by Kati Wilde
My skin feels like it’s melting now. Just from a look.
Damn it. I should have given him a blow job to remember, instead.
Mom returns to the kitchen, apparently determined to forget about me flashing anyone, because she doesn’t mention it. Instead she changes the subject to, “What did Saxon have to say?”
“He was checking up on Anna,” Aaron says, surprising me. “A few of the Riders saw Zed follow her through town so he was making sure she was all right.”
“That was kind of him,” Mom says, but her gentle frown says she isn’t really sure what to think of that.
I know what to think of it. Saxon hoped Jenny might be here, visiting me.
Aaron meets my eyes and the waggle of his blond eyebrows says he’s thinking the same thing. “And we’ll be riding out with him on Saturday, Mom, so if you have anything planned for us that day, better put it off for Sunday.”
“There’s nothing planned,” she says.
I’m nosier. “Where are you going?”
Zach answers me. “He told us that one of those fundamentalist groups plans to picket a soldier’s funeral up in Eugene,” he says, and you can tell he’s definitely not from around here because it’s actually over in Eugene. “The Hellfire Riders and a few other clubs will be forming a line to push the group back, so we’re joining them.”
“The Riders do things like that?” I know the Steel Titans do because I’ve heard Jenny’s dad talking about it. But I was under the impression that the Riders were mostly interested in drinking and fucking and revving their engines in the middle of town at two in the morning.
Of course, maybe that’s because almost everything I know about the Hellfire Riders is filtered through the Titans.
“It surprised me, too,” Zach says and his smile has a bitter, self-mocking edge to it.
What prompted that look? “You’ve heard of them before?”
That would be even more surprising. As far as I know, the Riders are just a local MC. They aren’t a big club with different chapters in different states.
He shakes his head. “Not the Riders. It’s just not in my experience.”
“What’s your experience?” I slide the question in casually, as if I’m not dying to know.
With another shake of his head, he just as casually slides away from the question. “Are you coming with us?”
If that means spending a day with him? God, yes. I’d love to go.
But I can’t.
Not that I get a chance to answer. Aaron chokes a little and says, “Not a chance in hell, Zed.”
“Why? You worried about her safety? I’ve got enough room behind me if you can’t ride well enough to pack double.”
Zach says it so smoothly that it takes a second for me to realize that he just poked fun at my brother. Almost like I would. And it hits me all at once that these guys have known each other at least two years, the length of a Force Recon loop. Maybe longer.
Along with that understanding comes a strange little pain. Not quite like the feeling I’ve lost something. It’s more like the realization that the percentage of overlap in the Venn diagram of mine and Aaron’s lives will keep decreasing from this point onward, because our personal circles will grow…and they won’t always include each other.
Of course I’ve known Aaron has been away and living a different life. Just like I’ve been away at college. Those friendships were always there, though, not here. And when we came home, it was just us again.
Not anymore. Aaron’s got himself a brother. Maybe not related by blood, but still a brother.
Blood never mattered much in this family, anyway.
“Think about after, man.” Aaron shoots a glance at my mom’s back to make sure she isn’t looking before jerking his hips back and forth and putting on an exaggerated leer. “You think that’ll happen for either of us with my sister around?”
That strange little pain suddenly swells into something bigger. God. That’s never hurt before. Aaron has said basically the same thing a hundred times since high school: Having a sister around is an automatic cock block. That gets no argument from me. I’d say the same about having a brother around.
But apparently the plan for Saturday is to hook up with whatever chicks they find. That shouldn’t matter. Zach is essentially a stranger to me. A stranger who didn’t want to know my name.
I wonder if he’ll ask the girl he screws on Saturday what her name is.
God, and he’s looking at me, his gaze searching my face. Wondering if that bothers me?
To give him an answer, I put on a smile. Of course I do. I’ll flash my boobs without thinking much of it. I’ll offer my number and an invite to my bed without feeling any shame.
But show my hurt to someone who isn’t family? To someone who isn’t Jenny? Fuck that all the way to hell.
“Calm your tits, Aaron.” I deserve a freaking Oscar for how completely unaffected my voice sounds. “Jenny and I already have plans for Saturday, since it’s the first time we can go out drinking together—”
Aaron coughs out a “Bullshit!” behind his fist. At the stove, Mom shakes her head. Either because she didn’t know what Jenny and I used to get up to—or because she did know, and she’s amazed that Aaron seems to think this is news to her.
Probably the second.
I narrow my eyes at him and finish, “It’s the first time we can do it legally. So I’m hardly going to throw her over to hang out at a smelly biker bar with you.”
“Maybe it won’t smell too bad,” Zach says, bringing my attention right back to him.
I stare at him in confusion. It won’t smell too bad. Is he trying to say I should come with them on Saturday? Does he want me to come? Or is he just being polite because my brother sounds like a dick and Zach doesn’t realize that my brother sounds like a dick all the time and that never bothers me, because I know Aaron doesn’t mean anything by it. There’s real security in knowing how much someone cares for you.
There’s no security with Zach. I don’t know what he means by that comment.
But I think I know. I remember how he lifted me up, making me feel smart and pretty even as he told me he didn’t want to spend the night with me.
