by Zoey Parker
“Get real, babe. There’s something.”
She flinched at ‘babe’—oh, no, was she one of those feminist ballbusters?—but otherwise kept her mouth shut. Pursed, in fact.
“Okay. Be like that. When do we get these results?”
“In about two weeks, I’m pretty sure. So, the kit should arrive tomorrow…I guess I’ll see you. We’ll come back here in the afternoon, okay?” She started to get her shit sorted again, and looked like she was beyond ready to leave.
Oddly, I didn’t want her to go—not just yet. I wanted a few minutes of…I wasn’t sure. Maybe just more time with her. I liked her presence.
Okay, fuck. I liked her. I was totally attracted to her—which could prove problematic—but hey, I was a red-blooded American man. The woman was hot—beautiful-hot. I scrambled my brain for something to continue the conversation.
“Hey, listen, we should exchange numbers, in case anything comes up. I wanna know I can get in touch with you. And for you, too, if you need anything.” Damn, I was babbling. I shut myself up, but looked at her expectantly.
“Oh, yeah. Um, I don’t actually have a phone, so that won’t work. Um, I guess I could find you here at the shop if I need you, right?”
“You don’t have a phone? Who doesn’t have a phone? It’s basic life and security. You’re a mother, woman. You gotta have a phone. Fuck.”
She was ready to go, so I stood up and started following her through the shop. “Yo, Trini, I’ll be back in a while,” I called out as I caught up to Ellie and put my arm across her shoulders, pinning her to my side so she couldn’t just run away. No way was she going to up and disappear on me now. Not like this. She didn’t have a phone. WTF.
“Is this a money issue?” I looked down at Ellie, but I mostly just got a view of her hair and phenomenal cleavage next to the baby on her shoulder.
“Um…yeah, right now it is.” Clearly, she was not excited to share the reality of her financial straits, but she was smart enough not to try to lie to me about it. She had said she came to me because they needed my help. I figured it had to be money. If Peter really was Keith’s son, I was more than willing to do what I could. Scratch that—I’d be damn proud to do it.
“All right. I’ll take care of that, first thing. We’ll get you a phone, right now. Shit, I came in on my bike. Where do you live? I’ll go pick up a phone, bring it over to you.”
By this time, we were outside the shop and headed down the sidewalk toward where I assumed she had parked her car. She stopped, though, and turned to me, taking a step back at the same time. She would not meet my eyes. “Um, that’s really nice of you. Petey and I can just wait here, in my car, if it’s all the same to you. You don’t have to go more out of your way.”
She gestured to a silver mid-eighties Buick sedan that had not seen a good day in decades. The thing was a clunker on its last hope and prayer. I got suspicious, and my voice went hard. “Tell me where you’re staying, Ellie.”
“Just outside town. It’ll really be easiest if we just wait for you here, then we’ll get out of your hair.”
That was not good enough. I stepped in really close to her and leaned down, putting my mouth to her ear, and whispered, “Ellie, I’m going to ask just one last time. Where. Are. You. Staying?”
Several ominous moments beat the time in my ears like a drum. Her scent was filling my nose, right near her neck, and I think she swayed a little bit. Damn, I was getting hard just being this close to her, but I would not back down. She needed to know that.
I could feel her answer before I heard it, and I could barely hear it at all when she whispered back, “In the car.” Her head was hanging low, and I about saw red.
“No. The Fuck. Way.” I was glaring her down with anger and incredulity. How the hell did she think that was an okay place for her to be caring for her little baby—living in a goddamned piece of metal, parked on the edge of town? “No you’re not, not anymore, babe. Hand me your keys.”
Chapter 4
Ellie
I was so ashamed and embarrassed to tell Jack about my temporary living situation—if you could even call it that—that I didn’t see it coming when he suddenly had my keys in one hand, my arm in his other, and he was steering me toward my ugly, rusty, smelly car.
I put Peter down in his rear-facing car seat—and once again, like a daily mantra, wished blessings on the hospital and local police department for making sure I had one, gratis, before they would let me take him home. Once I had Peter tucked and belted in, Jack stood his ground by the opened driver’s side door and indicated that I should take the passenger side.
“I’m perfectly capable of driving my own car, thanks. You just direct me where I’m going.”
He deadpanned, “You’re cute.” Then he folded himself into the driver’s seat and shut the door, leaving me no other option without making a scene. I figured there were probably bigger battles to be won down the road, so I shook my head and went around the vehicle. He was such a man.
To my private chagrin, this turned me on even more. I mean, yeah, I’m a feminist. I’m an independent woman. I don’t know why Jack’s take-charge attitude turned me on so much, but it did. It said something about his confidence, his sureness. On him, I found it sexy.
Okay, truth: I was finding everything about him sexy. He defined the word.
Once I was in and belted up, he took off, with way more care than I would have expected. I looked at him in surprise when he pulled to a full stop at a stop sign that was completely lacking in convergent traffic. Considering his biker bad-ass looks and disposition, I’d have expected him to roll through the stop, at best. He caught my look.
