HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  She shoved the fork into my mouth. “See what you think.”

  To describe the mixture of flavors as magnificent would have been a grotesque understatement. I savored the flavors as I chewed, and eventually swallowed.

  “Well?”

  I lifted my chin and gazed toward the back of the diner. “Jacky?”

  She turned around. “Something wrong?”

  “Another plate of huevos rancheros, please.”

  “Never say never,” she said with a huge smile. “It’ll be up in a few.”

  I slid my plate to the side and reached for the newspaper. When I was halfway through reading the second front page article, my breakfast arrived. I folded the paper and set it beside me on the seat.

  Jacky set the plate on the edge of the table. “It just took meeting the right woman to open your eyes.”

  My gaze shifted to Taryn. Appreciating her beauty came easily. Every moment that I spent with her brought something new to love. Jacky was right. For the first time in my life, my eyes were wide open.

  Through them I saw life with a newfound clarity.

  I savored every bite of my new eggs, pleased that I’d taken the risk to try them.

  As Charlee read, we finished our coffee. I tucked my newspaper under my arm, and stood. After tossing $60 onto the table, I turned toward Charlee.

  “You never said what you were reading, Scout.”

  She looked up. “Green Eggs and Ham, by Dr, Seuss.”

  I wrinkled my nose and stared. It made no sense. “Dr. Seuss? What?”

  She turned and waved to Taryn, and then looked at me. She must have sensed my confusion.

  “It’ll come to you soon enough. Have a nice day, Atticus.”

  Epilogue

  Sundays weren’t only our day, they were also an anniversary of some sort. Always. As our relationship started on a Sunday, each sabbath that passed brought a reason for me to celebrate. Sometimes it was nothing more than a party in my mind, but each one of them were recognized as being what they were.

  A gift.

  In the spot where we had our first kiss, we sat side by side and gazed out at the ocean. I recalled what started our journey to the kiss, and with that recollection came a wave of emotion. Sharing with Marc the events that brought me to California took courage and trust.

  That trust opened the door for our relationship to evolve. I’m sure not all relationships are built on a foundation of trust, but I was glad that ours was.

  He checked his watch, then shifted his gaze to the cloudy horizon. It was almost dark, and the winter ocean was jewel-blue.

  “This is the exact reason I bought this place. I feel like all of that.” He waved his hands toward the sea. “I feel like it’s ours. Our back yard.”

  “I feel the same way,” I said. “Watching it is hypnotic. It takes away all of life’s bad and makes it good.”

  “The way the waves crawl onto the sand? That rhythmic pulse is the earth’s heartbeat. It’s reassurance that there will always be a tomorrow.” He nestled against me. “A tomorrow with you.”

  I loved hearing him say such things. Reassurance of our future together was nice. I’d reached a point that I felt I didn’t need it, but it was heartwarming nonetheless. On this day, of all days, I wanted more. I didn’t need it.

  I hoped for it, though.

  It was our six-month anniversary. I hoped something would be different about the day. A card. A cake. Recognition. As the days led up to it, I’d come to expect it. The day was now almost over, and he hadn’t even mentioned it.

  I wondered if he even knew.

  I gazed blankly at the lazy sea as the waves crept ashore, wondering all the while if I was being too feminine.

  He checked his watch and then let out a slow breath. “Will you do something for me?”

  “Sure.”

  “Go to the safe, and get that box. Then bring it out here.”

  “What box?”

  “The box that was delivered that day when I had to work. You put it by the front door.”

  I’d forgotten about the box. Curious about its contents, I jumped from my seat. “Okay.”

  I walked to the back of the closet and looked it over. He’d given me the combination, describing it as a safety measure. I saw it as further proof of his trust. I’d never needed it, but it was nice to know it. Nearly as tall as me, and four feet wide, the steel safe was massive. I wondered what all he kept in it.

  I pressed in the date when he graduated SEAL training, and then #. I pulled the heavy door open and peered inside. Several military-type rifles, handguns, a few steel boxes with locks on them, a small plastic file cabinet, and the box.

  I reached for the box, chuckled at its weight, and pushed the door closed. After pressing *, I carried the box to the deck.

  I set it at his feet. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you.” He checked his watch, and then patted the cushion beside him. “Have a seat.”

  I sat down and looked at the box. Marc was odd, and I knew it. Bringing the mystery box to the deck on a Sunday night was a whole new kind of weird.

  The lights on the eave illuminated automatically, a reminder that it was not only night time, but time for us to eat.

  He checked his watch.

  “What are we doing?” I asked. “I’m ready to go in.”

  He glanced at me, and then shifted his eyes back to the dark horizon. “Waiting.”

  “For?”

  “Two minutes to pass.”

  I pressed my foot against the box, and pushed it forward a few inches. I wanted to kick it off the side of the deck and then down to the ocean. I knew there wasn’t a cake in it, or a card, and that was really all I wanted. A note. I would accept a hand-written note.

  A special kiss. That would make me happy. He could kiss me and then tell me it was our anniversary kiss.

