“We’re friends,” I said. “You said you enjoyed being around me, and that you wanted more. The next step would be a relationship.” I raised my brows in wonder. “Is that what you want?”
“Hell, I don’t know. I like being around you but being around you isn’t as easy as I thought it’d be.”
I coughed out a laugh. “What in the heck does that mean?”
“I should just be able to sit here and talk to you. Instead, I’m wrestling with my feelings, fighting to keep my cock from getting hard, and spending a lot of time staring at your tits. I can’t even explain what caused me to kiss you. This shit’s new to me.”
It was new to me as well. Having a man kiss me wasn’t something I was accustomed to. Actually, I couldn’t recall when, or if, Angel had ever kissed me. With Reno, I felt like I was falling for someone for the very first time.
I wanted everything to go perfectly.
“I don’t want to take this step just because you’re confused or horny,” I said. “There’s got to be more to it than that.”
“There is.” He looked up. “You’re cool as fuck to be around, and I don’t like thinking of not being around you. I’d like to explore my options with you.”
“A relationship?” I asked.
“What about that friends with benefits shit that everyone talks about?” he asked. “The best of both worlds?”
Friends with benefits wasn’t the best of both worlds. It was just another way of saying, I want to have sex with you, but I don’t want to be tied to a relationship.
He was far too wishy-washy to talk him into much more. Until Angel killed us both, friends with benefits would have to suffice. “I’d consider it,” I said. “But it’s going to cost you twenty bucks.”
His nose wrinkled. “Twenty bucks?”
“Yeah. You’ll lose our bet.”
He leaned away from the table and reached into his pocket. His hand slapped against the top of the table with a thwack! He moved it to the side, revealing a twenty-dollar bill. “That’s one bet I’ll never regret losing.”
“If I take that money, we’re in a relationship,” I said, trying not to smile. “There are rules.”
“Like what?”
I had no idea. I mulled it over for an instant, and then winged it. “Friends with benefits, or not, I won’t be cheated on,” I said. “Sex will be with me, and no one else.”
“Not a problem,” he said.
“Sex has to be consensual.”
“Not a problem.”
I twisted my mouth to the side and thought. Kissing him was undeniably fabulous. I needed to make sure we included it in the deal.
“Kissing,” I said. “We need to do it, all the time. We’re friends with benefits, and those benefits include kisses.”
“No argument here.”
I couldn’t believe It. Everything was coming together perfectly. Giddy with excitement, I considered if there was anything left to discuss.
I held his gaze. “I guess the only other thing is that this relationship needs to be more than just sex.”
“Like what?”
“Like this.” I waved my hand over the table. “Going to breakfast, hanging out, motorcycles rides, or whatever. Not just sex.”
“Like I said, I enjoy being around you a hell of a lot more than not being around you. Doing shit with you won’t bother me one bit.”
I reached for the money, and then paused. “Are you sure?”
He put his hand on top of mine, leaned over the table, and kissed me.
It was the best yes response I could have ever received.
20
Reno
The back wall of the Filthy Fuckers clubhouse was lined with a workbench. Covered with tools, spare motorcycle parts, and how-to manuals detailing the disassembly and repair of various eras of Harley-Davidson motorcycles, it was used as a meeting place, of sorts.
In the afternoons, Crip and Pee Bee leaned against the outside wall of the shop drinking beer. In the mornings and evenings, Crip was often inside alone, sitting on the edge of the bench, thinking.
I parked my bike just inside the shop and sauntered across the floor. Crip was leaning on the bench with a mug of coffee in his hand and his eyes fixed on the floor.
When I nearly reached him, he looked up. “Kind of early for a southerner to be this far north, isn’t it?”
Following our friends with benefits agreement, I’d seen Carma for three days in a row. Then, I got scared that I was becoming too attached to her. Too dependent. In response, I took three days off seeing her. Her absence didn’t set well with me. I’d been up all night thinking about her, our agreement, and whether it was going to work or not.
“Didn’t sleep worth a fuck last night,” I said. “So, I guess it’s late, not early.”
“Something troubling you?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
He sipped his coffee. “You just came by to check on me. Isn’t that fucking thoughtful.”
“I thought you didn’t like coffee.”
He peered into the cup. “I don’t.”
“Got any more?”
“Pot’s over there.” He gestured toward a vintage coffee maker at the end of the bench. “Mugs are scattered around. Clean ones are upside down.”
I filled a cup and leaned against the bench at his side. After a few sips of the powerful brew, I let out a sigh.
“How often do you flip out?” I asked.
“Around here? Daily, pretty much. Feel like a fucking babysitter, most of the time. Someone’s always doing or saying something ri-fucking-diculous. I swear, you’d think these men were raised by baboons.”
