“What?”
“You’ve been fucked over,” he guessed inaccurately.
But I couldn’t tell him the reason I wanted him to help me take care of what we had. It was too new. Way too new. I didn’t trust it yet. I couldn’t trust him with the knowledge that he colored my world.
He knew, in essence, that I feared what he made me feel.
He just didn’t get how big it was.
And I wasn’t ready to share that with him.
“Men are men and they do stupid shit that hurts, handsome, but that’s not it,” I shared. “But I’ll tell you what it is. Later. Tonight, let’s just have this.”
He was silent a moment, eyes holding mine, then he replied, “I’ll give you that play.”
I grinned at him and whispered, “Thanks.”
He grinned back and used his hand at my head to pull my mouth to his.
Once he’d touched my lips lightly to his, he let me back a couple of inches and asked, “Your pussy get enough or does it need more attention?”
“I think it’s good,” I answered then finished, “for now.”
His eyes danced again. “You’ll tell me, I need to get down to business.”
“I’ll keep you in that loop.”
I watched his eyes dance more before he asked softly, “You wanna clean up or sleep with me inside you?”
I felt my heart flutter at this question. I liked the intimacy of it. I liked the language he used. What I never liked was sleeping after sex without cleaning up. But the way he asked that made me want to keep him with me.
So I answered quietly, “You inside me.”
“Good, baby, now shift under the covers,” he ordered but he was still talking softly.
I liked that too.
Moving with Tack, I shifted under the covers. He twisted to turn the light off on his side of the bed and I rolled to turn the light off on mine. Then he claimed me and settled us exactly as we were before, me tucked to his side, my cheek to his shoulder, arm around his gut and his arm under me, wrapped around, hand resting on my waist.
This, I’d never had. Five lovers, two longish term, none were cuddlers. And I knew Tack was one because he settled us this way, because he’d curled into me the only other time we slept in the same bed and he’d snuggled with me when we slept on my couch.
And I liked this too.
“Thank you for dinner. It was yummy,” I murmured to his chest in the dark and this was no lie. His chops and stuffing rivaled his fajitas. His potatoes were so good, they rivaled his pancakes. And he melted butter to pour on his green beans and sprinkled them with real, crispy bacon bits. The dinner was a triple pork threat. The calories and fat it contained had to be off-the-charts. It was also divine.
“Glad you liked it, darlin’.”
“Is the office going to be a nightmare now that I’ve had two unexpected days off?” I asked.
“Don’t know. Don’t work in the office. But you’ll find out tomorrow.”
This was true.
I kept talking. “Do you cook like that all the time?”
“It’s worth eatin’, it’s worth puttin’ the time in to make it taste good.”
This was true too.
“So is that a yes?”
“No, it isn’t a yes. It’s a, if I cook, I do it right. But a lot of the time I don’t have the time so it’s takeout.”
“Even when you have your kids?”
“Even when I have the kids. Though sometimes Rush or Tabby’ll get a wild hair and try something. Rush has inherited his old man’s talent in the kitchen. Tabby gets workin’ near a stove, it’s a crapshoot.”
“Oh,” I mumbled, finding this both interesting and his telling of it sweet. Then I asked, “What’s that red car you’re working on?” and when I did, Tack burst out laughing.
I lifted my head and looked at him through the dark. “What’s funny?”
“Babe, you goin’ to sleep or we gonna have a conversation in the dark?”
“I thought we were getting to know each other.”
“We are and we did, in a lot of ways, Red. You provin’ you can ride me even harder and faster than that first night we had together bein’ my favorite part. But now I’m wiped. You wanna talk, store that shit up and we’ll do it at my place tomorrow night.”
“You’re wiped?”
I felt his hand land on my face, his palm at my jaw, fingers light on my cheek and he replied, “Two nights ago, I fucked up and hurt a woman I’d come to care about. I been waiting for this morning, hopin’ you’d roll up to Ride and I wouldn’t have to hunt you down. But if you were really pissed at me in a way I couldn’t fix, this morning could have gone different. Thinkin’ on that and all the other shit swirling in my life, the last two nights I haven’t slept all that great. But I ate good, I just came hard, I’m in your bed, you like me here and you called me honey so I’m thinkin’ tonight’s my night. That is, if you’d shut up and let me sleep.”
