This year, he sat back and observed, not wanting to draw any attention to himself, especially since the crowd was larger than usual. His mom’s sister and her family were there, and his dad spent most of the time in the living room watching DVDs. After a while, one of Nick’s cousins spent some time catching up, praising Nick on his successful career, even though he himself hadn’t listened to much of Nick’s work. “Extreme metal,” his cousin called it. Nick seemed to remember the guy being into classic rock—Led Zeppelin, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Deep Purple, and the like. He’d never been a metalhead, so Nick knew he wouldn’t appreciate the music. He’d take the good wishes, though, because that was probably more than he’d ever received from his immediate family anyway.
Mid-afternoon on Christmas day, his mom, his sister, and one of his aunts were playing a board game with another cousin. His mom and aunt—her sister—were teasing each other at first, but it became mild bickering, and Nick could tell it was going to escalate. This shit was what he wanted no part of, so he found a way to end the conversation with his cousin and stepped out the front door.
Fortunately, the weather was pretty mild, and the sweater he wore protected him from the chill in the air. He sat on the porch, debating if he wanted to walk around the block, like he used to as a kid, or if he just wanted to stay outside for an hour or two until he could head back in and graze the food. He decided he’d simply sit in the living room with his dad and watch whatever shit the man was playing on the television. It would be better than listening to his mother argue.
A thought flashed through his mind: Maybe it was all his mother.
He knew that wasn’t true, though. She might have instigated a lot of the fights, but his father had been a willing participant back then. Now he just seemed to tune out.
Nick wound up sitting on the porch, looking out at the desolate branches devoid of the leaves that made the trees look fuller in the summer. They looked sad—maybe they were just as miserable being here as he was. He’d walked past those two Russian Olive trees hundreds of times as a kid without giving them a second thought…and now it was somehow comforting to dwell on them.
He was wondering if trees had feelings when his phone rang. He sat up a little, lifting his rear so he could slide it out of his pocket, and then looked at the screen.
Sabrina?
Yeah, they had each other’s number. They’d all exchanged them early on at Brad’s insistence. Maybe not crucial now, he’d said at the time, but once they were on the road, there was no telling when they’d need to reach each other in a hurry. Best to get that sort of thing out of the way while it was fresh in their minds.
But not once had he and Brina called one another or texted. There had been no need, no reason. And buried in the morass that was his family’s strange way of living life, she’d been the furthest thing from his mind.
One thing was certain. In spite of having had a bad taste in his mouth for her the last week they’d been around each other, she was a welcome distraction now. Her funkiness seemed downright normal in comparison to the heavy vibes in his parents’ house.
He still considered letting the call go to voicemail just the same.
But then he couldn’t resist. What the hell would Brina be doing, calling him late Christmas afternoon?
“Well, hello, Ms. Moreno. What can I do for you on this fine holiday?”
“I was hoping you could bring me a little Christmas cheer.”
He pondered making a lame joke about his twig and berries and then thought better of it. A woman like Sabrina would never appreciate it or find it amusing. Then he wrestled with some humor around hung mistletoe and gave up. Brina didn’t seem to be the joking type, and she definitely didn’t seem to care much for Nick’s sense of humor. Better to be straightforward with the woman. “Really? What did you have in mind?”
“Well…my roomie and I—that is, my girlfriend—were considering unwrapping a man instead of a Christmas present and feasting on him until we feel gorged.”
Holy Christ. And here he was hours and hours away. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, mentally commanding his dick to behave itself, and said, “Babe, as much as I’d love to be part of your Christmas dinner, that ain’t gonna happen.” Holy shit. He’d called her that again, something she’d threatened to harm him for calling her if he said it again. Best to just keep talking through it and maybe she wouldn’t notice. “I’m hundreds of miles away on the western slope of Colorado.” Oh. He didn’t want to blow it, though. “I’ll be back home tomorrow afternoon sometime, but today is impossible.”
He knew that was probably it. She’d called him in a moment of weakness, desperate, and she’d likely never do it again, but it helped his ego to know she wasn’t completely immune to his charms. Well, there wasn’t much he could do about it and, besides, he’d vowed to extricate himself from her strange ways. Even if he did hop in the car and drive the entire way back, he’d need a few beers to unwind and then, even though he’d be up for the fun (because he was never not in the mood for fucking), he didn’t know that he’d be able to perform well enough to merit another appearance.
Yeah…two women. He needed to be well-rested and completely sober for that.
Fuck it. He could hardly wait.
He was still formulating his words when Brina said, “Oh, that’s too bad.”
“I’ll be back in town soon. How about Saturday night?” Yeah, that’d be about right. It would give him a day for travel and a day to rest up.
She was quiet for longer than she should have been, and he knew that meant he wouldn’t like her response. But when she spoke, she almost purred. “Yeah, we can make that happen, but you do know it’ll be more dangerous for you, right?”
Nick’s cock nearly split his jeans as he drew in a breath and tried to think of a smart ass response…but, for once, Nick had no words.