“What? There’s a baby on board. Safety first. Always.”
Aw. I didn’t think he had it in him. I smirked at him with appreciation.
“So where are we going, then?” I asked, fidgeting with my sleeve.
“My place. It’s not huge, but I got a spare bedroom, so from now until further notice, it’s your place, too. No way do I let a new mama and baby sleep in a car, let alone a shit piece of junk like this. Where’d you even find this boat? It’s scrap metal.”
“It belonged to one of my grand-uncles. He babied this thing. Lucky me, I inherited it when he passed.”
“Grand-uncles? What is that?—No, don’t tell me. Sounds complicated. So he died in, what, 1989?”
I laughed. “Close, but no—more like 2005.”
He nodded. “Sorry for your loss. You do know, though, that you should’ve traded this in, in 2005, too, right?”
“Yeah, I’m aware. It’s just…it never really got high on the priorities list. It still runs. We do all right. And anyway, it’s not for much longer. I’m working on a way to get better sorted.”
It was true, but there were a lot of variables I was really not sure about—some of which may or may not have depended on Jack himself. But there was no way could I make a judgment call on that this very first day we met—so I’m not quite sure my voice rang with confidence when I laid out that claim.
He shook his head again. “Woman, from what you’ve shared so far, you do not do all right. Don’t pretend with me. Straight-up. Do not try to sell me any shit. I will not be buying it.”
And there went the humor from the car. The rest of the ride was silence.
After about a ten minutes’ drive, he pulled up to an adobe house with a Spanish tile roof. It wasn’t huge by any means, and the front yard was mostly red sandstone gravel and rocks divided up by cement drive- and walk-ways.
There were a few hardy bushes and smallish cacti and aloes in front of the house. I wouldn’t have described the place as gorgeously landscaped, but it looked tidy—even kind of cute in its way. It fit well into the neighborhood, which was similarly presentable. Nothing was lush or decked out, just solid and safe. It looked nice. And I hadn’t had nice in what felt like a long, long time.
Jack was waiting patiently for me to gather Peter and his stuff when I asked him to pop t
he trunk and grab the Moses basket I had found at a thrift store, which he did, then let us all in through the front door. He hadn’t lied—there wasn’t a ton of space, but it was well-laid out, and the living area was filled with a comfortable-looking leather sofa and armchairs. It had the requisite bachelor pad huge flat-screen, assorted surround sound speakers, DVR, and two handfuls of remote controls that would surely take me a good half-hour to figure out.
The room, like the small front hallway and the decently-sized kitchen, was littered with stuff: fast-food detritus, pizza boxes, beer cans and bottles, hard liquor bottles, glassware, socks, T-shirts, and jeans... It was like all of his belongings had been released into the rooms by some insidious interior tornado.
It was the stereotypical bachelor pad complete with nasty odor. I worked hard not to roll my eyes.
He led us back into a short hallway off the living room, which featured four doors. We went to the room farthest to the right. It turned out to be the aforementioned extra bedroom with an under-inflated air mattress, air pump, stackable milk crates with assorted tools and papers stuffed in, random barbells and weights, and a contraption that looked like a vertical half-bench with ankle stabilizers a few feet below.
I eyed it suspiciously. Jack caught my look and narrowed his eyes and said, “What?”
I asked. “That isn’t…?”
Now he was full-on smirking. “What do you think that is? Do you think that’s my crazy sex machine?” He puffed himself up and came in close, angling behind me, and lowered his voice to a gruff whisper. “Does that idea turn you on, Ellie?” He drifted the back of his fingers along the side of my left breast, light as a feather.
I suddenly had trouble breathing, and I had no idea how to respond. Was he serious? Because, yes, that turned me on! But there was no way in hell I’d tell him that. What was happening?
My eyes must have been like saucers in my tomato-colored face. I’m sure it was a fabulous look. But I was glued to the spot; I was totally turned on by his nearness, and the potential of sex that filled the air around us. Still, I needed to answer him, and I wouldn’t allow my body’s response to take over for my brain. “How am I supposed to know what you’re into, Jack? I just met you! So, you’re saying that’s…” I let my sentence hang, allowing him to take this where it would go.
He eyed me speculatively. “No, it’s not, but it has potential, doesn’t it?”
I blushed again, hard. He smirked. Damn the man.
He stepped away. “It’s actually a gravity inversion table. Feels awesome. You should try it. You’ll love it.”
Whew. Well, that sounded a whole lot better than a sex-slave table, or whatever those things are called.
Although, being honest with myself, the idea of any kind of sex with Jack had me getting hot and wet. I’d never tried much kink before, but if that was what he was into, I couldn’t say that I wouldn’t be into trying it with him. Oh lord, I had no control of my thoughts—or my body—around him.
But that was not what I was here for. Jack was being more than kind by sharing his own home and giving me and Petey a place to stay, a place to call our home, for however long we would be here. Jack—difficult as he was—was manna sent from heaven, and I was grateful to my bones.