“I’ll shut up and let you sleep,” I offered immediately because I liked all of that and I liked it most of all.
And what I liked best of that most of all was knowing that he was worried I wouldn’t forgive him and if I hadn’t come to Ride, he was going to find me.
He wasn’t going to let me go.
I did matter.
“So, you gonna settle in and let me sleep or you gonna stare at me in the dark while I do that?” he asked when I didn’t move and kept staring at him in the dark.
“I’ll settle,” I whispered then did what I told him I’d do.
I was looking at the shadowed planes of his chest, feeling warm and fuzzy and I’d been doing this for a while when Tack muttered, “Every day, somethin’ new. Will I ever get to the heart of you?”
I pulled in a deep breath.
Damn, but I liked that too and the part I liked was it sounded like he both wanted to and didn’t but either way would be fine with him.
“I don’t know. No one has ever tried,” I answered quietly.
“Well, darlin’, gratitude. ‘Cause you just ensured I’ll sleep good knowin’ I’m the first man who gets that shot.”
That made me turn my head, press my face in his skin and deep breathe to control happy tears.
“Fuck me, she really can’t handle sweet,” he muttered to the ceiling.
“So stop doing it,” I suggested.
“Not a chance,” he returned.
God, I hoped not.
I really, really did.
* * * * *
My eyes opened to the early dawn light weakly shining through the curtains and dimly lighting the room.
And what I saw was Tack’s chest and his tats.
We were in the same position we’d fallen asleep in, me tucked tight to his side, cheek cushioned by his shoulder, his arm wrapped around me, mine wrapped around his gut.
We hadn’t moved, either of us, all night.
I liked that. So much my hand slid up his side, over his chest and to his neck where my fingers curled around but my thumb moved out to glide along the stubble next to the edge of his goatee. As I did this, I turned my head to kiss his shoulder. Then, with the tip of my tongue, I trailed a path to his nipple where I let my tongue swirl.
He tasted great.
His arm around my waist tightened and I lifted my head just enough to see his sleepy, sexy, already heated blue eyes on me.
“You need to get down to business,” I whispered and his eyes went from heated to hot.
Then his other arm locked around me. He rolled me to my back and he did what he needed to do, proving Elvira right.
Biker boys knew how to live.
Chapter Nineteen
Except Better
“Oh lordy, stop talking.”
This demand came from Elvira and when it did, the table full of women at Club burst out laughing. This was because I’d just explained precisely Tack’s ability to give pleasure. And I did this because I was highly inebriated.
It was We
dnesday night and we were at Club.
The last two days I’d spent in the office at Ride’s garage dealing with work and man drama. As far as the work was concerned, it wasn’t like I was gone two days. It was like I was gone two weeks.
And, kid you not, men were crazier than women. Each mechanic and body guy’s life was like a soap opera and they did not leave it at home. Over donuts and coffee, they were in my office telling me about it. Breaking up with women, making up with them, juggling two at a time (or three and, in one case, four), exes entering the picture, hysterical pregnancies, real pregnancies, STD scares, women who didn’t “get them”, skanky ‘ho’s they fell for and who stole from them, financial troubles, car troubles (yes, mechanics had car troubles!), family troubles.
It wore me out just listening to it. Then again, I’d been listening to it for two weeks, they’d broken me in early so I figured one day, I’d get used to it.
And going to Tack’s house after work the night before was no less exhausting.
The good thing was, riding on the back of Tack’s bike with Tack was phenomenal. I’d ridden on the back of a bike before but I’d never done it with a man who I could press close to and hold tight.
It. Was. Awesome.