  Something.

  He patted his hand against my knee. “Open the box, Tee.”

  “Open it?”

  He glanced at his watch. “Hurry!”

  I squatted beside it and reached for the strip of tape that secured the top. “Why hurry?”

  He widened his eyes. Not in a playful way, but in a very worried way. “If you don’t get it open and remove the contents in the next 80 seconds, something bad is going to happen.”

  “Are you serious?”

  He stood. Slowly, he inched away from the box. “I’m dead serious.”

  My mind raced. I tore at the box, peeling away the tape that had been holding its contents secure for the last six months. I pulled the flaps open and was surprised to see sheets of the little plastic balloons used for packing delicate objects.

  I looked up.

  He glanced at his watch. “Sixty-two seconds.”

  I pulled away a layer of the packing, and then another. Frantically, I tossed them aside, wondering just what in the fuck he’d gotten me involved it.

  Then, I saw it.

  A small black velvet box.

  My heart raced. My hands shook.

  I looked at him.

  On his knees between me and the horizon, he looked at his watch and then peered into the box. “You’ve only got 31 seconds. Open it.”

  With a shaking hand, I reached for the box. I bit into my quivering lip and lifted the hinged lid.

  Oh. My God.

  He tapped my knee.

  I looked up.

  He glanced at his watch, and then met my gaze. “Taryn Fisher. I love you more than words can describe. Before God and my ocean, with the earth’s pulse providing us a reassurance of tomorrow, will you marry me?”

  I nodded eagerly.

  “Will you?”

  “Yes,” I murmured.

  He glanced at his watch and then let out a sigh.

  He reached for my shaking hand, lifted the ring from the box, and slipped it onto my finger.

  I looked at the ring and then at him. He kissed me.

  My mind reeled at what had just happened. It wasn’t
something that he’d decided on a whim. That box had been in the safe for almost six months. I couldn’t remember the exact date when it arrived, but it was while we were in our 30-day no-sex stint, I was sure of it.

  At least I thought I was.

  I glanced at the ring. White gold, with an elegant array of diamonds along each side, the pattern of stones circled the center stone, a massive round diamond. It was elegant, yet made a bold statement.

  I was spoken for.

  I looked at him. “The box. It’s been here for…”

  “I ordered it on day eleven. From a jeweler in Germany. I had it shipped to a jeweler in San Diego, and they shipped it here.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about. “Day eleven?”

  He nodded. “After our first kiss.”

  My heart rose into my throat. “You knew you wanted to marry me after our first kiss?”

  “I knew if I didn’t marry you, I’d never marry. After that kiss, you were all that mattered. Yes.”

  I placed my hand against the deck to steady myself. “I love you.”

  He smiled. “I love you, too.”

  “What was with the countdown?” I asked. “Thirty seconds or else. Hurry, hurry, hurry?”

  “You probably don’t realize it, but it’s our six-month anniversary. I wanted to propose to you on this day, but at the exact time and place where we had that first kiss.”

  I love you so fucking much.

  I looked at him in disbelief. “You know what time we kissed?”

  “Yeah. And what time you gave me the first blowjob. And, what time you ate the oyster. Pretty much everything.” He shrugged. “I know, I’m weird.”

  He wasn’t weird, he was my fiancé.

  I stood, opened my arms, and cocked my head to the side. “Kiss me.”

  We embraced in a kiss. Swaying back and forth on the balls of my feet, positioned between his ocean and the spot where we had our first kiss, I fell a little deeper in love with Marc Watson. As our lips parted, it came to me.

  I needed to make a call.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said excitedly.

  “Huh?”

  “I’ve got to make a call. I’ll be right back.”

  I slid the door open, ran into the bedroom, and scrolled through my contacts. After finding her name, I pressed the button.

  Half a dozen or more rings later, she finally answered.

  “This is Rene.”

  “Rene?”

  “This is Rene, yes.”

  “Rene, this is Taryn.”

  “Hi, Taryn. Matthew’s here with me.”

  “Hi, Taryn,” a distant voice said.

  It seemed weird that they were both listening, but I shrugged it off. “Okay. Uhhm. I have something to tell you.”

  “We’re listening.”

  “We’re uhhm. Marc and I. We’re. He proposed,” I muttered. “We’re getting married!”

  “We’re so happy for you, dear. We’ve been sitting here just waiting for you to call.” She chuckled. “Matthew’s been needing to go to the bathroom for the last half hour, but wouldn’t.”

  “You knew?” I asked. “You knew this was going to happen?”

  “We’ve known for a long time, honey. Now, go enjoy your special night. And, Happy Anniversary.”

  She not only knew about Marc’s intention to ask me to marry him, but she also knew it was our six-month anniversary. Marc hadn’t forgotten anything, and he’d shared everything with them.

  My eyes welled with tears. “Thank you.”

  “One more thing,” she said. “Welcome to the family.”

  “Thank you, Rene.”

  “Just call me Mom. If you want to, that is.”