I arranged an assortment of bolts that was scattered on top of the bench. “I was thinking more, I don’t know, like flipping out, flipping out.”
“Gonna have to be more specific than that, Brother.”
I kicked the toe of my boot against an oil stain on the floor in front of me, wishing I could make it go away. “Does that shit we did overseas ever come back to haunt you? Make you curl up in a ball and wish it never happened?”
He finished his coffee and then set his cup aside. After gazing the length of the shop for a moment, he faced me. “Used to be every few months, or so. Found out if I kept myself busy, really busy, it didn’t happen as often. Then, it was once a year, generally around the holidays. Now? Doesn’t really happen at all. Why? You having problems?”
I continued my assault on the spot of oil. “Each time the sun rises, I have problems. Some days worse than others, I suppose.”
“Get a tingling feeling first?” he asked. “Like a weird itch?”
“Yeah. Kinda.”
“Then, just a slow melt-down? Like you’re going down the drain in a spiral?”
I choked on my saliva, and then looked at him. “Hell, I thought I was all alone. Like, some fucking weirdo, or something.”
“Can’t ask a man to do what we were asked to do, and have any expectation that there won’t be repercussions,” he said. “Our minds are struggling to make sense of something that doesn’t make sense. The men I killed that I never saw their faces? The long-distance shots? You’d think they’d bother me the least. Seems I thought about them more than anything. Killing the fucking drug dealers that tortured Cholo? I stood six inches from ‘em and shot ‘em in the face. Never came back to haunt me once.”
“Smells ever bother you? Like, smell something and get a weird feeling?”
“Used to, yeah. Smell of stale sweat. Old pile of clothes at Curly’s house, once. Happened in my garage one day. Couple of times when Pee Bee came here from the gym. Probably the reason I don’t go to gyms.”
“Alacrán’s cologne about made me snap,” I admitted. “Luckily, we got out of there before I lost it.”
“His cologne? Wonder why?” He shook his head. “It’s weird, huh?”
I nodded and took a sip of the rot-gut coffee. “Uh huh.”
“You end up losing your shit after you
left my place?” he asked. “Because of his cologne?”
“Nope.”
“Something else bothering ya? You having problems with what happened in the parking lot? Did stuffing those fuckers in that oven—”
“Killing those two turds?” I laughed. “Haven’t given it a second thought.”
He smirked. “Why are you here, Brother?”
I finished my coffee, and then glanced around the shop.
“Won’t find the answer on the shop floor,” he said with a laugh. “Just speak your mind. I’m not going to criticize you.”
I sauntered to the coffee pot and poured another cup.
“If you can’t talk to me,” he said. “I don’t know who you’re going to talk to.”
“I think that chick and I might end up fucking,” I said.
“The waitress?”
I sipped the vile brew. “Uh huh.”
“Her perfume bother ya?”
“No. Actually, she smells real nice.”
He gave me the typical Nick Navarro glare. “Brother, you’re going to have to help me out, here. I ain’t much on having meaningful conversation when there’s only one participant. In fact, I find it about half fucking irritating.”
He walked past me and poured the remainder of the coffee in his cup.
“Coffee tastes like shit,” I said.
“Been in that pot since day before yesterday,” he said, looking into his cup. “Never tastes worth a fuck after the first day, but I hate to waste it.”
“Don’t want to make a fool out of myself,” I said. “End up snapping in front of her or coming up missing for a month because I had some episode. Have her end up hatin’ me because I do somethin’ dumb.”
“Come up missing for a month?” He gave me a look. “That a common occurrence?”
“Remember that story about the waitress in Vegas? Me shacking up with her for a month?”
He nodded. “When Baker called the cops and turned you in as missing?”
“Yep.”
“Yeah. I remember it. Why?”
“Was a lie. I was wadded up in a ball in a seedy hotel room. All the lights and shit in Vegas got to me. Thought I was gonna end up in a fucking mental institution. Was too embarrassed to tell anyone what really happened.”
“God damn, Brother. Why didn’t you say something?”
I shrugged. “Embarrassed, I guess. Ashamed a little, maybe.”
He gripped my bicep. “No shame in being human.”
Being out of control didn’t allow me to feel very human. I nodded, nevertheless. “People that weren’t there don’t understand.”
He looked me in the eyes. “You’re worried that you’re going to flip out and she’ll get scared and run?”
“Pretty much.”
“People like you and me need stability in our lives. Everything needs to be in order. We hate clutter, we fear change, and everything needs to be just the way we think it needs to be. Might not be like everyone else thinks it ought to be, but it’s got to be the way it needs to be for us to maintain a level of sanity. My pickles have to go on the bottom compartment of the fridge, on the door, beside the mayonnaise. Can’t have ‘em anywhere else, or I feel like someone’s trying to sabotage my life. Sound familiar?”