Zachary Cooper is nice.
That’s a serious problem. Because if he were a jerk, it would be so easy to ignore him, no matter how beautiful he is. But he’s nice and I can’t stop myself from liking him.
And I’m afraid I won’t stop at liking.
Three
On Saturday night, I have no intention of going home early—or sober—but that’s what happens. Jenny’s just as disappointed as I am. Unlike me, though, she’s blaming herself for it.
“Sorry,” she says again. We’re in her truck and about five minutes from my house. This is her fourth ‘Sorry’ since we’ve left, but I’m glad to hear that, this time, there’s more frustration in her voice than apology. None of this is her fault. “I really thought the Corral would be okay.”
“It was okay. We got a few hours in.” And only a few drinks, but we danced so much my makeup sweated off. “Who could have guessed those assholes would show up?”
Because members of the Eighty-Eight don’t usually show their faces at that bar—or anywhere else in Pine Valley. At least not while wearing their club’s colors. The town is Hellfire Riders’ and Steel Titans’ territory.
More Hellfire Riders’ than Steel Titans’, in truth. If the town is a big circle, the Hellfire Riders call most of that circle theirs. Only a small slice of the east side is looked over by the Titans, along with everything from that slice to the county line.
The Corral sits in that slice of town, which is why Jenny felt safe enough to go there. The place isn’t one of the Steel Titans’ usual hangouts but it’s in her dad’s territory.
Her green eyes narrow a little as the headlights of a passing car catch her full in the face. “I can’t believe they had the balls.”
“I can’t believe this town doesn’t have more ba
rs. I mean, it’s got more than enough churches. What’s the point of being forgiven if there’s nowhere to sin?”
A smile touches her mouth before disappearing into a sigh. I don’t need to guess what’s putting the worry on her face. She’s deciding whether to tell her dad about the two members of the Eighty-Eight who stepped through the Corral doors wearing their kuttes. She’s worried because it means those supremacist assholes are poking at the Titans, and if they poke hard enough they might start a war between the clubs. She’s worried because it can’t be coincidence those guys showed up when the Hellfire Riders were out of town.
Which means the Eighty-Eight is scared of the Riders, but they’re not so threatened by her dad’s club.
But I bite my lip and don’t say any of that. It’s one thing to know the Titans aren’t as strong as they once were. It’s another thing to speak it aloud.
Even if Jenny must know it, too.
My stomach clenches into a knot as she turns onto my street. This is partially why I didn’t want to come home early. From two blocks away, I can see a motorcycle in the driveway. But just one.
So it looks like our guest found somewhere else to stay for the night.
No big deal. In another few days, Zach will be gone every night. This is the same.
And if I tell myself that enough, it might actually feel true.
Pulling up to the curb, Jenny purses her lips and slides me a look. “Is this why you said we should call it a night instead of heading up to Bend?”
“Is what why?”
Eyebrows arched, she gestures toward the motorcycle. “Because he’s here.”
“Aaron?” Sure, I’m glad he’s here on leave. But I wouldn’t blow off Jenny just because he’s home tonight. He’ll be around for a month.
She rolls her eyes. “That’s not Aaron’s bike.”
I look again. It’s black and has silver handlebars. Zach’s looks the same to me, so I suppose it could be his, but why would he be here without my brother? “How can you tell?”
“To start? Your brother’s bike has a soft tail frame with apehangers. This one doesn’t.”
“Huh,” I say as if that’s only mildly interesting, as if my heart isn’t suddenly pounding. Because I’m sure my parents are home, but the first floor windows are dark, which means they’ve gone to bed.
The light in the guest room is on, though.
Jenny’s still giving me that look.
“I didn’t know. I swear!” I raise my hands to ward off her narrowed stare. “But since I’m here, wish me luck. And pray my mom and dad don’t hear anything.”
“Oh, my God.” She covers her face with her hands. “You are why this town has so many churches.”
“I try.” I grin and hop out of the truck.
“Tell me how it goes,” she says. “And if he’s really that pretty all over.”
I’d bet anything he is. “I’ll take pictures.”
“Only of him, I hope.”
“Nope.” I palm my tits, give them a little heft beneath my shirt. “You’re gonna get shots of these babies.”
“You’ve already sent me pics of those.”
Shit. I have. “Yeah, well—” I’ve got nothing. Not a single comeback. I flip her the bird, instead.
She shoots a middle finger right back. God, I love her. The sister I never had.
Just before I close the truck door, her “Hey!” stops me. Her face is suddenly serious.
“Let me know how it goes on Monday,” she says.
My appointment with the breast surgeon. I nod and swing the door shut before hightailing it up to the porch. She waits at the curb until I’m inside.
I don’t bother with any lights. Partially because I don’t need them, partially because I don’t want to wake my parents. Not for the reason I led Jenny to believe—although if things with Zach started heading that way, I wouldn’t put on the brakes. But mostly I just want a little time alone with him.