The other good thing was that Tack had a fantastic house. He lived on a quiet, secluded lot up in the foothills, his house built into the mountains and nearly the whole front was a deck that had spectacular views. You walked into an open entryway that fed to the left into a big comfortable living room that jutted out past the deck. Straight off the entryway was a big kitchen with views to the deck and beyond. The house was long, three bedrooms (one Tabby’s, one an office and one Tack’s master that had its own bath) and bathroom all off one side down a hall. The other side had more windows with Tack’s spectacular views.
What surprised me was that it didn’t scream Biker! Not that I would know what that was, just that it didn’t look rough and tumble and lived in and mostly filthy like the Chaos Compound. Just lived in. It wasn’t tidy but it was relatively clean and the kitchen was clearly used but immaculate. The furniture in the living room had been chosen for comfort only, wide seats, slouchy cushions, lots of throws and toss pillows, all inviting you to take a load off.
Although it didn’t scream Biker! it was decorated in “The Biker Experience”. A framed black and white picture of what Tabby told me was Sturgis, South Dakota circa some other time when there were ox and horses in the dirt streets. A framed, greasy motorcycle sprocket that Tabby told me was from Tack’s first bike. Jumbled frames holding pictures of Tack’s kids as well as men I knew or had seen (in other words, members of Chaos) and others I didn’t know. All of them wearing tees or leather jackets or leather vests with their arms slung around each other’s shoulders. All of them wearing shit-eating grins. All of them hairy, rough poster boys for the biker lifestyle. Some of pictures had Tack in them at varying ages from teenager to who he was today. And rounding out the décor were a number of motorcycle rally posters.
Tack carried my bag to his bedroom with Tabby and I following (Tabby talking). I found it had a big bed, two nightstands but only one that had a lamp, no alarm clock. A dresser across the room from the bed, tall, six drawers. There were two big windows covered in beige curtains. Tacked to the wall above the bed was a huge, slightly tattered American flag. And there were more picture frames filled with snapshots but not on the walls, on the dresser. Rounding out the look of Tack’s room were jeans, t-shirts, socks, belts, boxer briefs and boots in a tangle on the floor.
The night at Tack’s was exhausting because Tabby and Rush were there. I found teenagers had a lot of energy. And they were noisy.
I discovered the last part of this when we showed and there was music coming up from the basement where Rush had his room. It was metal and it was loud.
Clearly in her element and entirely comfortable, Tabby assumed the “woman of the house” role and claimed me immediately. She showed me around, gave me the lay of the land in the kitchen, got me a drink and gabbed animatedly to me the whole time. It was like she’d been deserted on an island , hadn’t seen another human being in ten years and was beside herself with joy that she finally had more than a coconut to talk to.
That day, Tack called and sent Rush out with a grocery list I prepared so all the fixin’s were available to make dinner for Tack and his kids. This I did to the stylings of Led Zeppelin. No, strike that. This I did with a continual loop of their song “Rock and Roll”. It was a kickass song but the twelfth time, I had to admit, I was over it.
Fortunately, Tack was too and I knew this when he stalked to the open door to the basement and shouted down the stairs, “Either you move to the next track or your fuckin’ stereo is sailing over the deck!”
“Black Dog” immediately came on.
This was such a relief that I smiled at Tabby. She burst out laughing.
And I thought that was nice. Not Tack shouting threats of stereo mutilation but the whole thing. Cooking with Tabby jabbering to me. The comfortable, lived-in house with spectacular views and a fantastic kitchen. The way they had about them that firmly said a family lived there.
Yes. I decided I was liking this roller coaster.
I made spaghetti with my homemade meatballs, garlic bread and Caesar salad with homemade dressing. I followed this with pistachio/chocolate parfaits made in some of Tack’s tumblers with pistachio and chocolate pudding (instant, I didn’t have the time to make homemade and further, I didn’t know how to make homemade pudding) and Cool Whip sprinkled with pistachio nuts. The meal wasn’t as good as Tack’s food but Tack and his kids hoovered through it. It also packed close to the same calorie and fat wallop so I figured I did all right.