Chapter Nine
DRIVING BACK TO the eastern slope of the Colorado Rockies, Nick felt relief as an almost palpable burden lifted from his psyche. Jesus. Every time he visited his family, he forgot how damaged they made him feel. It wasn’t until he was out of their realm that he began to feel like his normal self.
His relationship with his family, his childhood, all of it—that was something he’d never be able to tell someone like Sabrina. He didn’t know that she’d understand—or even care. He decided he’d never give her the chance, even if it would help her understand him better.
Nah…Brad, Zane, and Ethan knew because they’d witnessed a good portion of it after they’d formed the band. He figured Val knew some of it, too. The only person he’d feel comfortable talking about it with would be Gracie, the woman he considered his best friend, but Brina? No way in hell. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt like any dirt she gathered about him would be used against him at some point in the future.
Not that his family was dirt, necessarily…they were just sore points, wounds that would never heal. Since becoming financially stable, Nick had matured enough to analyze himself. He’d ruined the potential for many a relationship because he kept himself distant. He was happy getting laid and he didn’t even mind a semi-steady squeeze…but he was never serious (something that pissed a lot of women off) and he never let himself grow serious about anyone. The stupid sense of humor—that was one way to keep things from settling into the serious realm. He’d learned to make himself laugh and help others join in at an early age. It was much easier to make light of shit and smile than to drown in the quicksand created by his family. Their mood, even their day-to-day lives could cripple any well-adjusted human being, but Nick had determined early on to fight it. It also didn’t hurt that he’d been a short kid in his youth, and he’d been picked on by the class bully for a few years in elementary school. He’d figured out that he’d never be big enough to fight back (and he’d discovered that even that wasn’t true when he started weight lifting as a freshman in high school), but he could continue to hone his sense of humor. Several years of practice—simply by cra
cking wise every chance he got—and he developed a rapier wit, one to rival many a second-rate stand-up comic.
By the time he started middle school, he was known for his humor. His seventh-grade teacher even commented on it and encouraged Nick to put together an act for the talent show.
His rehearsed act, the one approved by the committee of teachers, bombed, but halfway through, he began making fun of different classmates. It started out as gentle, light ribbing of kids he liked, but it didn’t take long before he was ripping the shitheads to shreds—the bully who’d picked on him for years, the jocks, the bimbos who didn’t think being smart was cool.
They had to cut the mike and finally drag his ass off stage, while he yelled a continual stream of jokes as they pulled him toward stage left.
The laughter—not to mention the screaming and crying—encouraged Nick to keep it up.
Even the three-day expulsion didn’t matter, nor did the lecture from the principal about hurting people’s feelings. Nick wanted to tell him to fuck off, because no one had cared about his feelings while he’d been picked on year after year after year.
Even the pummeling by the fucktard bully didn’t matter. In fact, it felt good to stand up after that ass whooping and say, “That all ya got, pussy? At least most of the audience understood my jokes.” He remembered that day like it was yesterday. He turned around and walked away after delivering his last one-liner to the asshole bully. It had been hard not to turn around to look once more or to run, because he was certain the guy would start beating him again. But the guy’s knuckles had to be hurting, not to mention his ego.
What the hell was that guy’s name again?
It was going to bug the shit out of Nick.
But his mind was elsewhere. The bully was something he’d never tell Brina about, but he also wouldn’t tell her about his family. She’d never understand why Nick was constantly joking or why he wouldn’t actually get close with her…but maybe she’d never care to know any of those things.
Good. That’d make their relationship easier…less complicated.
Who the fuck was he kidding? Relationship. The woman already had a relationship, and she and her girlfriend planned to simply use Nick as their temporary sex slave.
Yeah, that sounded about perfect.
When he pulled into his driveway two days after Christmas, he was glad there was no place like home—either the old home, which probably should have been burned to the ground, or the new one, which was all his and no one could do a damn thing about it.
Part of him was pissed at himself for giving himself a day to relax, but he knew it was a good idea. Make them wait. Make them really want him.
He spent his day off making a couple of purchases that were sure to make him a hit on the night of his three-way date.
The day of, he slept till noon. He wanted to have the energy to go all night long. He took a long shower and then took forever deciding what to wear, including the underwear.
God, doing that shit made him feel like a girl.
Didn’t matter. A couple of groupies, he wouldn’t care if they were impressed or not, because they would be, no matter what he did. Brina and her girlfriend, though, were an entirely different matter. He knew, if he played his cards right, that he could potentially be a date for them more than once. That hinged on him getting along with the girlfriend—Monica, Brina had said her name was. And, even though he knew he had an ice cube’s chance in hell of impressing Brina, because the woman seemed impossible to get through to, he had to try.
He gathered all the items he’d picked up the day before—flowers and…not chocolate, but the next best thing: edible body chocolate. Oh, and wine. A bottle of expensive wine. Those three things might not endear him to these two women, but what the hell would it hurt?
It wouldn’t.
