Needing Me, Wanting You

by C. M. Stunich

  “Jesus Lord help us all,” I mutter as I pull out a cigarette and light up, smoking and winking at a pair of brunettes moving down the sidewalk opposite me. One of them tosses a light wave my way, but I stay put. I'm sure there'll be plenty more at the beach. I'm going to force myself to try and relax. There are clubs all over the States, so there's no point in running. Running won't do us a damn bit of good. If we keep doing what we do, we'll always be in somebody's territory. But it's worth the risk. Triple M is a home for those who don't fit anywhere else, who are too broken to be regular, and too regular to be broken.

  “Thank God!” My lips quirk up into a smile as I take another drag and then drop the cigarette to the cement, scraping it out with my boot. “Beck, please tell me you're free for the afternoon.”

  “Shit, sugar. You just can't stand the thought of me gettin' laid when your bed's as dry as the damn desert.” I turn to Kimmi and let my smile morph into a grin. She looks hot as usual, an untouchable bundle of rounded curves and orange hair, diamond earrings and too tight pants. I love this bitch.

  She stops on a dime, plants one hand on her hip and glares daggers at me.

  “Hey, if you don't want the company, let me know now and I'll get out of your hair.”

  I laugh and toss an arm around her neck, drawing her along beside me as we start down the sidewalk towards the beach. I can hear the sound of waves from here, a gentle lapping that belies the turmoil in our own lives. Ah, how I miss the good ol' days. I would have gladly ran weed for Kent forever if it meant we could keep on keepin' on. Oh well. No point in crying over spilled milk.

  “You know I would never turn down a chance to scope out your tits, Reynolds,” I tell her as she rolls her eyes and casts her green eyes over to mine. We have the exact same shade to our irises: green with a sliver o' shit. Kimmi and I both know how to bullshit the ladies. We used to have competitions to see who could bang more babes, but I think we've both lost count.

  “Keep wishing and wanting, Evans,” Kimmi says, shimmying her shoulders and sending her massive melon tits a swinging. “You will never get a chance to taste these babies.”

  “If I don't get a taste, why'd you come running over here? What the hell do you want now? You're not trying to skim any ladies off me, are you?” Kimmi looks around and then turns her gaze up to me, narrowing her eyes with a smile.

  “I don't see any women for miles, Beck. They must've gotten a whiff of your crap and taken off running. Actually, I'm here with a very specific question in mind.”

  I nod my head knowingly and try to appreciate the architecture around me. Narrow roads, wide sidewalks, buildings older than my grandpa's pa. Korbin's a colorful town, too. I don't see a single building painted gray or brown or beige. There's a brick house with white trim across the street from a yellow convenience store, parking lot complete with palm trees. And over there is our hotel, pale blue with red shudders. It's a pretty little place. I push back my trepidation and keep smiling.

  “This about that girl, Christy?” I ask Kimmi. She's easier to read than a damn picture book. She's been crushing on Amy's friend since the moment I picked the girl up and tossed her on my bike. “Because you know that shit's only headed two ways: down the shitter or down Austin's well traveled road of love blindness. I can't see you in either place, babe.”

  “Remember Cilantro?” Kimmi asks me, and my smile gets less silly, more serious. The girl Kimmi's missing is named after an herb, sure, but the fact that she pretends to forget her name? Not a good sign. She still misses that stupid bitch. The girl was so dumb she couldn't pour piss out of a boot with the instructions written on the heel. You'd have to be that friggin' stupid to walk away from a woman as wonderful as Kimmi.

  “Her name was Mint, Kimmi. You know that. And of course I remember her.” I grab a surreptitious look at her face. It's frozen into a neutral expression, eyes panning the horizon with disinterest. We're here in this perfect, little town and yet neither of us can find the time to relax. What a pair we make. “And it's okay if you miss her. It's okay if you miss Margot.”

  “I don't miss either of those bitches,” Kimmi says, but I can tell she does and that's okay. I respect secrets. I got to. I got so damn many of my own. “I'm just trying to use Mint as a reference. I felt her, Beck.” Kimmi frowns a bit, her red lips drawing down her face as she turns to look at me again. “Have you ever felt someone, Beck?”

  I don't hesitate before I shake my head.

  “Nope.”