Out on the road, when he was changing my tire, we got on so quick and so well. It was so easy to talk to him and we never really got that back. He’s nice here at the house—unfailingly polite—but I haven’t had a second with him when my brother wasn’t around. Which makes sense. Zach’s visiting with Aaron, not me. Still, I’d like to have him to myself again. Even for just a few minutes. To see if it’s still just as easy between us.
But maybe it’ll just be awkward again.
I don’t make much noise going up the carpeted stairs. The hallway is dark, except for a single yellow strip of light beneath the guest room door. My heart pounds double-time.
Maybe I should let him be. Sure, he’s here instead of out screwing some nameless girl he met at a bar, but that doesn’t mean he wants me to monopolize his time. Maybe he came home early because he thought I wouldn’t be here. After all, that was the plan before the Eighty-Eight messed it up.
I knock before I can talk myself out of it. A couple of greetings ready themselves at the tip of my tongue.
Each greeting takes a suicide dive into a pool of stunned silence when he opens the door.
Because he opens the door wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants—hanging low on his hips—and a paperback in his hand. I recognize the book. A futuristic mystery, it had been crammed into one of the overstuffed shelves in the family room. He must have grabbed it before coming upstairs.
So he was reading. Probably in bed. Inside the room, the only light comes from the lamp on the nightstand and it’s so easy to imagine him reclined back against the pillows, the yellow glow washing over his rippling stomach, his hard pectorals bare of everything except a dusting of coarse hair, his chin darkened by a day’s growth of beard.
And a book in his hand.
I didn’t think he could be more attractive. I really didn’t. But, holy shit. He was reading. All he needs is a pair of glasses and he’d be Superman.
“Anna,” he says and I force my gaze up, because my attention had gotten stuck on the index finger he inserted between the pages to mark his spot.
Lucky book.
“Hi,” I finally say, but it sounds more like a croak than a word, so I add a stupid little wave. “I saw your light.”
He nods and his gaze slides from my head to my pink-painted toenails. God, why didn’t I stop by the bathroom to freshen up? All the dancing left my hair a crazy mess and my mascara smudged into shadows around my eyes.
But it’s too late now. There’s no way to go but forward. “You’re home early,” I say. “You didn’t get lucky?”
That crystalline gaze snaps back to mine. “I could have,” he drawls. “But I left because being there was ruining your brother’s chances.”
My eyebrows shoot up. He might be right. I know a lot of girls in town think my brother is hot but I’m not sure how many would look at him with Zach in the same bar.
But still.
A grimace pulls his mouth tight. “I sounded less like a dick when I said that to him.”
I have to laugh. At least he admits it. “You probably did.”
Expression abashed, he shakes his head. “Then let me start over. I didn’t feel like being there, so I bailed and tossed a few friendly insults at Stone on my way out.”
Stone. Aaron’s nickname from high school football, when they called him Stone Wall. I guess the name must have stuck, even in the Marines.
“Don’t sweat it.” I wave his worry off. “I suppose the past couple of days you’ve heard plenty of things that would sound dickish if they were directed at anyone outside my family.”
The corners of his eyes crinkle with his smile. “I’m becoming used to it.”
Getting more comfortable around us. His being here still surprises me, though. “So you came back alone?”
His expression hardens, freezing that smile. When he moves out of the doorway—as if to show me the empty bed behind him—I realize how that sounded.
In a rush, I amend, “No, I mean, obviously you don’t have company. But you came back without Aar
on? Were my parents still up?”
Some of his tension eases. “Yes.”
“Awk-ward.”
“Yes.” Now the humor returns. “On the porch, it took me almost a full minute to decide whether to knock or just walk in.”
Because no one around here keeps their front door locked, unless they’ve gone to bed. “What did you do?”
“Walked in. And they were right there in the living room.”
I laugh, picturing it. No way did my parents let him go without comment. “What did they say?”
“Your mom told your dad, ‘So this is what it’s like to have a responsible child. One who comes home at a reasonable hour.’” His grin flashes when I snort. “Then your dad offered to adopt me.”
“They probably really would.”
“I’d probably let them.” Shoulder braced against the doorframe, he looks down at me. “They’re pretty great.”
I know. “I got lucky.”
“You did,” he agrees.
“So your parents wouldn’t have reacted the same way if I showed up at their door?”
I almost regret being so nosy when his smile dims. He doesn’t even answer, just steps back from the door and farther into the room.
Smoothly, he says, “Your mom says you’re the one who painted this wall.”
I’m sorry he changed the subject, but I’m not passing up this excuse to get into his room.
“I did,” I tell him, walking in and turning to study the mural—an antique-style world map, with major landmarks drawn in an exaggerated hand. It’s not bad, considering that I painted it in a week. But it’s not good, either. “Our cousin Aspen stayed with us last summer. My mom thought this was appropriately educational for a preteen, but still fun.”
He moves closer to it. Oh, Lord help me. Considering how gorgeous his front is, can’t he at least have an unimpressive back? But, no. Instead he possesses a swimmer’s broad shoulders and tight waist. Muscles move smoothly under acres of tanned skin when he presses his finger to a spot on the map.
My spot. Where Pine Valley would be, I painted a simple message—
“‘Anna was here,’” he reads, then looks back at me. “Your signature?”
