard. I wonder if Kayla knows her little boy’s a scrapper.
Charge: A Steel Bones Motorcycle Club Romance Page 9