  “Good night, Mom,” I said as a tear escaped my left eye. “And tell Dad he can go pee now.”

  “Good night, dear.”

  “Good night, Tee,” I heard Matthew shout in the background.

  I closed my eyes and tilted my head toward the sky. He had no idea how special those words made me feel.

  I’d tell him later. Maybe on or wedding night.

  I wiped the tears from my cheeks and then swallowed hard.

  “Goodnight Dad.”

  Also by Scott Hildreth

  If you enjoyed this book and want to read more about the Filthy F*ckers MC, check out the books below.

  Book One - Hard

  Book Two - Rough

  Book Three - Dirty

  Book Four - Rigid

  Book Five - Nuts

  Or visit him at the pages below to find out more about him and his books.

  Amazon

  Scott Hildreth’s Website

  The Selected Sinners Series

  Dedication

  When I was a child of roughly eight years old and living in San Diego, I saw my first motorcycle gang (back then they were called gangs). We were entering the freeway, and as we merged, a thunderous roar from behind the car caught my attention. I spun around and looked. Motorcycle after motorcycle passed us as we sped up to get on the freeway. After literally dozens of bikers blew past us, I sat in awe; staring at what would later become my first love….

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “Hell’s Angels,” my father responded.

  “What? Hell’s what?”

  “Hell’s Angels. It’s a biker gang,” he said over his shoulder.

  And, at that moment, I knew one day I would have to find out what it was all about.

  This book is dedicated to the one percent.

  The Outlaw.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, are coincidental.

  MAKING THE CUT 1st Edition Copyright © 2015 by Scott Hildreth

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author or publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use the material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at designconceptswichita@gmail.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Covert art by Jessica: www.JessicaHildrethDesigns.com

  Follow me on Facebook at: www.facebook.com/sd.hildreth

  Like me on Facebook at: www.facebook.com/ScottDHildreth

  Follow me on Twitter at: @ScottDHildreth

  Chapter One

  AVERY

  I turned to the side and peered over my shoulder. No two mirrors ever gave the same reflection. Some provided an accurate likeness; like the really expensive ones in the mall or the one in my doctor’s office. Others, including the ones in college bathrooms, didn’t. I ran my hand along my stomach until it came in contact with the bottom of my bra.

  I have no tits.

  I twisted my hips as I bent at my waist a little, pointing my butt slightly toward the mirror. My ass looked flat and similar to the hipster boys who wore the neon colored pants in my Psych class. I looked like a sixteen-year-old boy; one who was almost six feet tall. The only problem was the fact I was a twenty-two-year-old woman.

  Yeah, she’s got no tits and no ass, but she’s got a really cool personality, I think you should meet her…

  “These mirrors suck. Hurry up,” I said.

  Sloan’s voice echoed through the empty bathroom. “I know, they make me look fat.”

  I glanced at my reflection, wondering if they truly were the mirrors which added five pounds. If so, what did I really look like? I stood and stared blankly into the mirror wishing I could see myself through the eyes of an honest person. Well, an honest person with perfect eyesight. Frustrated, I pulled a section of paper from the towel dispenser and wadded it into a ball. I glanced at the trash can on the opposite end of the row of sinks. It was easily fifteen feet away. I
bit my lower lip slightly and tossed the ball of paper toward the opening. It landed against the leading edge of the can and fell inside.

  Yes!

  I pulled another foot-long piece of paper from the dispenser and wadded it up in my hands. As I lifted my right hand to my shoulder, the door opened. A girl wearing sweats, sneakers, and a loose fitting Henley smiled as she made eye contact with me. As she tossed her book bag beside the sink, I forced a smile and clenched the paper in my hand as if embarrassed.

  “Hey,” she said as she turned toward the stall.

  Holy shit, I wish I had your boobs.

  I tilted my head her direction. “Hey.”

  As she stepped into the stall, I studied her body. Her butt was small but perfectly rounded. She looked like a hippie version of a Victoria’s Secret model. She was further proof God had a sense of humor, and I was the joke of this century.

  Butterbody.

  She’s got a really pretty face, butterbody looks like a fucking boy.

  “I’m never eating at that gross Thai place again,” Sloan huffed as she emerged from the stall.

  My fist still clenched, I stood and stared blankly at the floor as she washed her hands. As I considered the cost of butt implants and what I may receive for my first real tax return, I grabbed my book bag and followed her to the door. While she opened the door and held it for me to pass through, I turned around, pressed my non-existent butt against the door, and raised my right hand into the air.

  “Come on, we’re going to be late,” she complained.

  The trash can was at least twenty-five feet away.

  “For the championship,” I said.

  “No freaking way,” she muttered.

  I tossed the ball of paper into the air and immediately swung my hips to the right, opening the door for Sloan to witness the feat of accomplishment. A masterpiece of a toss, I watched as the brown blur reached its apex and began to fall toward the receptacle. Magically, the paper disappeared into the center of the can. Satisfied, I released the door and followed Sloan into the hall.