  “In all six senses: sight, sound, taste, scent, touch.” Kimmi swallows. “And … that mysterious everything that you just can't quantify.”

  “Right.” I remember this story. I've heard it a dozen times before. All it does is piss me the fuck off. Mint, you stupid bitch. How dare you break my friend's heart? I hope you rot in the fiery depths o' hell. I start on another cigarette, just to keep my anger in check. “So what's this got to do with Christy?”

  “I don't know her. I mean, of course I don't. And she'll hardly speak two words to me, but I … I feel like I … like I can feel her. Does that make any sense?” Don't make no fucking sense to me, but I nod anyway, just to make Kimmi feel better. “Do you think she's gay? Because, I mean, I don't want to go after her if there's no hope of anything.”

  “You're stupid as Austin Sparks, Kimmi. Dumb as a doornail. Shoot, everybody calls me the birdbrained one, but I ain't near half as dim-witted as the two of you. Why do you want to get mixed up with a virginal little belle? That there's just asking for trouble.” Kimmi kicks me in the shin with her heel as we stumble past a shop window filled with nothing but candles. Who the hell would even walk into a place like that? What's the damn point?

  I remove my arm from around Kimmi's neck and grin again.

  “But yeah, I think she's got rainbows shooting out of her ass.”

  “And why's that?” Kimmi asks me suspiciously. Nobody here believes the Beck Evans test for sexuality but me. “Wait, wait. Lemme guess. You hit on her and she said no?” I shrug and toss my cigarette into an ashtray as we pass by.

  “Maybe.”

  “So maybe I think you're full of shit. Thank you very much.” I just laugh and pause at the next intersection, looking either way for traffic. Dead and quiet. Just the way I like it. Good thing about hogs is you can hear 'em a mile away. So I keep my ears open and my eyes on the ocean. Already I'm starting to sweat, so I slide off my vest and reach my fingers under my shirt. I'd take off my jeans, too, if I wouldn't get arrested. Y'all know Beck Evans never wears underwear.

  “Ugh,” Kimmi says as the fabric comes up and over my head. “Are you stripping already? Can't you wait until I'm far enough away that I don't have to smell your sweaty pits?” I move closer to Kimmi and laugh as she cringes away from my baby butt smoothness. Yeah, that Crystal girl shaved me up real good. From head to toe. It's fucking weird, won't lie about that. But some girls like it, so I'm going to play off this male model shit.

  “Listen babe, Christy's gay as a 1970's bathhouse. But she's also a closeted little mouse. You've gotta approach with cheese before you can pet. Catch my drift?”

  “Nobody ever catches your drift, Beck,” Kimmi says, stepping off the curb and moving across the shimmering pavement. Isn't that funny how that happens? How the sunshine can make something as dead as cement look alive? I follow after my friend and pause at the brick retaining wall that separates the sidewalk from the sand. As far as the eye can see, blue stretches out, smiling at us with foamy waves and curling fingers, beckoning us into the depths. I pause and sit down to take off my boots. When I do things, I like to do them right.

  “You goin' down to the surf in five inch heels and a corset, hooker?” I ask Kimmi, and she punches me in the shoulder, pausing to put her hands on her hips and scope out the beach.

  “You know me. I always come prepared. I've got a G-string on under this baby.” Kimmi touches her tits and pats them reverently. “But I keep the heels on. There's no debating that.”

  I toss my b
oots across the wall and step over, holding my hand out for Kimmi. She takes it and joins me with more grace in her pinky than I have in my whole damn body. I get these weird thoughts that maybe she was a gymnast before joining the club, but I've never asked. A lot of us don't. We're all here for a reason, and we got shit to hide. Look at me, a failed career in the military. A pair of hands drenched in the blood of God only knows how many. The devil's got his hand wrapped around my heart and ain't nobody wants to look at that crap.

  I drop my shirt and jacket on the pile and leave it there. Nobody's going to touch that shit. And if they do? Well, God help 'em.

  I lean against a palm tree and light up one more cig before I hit the surf, scanning the people milling around in the sand. Straight ahead, underneath an umbrella that they got from God knows where, sit Triple M's newest married couple: Gaine and Mireya. Seeing them together makes me feel like a huge weight's been lifted off my shoulders. I swear to Christ, if I had to spend one more Goddamn day watching Austin play with Mireya, watching Gaine stare at her from the shadows, I mighta just shot myself in the damn head.