I was also baby-mama to his brother’s son, and if that didn’t murkify the waters, I didn’t know what else could. Despite the fact that what Keith and I had shared was in no way a romance for the ages. It was a one-off, a night of comfort and convenience. Of letting off steam. Of protection, gratitude, and solidarity. And ultimately, of friendship.
So sex with Jack had to be off the table. That included both this literal inversion table, and the figurative one.
Jack was a no-go zone, sad as that might be. My hormones since getting pregnant were still at ragingly high levels, and I’d been celibate for months and months. So being around Jack was like notching my horn-o-meter up to one thousand percent.
Yeah, I was totally screwed.
Unfortunately, that would not be in the literal sense.
Suddenly, he was snapping his fingers in front of my face. “Yo, babe, you here? You listening?”
Oh jeez. I had completely zoned out into my thoughts. This happened sometimes. I blamed lack of sleep.
I tried to swat his hand away, but he was fast. I ended up looking even more ridiculous. So, naturally, I blushed again.
And again, he noticed. He stepped close enough to dip his head and whisper in my ear, “You gotta pay attention, babe. I get that you want me—hell, I want you, too—but let’s deal with first things first, yeah?”
Damn, he smelled good. And Oh. My. God. Did he…?—He did not just say that. My jaw dropped and I blushed even deeper. By now I was cooked lobster. At the same time, I was desperately memorizing the moment. He just said he wanted me, too. Right? Right? He said that! So maybe…
NO! Terminate operations, Ellie! Gah, this was not supposed to happen. I forced myself to control my face, control my breath, and step away from the hot man.
Thankfully, I had Peter to use as a distractive device. I knew I was a horrible mother. Good mothers don’t use their babies as props. But my sweet little Petey was sleeping—he would never know.
So I turned to where Jack had put the Moses basket on the floor, and single-handedly dug through my shoulder bag for a couple extra small blankets to line it with, before carefully setting Peter inside, snug as a bug. He was breathing normally and his color looked good. Satisfied, I finally turned my attention back to Jack, who had been patiently watching me deal with the baby. When I looked up at Jack’s face, he appeared pensive.
“Okay. I am going to go pick up a phone for you. I’ll bring it back, then I gotta get my ass back to the shop. Don’t plan on leaving the house for most of the day. I want you here when I get home. Don’t mess up my shit, but, uh, make yourself comfortable, and all that. You need anything before I go?”
I shook my head. I had everything I’d need for Peter and myself in the bag or in the car.
“I’m off. Be back with the phone. You got a preference?”
Again, I shook my head. “Just don’t spend a lot of money. I don’t know when I’ll be able to pay you back.”
“Woman, I’m paying for it. I told you that. Open your ears and catch up. This one is on me.”
How did he manage to be so generous and sound so mean at the same time? This man rattled me.
“Okay. Thank you.”
He looked at me a moment, then just said, “Yeah.” And he left.
Ooookaaay.
I took another quick tour of the house, just getting my bearings with bathrooms, closets, and living spaces, then set myself to work. I refused to be a free-loader, so I began with a search for large trash bags and got to work.
About forty minutes later, I was sorting through the laundry, making piles in the living room, when Jack came back with a plastic bag. He looked around bemusedly, as though surprised to see actual furniture and tabletops there, and a corner of his lips tipped back, but he didn’t speak to it. He didn’t even say, “Thanks.” Which kinda ticked me off, but at the same time, he was the one doing me the huge favor, so I gave him a pass for this lack of consideration—this time.
He tossed the phone company bag on top of the laundry pile in front of me and said, “You’re all set. You gotta plug in and charge up the phone first before it’ll work right, so do that now. When I get back later, we’ll hook you up with numbers so you’ll be good to go. For now, I’m at the shop, rest of the day. You got the house phone here. Shop number’s programmed in, just hold down the five. Questions?”
I shook my head, and he was gone again, as quickly as he had come in.
I opened up the bag Jack had tossed down for me and discovered the newest model of the smartphone I had been eyeballing for years. These things cost hundreds of dollars, and Jack had bought it for me like it was nothing. I could feel the tears begin to build up again, but forced them down as a silly, hormonal reaction to his
kindness.
After plugging the phone into the wall charger, I went back to the laundry, and the cleaning, and then digging through the kitchen to cook something for dinner. Finding nothing there, I wiped down the counters one last time, then removed myself to my room to check on my boy.
I finally—finally—felt like we would be all right.
Chapter 5
Jack
I got home later than I had planned—six days out on a bender, and it was like the whole world had descended on the shop. Invoices, bills, supply orders. Rinse and repeat.
Grath had taken care of the most urgent crap—again proving his worth as my brother and closest ally in the MC. We were good like that. Grath and I had joined the Iron Bandits MC the same year; pledged together, rookied together. He was an alternative man through and through: huge muscle-y motherfucker with badass written all over him, but he was actually an incredible artist with the ink, and a gay man to boot. At first I hadn’t been sure what to make of him, but the better I got to know him, the more I loved just hanging out with him. He was funny as fuck and loyal to his bones to the brotherhood. We were lucky to have him in our ranks.