He still didn’t know what to fucking wear but he was running out of time. He didn’t want to wear his black leather pants, even though he knew he looked good in them, because they made him sweat. He needed to breathe…so jeans it was. And, after fretting for far too long, he grabbed a long-sleeved black t-shirt that had the Harley logo on it, topped off with his leather jacket. Maybe he’d look like he wasn’t concerned. Brina was constantly cool and collected, so maybe he too could pull off the look.
He typed Brina’s address into the Google maps app on his phone and hit the road. Part of him wished he had met Monica before, because he had no fucking idea what to expect. Then again, that might make it worse. He did know what to expect with Sabrina, and he was struggling with that knowledge as it was.
What the fuck was wrong with him? He’d had how many women over the past decade? He’d never had a dissatisfied customer yet…and, although he knew he had to stop relying on the opinions of groupies, a little (no, a lot) of confidence would be a good thing.
Fuck it. He was gonna have a glass of wine before they got down to business. He’d need a little liquid courage. One glass wouldn’t hurt shit.
So he cranked the music in his car and drove down the interstate toward Brina’s. They’d agreed to meet around six, and he’d eaten a bowl of soup late afternoon. He didn’t want a heavy meal interfering with his activities, but he didn’t want his stomach growling either. The latter would wreck the mood and the former would wreck his mood. Right now, he felt perfect.
He would probably want a steak dinner when all was said and done, though, because he hoped they’d give him a hell of a workout.
When he got to the address, he hesitated. It was an apartment building, like Brina had said, but the place was rough-looking. It had definitely seen better days. When he thought of the word tenement, he had places like this in mind. It was painted white, but it was in need of a fresh coat. The landscaping that had probably at one time made the place feel like home hadn’t been cared for in so long that Nick knew it was a joke to even call it landscaping. There was no longer any grass—there were tiny, dry yellow and brown blades laying in soft dirt that had been trampled by kids. And, speaking of kids, he could tell lots of them lived there, because there were toys everywhere, mostly chunky plastic primary-color toys, both big and small. He spied a couple of Matchbox-type cars amongst the rubble as well, but it seemed like even the toys that looked broken (and there were a few) were played with a lot.
As he continued walking up the sidewalk, glad he’d locked his car doors, he noticed other junk peppering the property—empty soda and beer cans, cigarette butts, and he even spied two tiny balloons. Shit. That was evidence of hardcore drugs, heroin probably, and it was all out in the open. This was not a place for people to try raising a family. Brina? She was an adult, but he knew, from the toys, that there were probably several children living here who shouldn’t be.
He cleared his throat. The only reason he’d seen most of that stuff was because, at the very least, the property was well lit. So it had that much going for it. And he knew he couldn’t change the world. He didn’t have the power. Maybe, though, he could start throwing some of his money at charities that would help. He’d never thought much about other people or their struggles, but just walking up to Brina’s door had made him think about something he probably never would have given more than two thoughts about.
So he walked up the concrete stairs two flights to the apartment Brina had told him was hers, but his mind was not on the promise of sexual activity. It was on the world as a whole, a place where Nick’s mind had never gone before. He was deep in those thoughts when he lifted his finger to ring the doorbell, only to discover that the plastic cover was broken and likely didn’t work anymore. He rapped on the door then, hoping he had the correct address.
When the door opened, though, all those thoughts of poor children and families flew from his head, because the blonde in front of him was fucking drop dead gorgeous…and wearing next to nothing.
The next sensation to hit him was the heavy smell of cinnamon—not like something baking, but a spicy tang from some sort of spray aroma. It felt exotic and made hi
s muscles feel like they were going to start twitching uncontrollably, excited to discover what was next.
The blonde wearing the tiny teddy with skin exposed in all the right places touched his forearm. “You must be Nick.”
He swallowed. Holy shit. This woman was a lesbian? Damn…not the kind of woman he thought of when the word lesbian crossed his mind—she looked feminine and absolutely gorgeous. He almost felt guilty that he’d had a stereotyped image in his mind, but he had to let it go. He needed to keep his shit together. “Yep. That’s me.” Be cool, man. Don’t blow this.
She shrugged. “You’ll do.” Her hand wrapped around his arm and pulled him inside. He noticed that her fingertips were manicured and painted in the crazy fashion women nowadays did them. Sabrina wore nail polish, yeah, but it was usually red or black, and her nails were short so she could play her bass. This woman’s nails were weapon length, and he got all excited again, imagining her tearing the flesh out of his back, screaming his name.
Wrong orientation, dude.
Still…he could dream, couldn’t he? Once they were in the door, she flipped her hair behind her shoulder and smiled—a professional smile, nothing warm about it (something she and Brina had in common)—and then she locked the deadbolt. It was then that she seemed to notice that Nick was carrying a bag and had roses in the other hand. “Oh. How sweet. Is that for Brina?”
“It’s for both of you.”
This time, her face thawed and her smile felt genuine. She repeated herself. “How sweet. Care if I put them in water?”
“Please.”
“Come with me.” He followed her into the kitchen, and then she opened the door under the sink. She bent over and holy fucking hell. What a view. He could almost see everything, and he was pretty damn sure she’d bent over like that on purpose.
Bullet Series Box Set Books 1-8 Page 148