We ate all of this in front of Tack’s huge, flat screen TV in the living room where I was treated to a marathon of Storage Wars. Seeing as I didn’t watch TV, I’d never heard of this program. But by the second episode I was hooked. I declared that I thought Brandi and Jarrod were “adorable” together which for some reason he didn’t explain made Rush laugh so hard I thought he would bust a gut. Rush might find that funny but I decided I was going to start dressing like Brandi. She always looked the shit. I also shared that Dave was my favorite “character” to which Tabby told me with grave seriousness, “But, Tyra, he’s the bad guy.”
I thought he was the guy who knew what he was doing and I liked his grin but what did I know?
Since the kids stayed up late, Tack and I went to bed before them. This I found uncomfortable and what made it more uncomfortable was Tack doing it like he often took women to bed with his kids around. Not to mention his kids acting like this was nothing out of the ordinary. Further, I found myself in the unusual mood of not being in the mood with Tack.
Kids, I discovered, were a wet blanket.
But when we hit his room, Tack made no moves on me.
He just said, “You get the bathroom first, babe. I gotta tell Rush something.”
He took off and I rooted through my bag. I was wearing a sky blue shelf-bra cami and a pair of mocha, drawstring, pajama short-shorts with sky-blue and grass green swirls on them, sitting cross-legged on his unmade bed when he returned.
It was then I found Tack’s nighttime routine included taking off his clothes and dropping them on the floor. Considering the thick layer of clothes on the floor, this wasn’t a surprise.
It was also then I found, when he climbed into bed with me, turned out the one lamp then tucked me in his side, Tack wasn’t in the mood either.
And last, I found that in his bed, we had different sides. Not that we had sides, as such, since, in our limited experience, we slept cuddled together. But in my bed I was on the right. In his, he positioned me on his left.
I lay cozied up to him in the dark for a while before he spoke.
“Dinner was good, Red.”
“Thanks,” I whispered.
“And I get you. Dave from Storage Wars is the man.”
I smiled into the dark. Tack mu
st have felt my cheek move on his shoulder because his arm gave me a squeeze.
We fell silent.
Then I started, “Um…”
Then I stopped.
“Yeah?”
“Nothing,” I whispered.
“Um… what?”
“Nothing.”
“What?”
“Nothing, Tack.”
“Start it, say it,” he ordered.
I sighed. Then I said it.
“The, uh… kids didn’t seem surprised you and I headed off to bed together.”
“They wouldn’t, seein’ as I called them and told them you were comin’ up to make dinner and you were spendin’ the night. Rush even went to get the food, darlin’.”
This was true.
“Is this a, uh, normal occurrence?”
“It ain’t normal. It also ain’t out of the ordinary.”
Damn.
Honesty was usually good except at times like these.
“Though, none of them made my kids dinner,” Tack continued then concluded, “Or sat around and watched TV with them.”
This was something but it didn’t make me feel a whole lot better.
Tack’s arm tightened and he pulled me on him and up so we were chest to chest and face to face in the dark.
“I ain’t no choirboy,” he said quietly.
“I know that,” I said quietly back.
I knew it but still, I didn’t like this aspect of it.
“Kids were younger, no way. Women up here only when they were at their Mom’s. They got older, way of the world.”
Hmm. I might disagree with that if they were my flesh and blood.
Tack continued, “That said, babe, none of those bitches got here on the back of my bike either.”
“Is this a significant distinction?” I enquired.
“Yep.”
“Do they understand that?”
“Yep.”
“Are you going to explain it to me seeing as I don’t?” I asked.
Tack’s chuckle rumbled all around me and through me which sounded and felt nice.
When he stopped chuckling, he explained.
“Some bikers have a code about who they put on the backs of their bikes and when. Rally, party, road trip, could be whoever you pick up. Your wheels are takin’ you home, for me, for Chaos, only the old lady. A woman comes up here, she has her own ride. That way, I’m done, she can go. You gotta wait for me to take you where you need to be. This means, unless I take you, you aren’t goin’ anywhere.”
Motorcycle Man Page 21