  “Feels like spring is in the air, huh?” Kimmi asks me, stripping her clothes off and not giving two fucks if anybody's looking at her in a bathing suit that's illegal in a handful of countries. My lip twitches into a smile again. I spend most of my day smilin'. I spent a lot of my younger years with a frown, so you know, I gotta make up for it.

  “Triple M's like a matchmaking service, ain't it? Sign up to ride with us and get yourself a gen-u-ine soulmate for the ages.” I blow out a mouthful of smoke and glance up at the sky. It's clear today, absolutely cloudless and perfect. I roll my shoulders to try and loosen up some of the tension. It's the first thing women notice. A man who's relaxed has got his shit together. A guy with tight shoulders is bad news. It's one of them hidden facts of life that nobody tells you about.

  “I think it's cute,” Kimmi says, strutting up beside me in her bathing suit, nothing but a sarong around her hips. Despite her words, she's switched into a pair of sandals she got out of her purse. So much for heels on the beach. I laugh at her and push myself away from the tree, moving across the warm beach in my jeans. As I bend down to roll up the legs, I take stock of the available ladies lounging around me. There aren't many, not even on a day like this. Most of the girls I see are hanging out in groups. It's not impossible to snag their attention, but it makes it that much more difficult. Today, Beck Evans is lookin' for easy.

  “Didn't think you liked the beach?” Austin asks, coming up from behind us and helping Amy over the wall. Her brunette hair is twisted up on her head and her face is practically glowing. I don't know much about the girl, but I see the way she and Austin look at each other. Two of my friends are down and out for the count. Now all I gotta do is worry about Kimmi and then I can retire a happy man.

  “I made an exception today,” I tell him, trying my best not to scope out his new lady. Hey, I'm warm-blooded. It's just natural, baby. “Scopin' me out some bunnies, so I don't feel so lonely no more.” I give Amy a faux frown and she giggles, touching her fingers to her lips.

  “You'll be hard-pressed to find any rabbits here, Mr. Evans. Possums maybe, or racoons. Perhaps a gull or two?” Amy points her finger up at the sky as Austin chuckles, weaving his fingers through hers. She blushes briefly and turns away with a sly smile on her face. Me, I just laugh because really, the whole world's funny if you look at it sideways. Best way to live. Trust me. I done gone and tried the other ways, and it left me a bitter, bitter man. Sometimes, ignorance really is bliss.

  “I'll keep that in mind, Miss Cross,” I drawl, reaching out and pressing a peck to her cheek. She shrieks and Austin gives me a curled lip that makes me laugh just that much harder as I turn away and start my walk down to the shore. If I don't start my search now, I could be going to dinner alone tonight. And Beck Evans never misses out on a meal.

  Tease

  Chapter 3

  My brother finds me later that night, sitting on the porch smoking a cigarette and nursing a beer. My legs are curled up on the chair and in my hand is a crumpled magazine that I was only half-reading. Most of my attention is focused out on the street, at the people walking by, the cars, the sounds and smells of the city. People-watching is one of my favorite activities in life. I could sit here all day and observe, letting my mind wander into the lives of strangers. That girl there, in the white pants and the sparkling shirt. She's got on tall heels, but no makeup. Her eyes are red like she's been crying. I start to spin a story in my head, imagining her climbing out of bed and getting dressed for the day, putting on a nice outfit, doing her hair. Maybe she was going out to lunch with her fiancé? Maybe, as she was standing in the bathroom getting ready to put on her lipstick, she got a call. He had to cancel. He was sorry, but he didn't see their relationship going anywhere.

  Shivers travel up my arms as I run my fingers over the delicate rose tattoo on my bicep. Watching people like this is akin to living a hundred lives, a thousand. I get to delve into a whole host of scenarios I'd never otherwise get the chance to participate in. I've gotten so good at it that my imagination is enough to give me an adrenaline rush.

  “Did you enjoy dinner?” Darren asks, lighting up a cigarette and pretending that neither of us is bothered by the lack of privacy in our conversation. My brother doesn't go anywhere without an entourage now. The quiet nights we used to share, when I was six and he was twenty-one, sitting on his knee and reading stories about faraway places … those are gone forever. I look up at him with a smile on my face, shifting slightly, my leather pants squeaking against the rough wood of the rocking chair. It might sit at the clubhouse now, but this used to belong to my mother. It's one of the few things of hers I brought over here. And I don't even like the reason I did. I'm sorry, Lizzie. You pushed me to the edge, and I did petty things. If I could take them back, I would. But you, you'd never say you were sorry, would you?

  “It was wonderful, thank you,” I tell him, looking up and watching the bright yellow of the porch light highlight his cheeks, the cleft in his jaw. Darren's green eyes shimmer as he takes in the scenery around the clubhouse, appreciating it but still watching. Always watching. Sometimes I think my brother is too paranoid. Nine times out of ten, whatever situation he encounters is solved without violence. Then again, maybe he's earned that blessing by being so cautious. I look away and focus my attention on a man in a suit and sneakers. Strange combo. I smile. Wonder what his story is? “The new guy, the one with a lady's name. He's real good. Best chicken and dumplings I've ever had.”

  “Marcy?” my brother asks as I take a drag on my cigarette. But he doesn't smile back. I've known him long enough that I can tell that something's wrong. I don't bother to ask though. He won't talk about it with me. That's club business there. I can hazard a guess though. Triple M. If they're anywhere near here, my brother will want to pay them a visit. We can't be perceived as weak, and allowing a group to travel through our turf, to rob us, to disrespect us, that would be a big mistake on Darren's part. He knows it; we all know it. “Weird name, good guy, excellent fucking cook.”

  I twist fully around in my seat, letting the magazine fall to my lap and wrapping my arms around my legs. Moths flutter gently in the air around us, green and white blurs that sparkle at the edges of my vision like stars.

  “But you didn't come out here just to talk chicken and dumplings, did you, Tax?” I ask, using his nickname for the benefit of the guys. I'd much rather be calling him Dare-Bear, throwing myself into his arms and letting him hold me tight. I'm not a little girl anymore though, and that scares me. Really, really scares me. Little girls get decisions made for them; women have to make their own choices. What if I'm not ready to make my own choices though? “What's up?”

  I swallow hard and keep a neutral expression on my face as Tax moves forward and sits down on the patio step, nursing his beer and staring blankly outwards. My heart is fluttering in my chest, mimicking the flapping of the moths' wings. T
his, this could be the conversation I've been dreading for awhile now. You're nothing but an ornament, an accessory, a hanger-on. You're like a puppy purchased at Christmas, novel at first but useless when you become a bitch. I blink Lizzie's words away and let my eyes trace the patches on the back of Tax's jacket.

  “I'm sure you've heard the rumors, right?” Tax asks, leaning his elbows on his knees. His shaggy hair looks like rubies in the waning light of the evening. I've got the same hair – everyone in my family does. Lizzie, Darren, my mom, my dad, me. It's wavy, but it behaves well. I waver between loving it and hating it. Half the time I feel like the dark red against my pale skin is beautiful, a perfect contrast. The other half of the time, I feel like it looks like blood. Old blood. Spilled and spoilt. I shake my head and brush the stray strands of hair back.

  “Triple M?” I ask because it's pointless to pretend I don't know what Darren's talking about. After the tidbits I gathered in the dining room today, I can see where this is going. My heart doesn't stop beating. Yes, I'm relieved that my brother isn't here to demand that I get my shit together, but whenever I hear that name, I get light-headed and tight in the chest. Triple M. The crazy bikers who don't follow the rules, who don't even try to play it straight. I find myself running my tongue over my lips. I'm part of an MC, one that knows how to hold itself together, to stand strong, to fight hard. Why am I sitting here fantasizing over some outlaw group with no sense? I put the butt of my hand against my forehead, leaning forward and trying my best to catch my breath.

  I don't know why I'm getting so worked up over this. I'm just doing what I always do, letting myself slip into someone else's shoes. I keep having this recurring dream where I'm soaring, dark wings spread out on either side of me as my shadow passes over mountains, fields, beaches. When I come to rest, it's on the arm of a tree that stretches so high into the sky that it pierces the stars. I have no idea what it means or if I'm just crazier than a loose cannon on the Fourth of July.