“Sounds like you been peeking in my windows.”
“Peyton’s the best thing that ever happened to me. Knowing every night she’s gonna fall asleep beside me, and that every morning she’s going to give me a kiss before she goes to work? That’s made my life more stable than I ever thought it could be. I haven’t flipped out once since we got together.”
I looked at him with eyes of uncertainty. “You’re telling me a woman fixed that. No more incidents?”
“Doesn’t matter what the question is,” he responded. “Having a good woman in your life is the answer. The trick is finding a good one.”
“How’s a motherfucker know if she’s good or not?”
“Doesn’t matter how good she can slob your knob, or whether or not she can put her heels beside her ears, I can tell you that much. What matters is how she makes you feel when you’re not fucking her. When she’s gone, if all you can think about is sex, she’s probably not going to last. If all you think about is being with her again, and you can’t explain why, she’s a keeper.”
I handed him my cup of coffee. “Thanks for the advice, Brother. Dump that shit in the trash, would ya?”
He gave me a funny look. “Where the fuck you going?”
“To Chula Vista,” I said.
“What the fuck for?”
I was already halfway to my motorcycle. “Can’t explain it,” I said over my shoulder.
It was the truth.
I couldn’t even begin to explain it.
21
Carma
Since the day I met Reno, I’d seen him several times a week. Although we’d ridden his motorcycle along the coast, eaten lunch together many times, and even snuck our favorite deserts into a mid-day movie matinee, I felt I knew very little about what was really on his mind. We talked about everything, except for how he was feeling.
Despite our friends with benefits arrangement, we hadn’t had sex once since making the pact. We talked, kissed, and he’d touched me in ways that only a lover would, but there was not so much as a hint that he wanted to have sex with me. I was enjoying my time with him immensely, but I was thoroughly confused.
“I’m sorry.” I poured his water glass full. “But I’m really busy. I can’t talk until things slow down.”
“That’s fine,” he said with a smile. “I’ll just sit here and eat.”
He’d been in the restaurant for two and a half hours, showing up when we opened, and staying through our early and late lunch rushes. He seemed content and had eaten two meals. I, on the other hand, was frustrated that I couldn’t sit and talk with him.
I wanted to get to the bottom of why he didn’t want to attend the event when he had a free ticket to the show.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ I assured him.
He undressed me with his eyes in a leisurely manner, and then smiled. “I’ll be right here.”
Mister Ortiz was seated in his usual spot, in the rear of the restaurant. One of the daily regulars, he came in early, stayed late, and ate the same thing every day—huevos rancheros. While he ate, he read the daily newspaper. When he was finished reading, he left. There was always a three-dollar tip on the table, made up with neatly stacked pocket change.
He drank coffee with his meal, and was a widower, leading me to believe his lunch was actually a late breakfast.
I grabbed the coffee pot and scurried to his table. “How’s your food today, Mister Ortiz?”
He peered over the top of the newspaper. “Good, as always.”
I topped off his coffee and glanced at his plate. His food was half-eaten. “Anything interesting in the news today?”
“In the Tribune, or otherwise?”
“Either.”
He lowered the paper and gestured behind me with a nod. “Looks like someone’s sweet on you.”
I glanced over my shoulder. Reno was giving me an admiring look. I turned toward Mister Ortiz and grinned a guilty smile. “He’s kind of my boyfriend.”
He smiled in return. “Kind of?”
“We see a lot of each other.”
He studied Reno for a moment, and then set his paper aside. He picked up his fork, cut off a piece of his eggs and paused. “When he wants something from you, does he ask, or does he tell?”
“What do you mean?”
“Does he tell you to do it, or does he ask you to?”
I thought for a moment before responding. “He asks.”
He nodded and then poked the food into his mouth. “What’s his name?”
“Reno,” I responded. “Why?”
“Just wondering.” He peered beyond me while he chewed his food. When he was done, he met my gaze. “War vet, huh?”
“How’d you know?�
��
He nodded toward Reno. “He’s got a Ranger Battalion banner tattooed on his arm.” He pulled up his left shirt sleeve, exposing a faded tattoo similar to Reno’s. “He and I are brothers.”
“He’s nice, if you want to talk to him.”
He shook his head and reached for his newspaper. “I’ve got a newspaper to read.”
I patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.”
He unfolded the paper and smiled. “I’ll be here.”
I made my rounds, taking orders, topping off drinks, and delivering food to tables. As it always seemed to, time got away from me. Then, one moment, I looked up and the restaurant was nearly empty.
I glanced at Mister Ortiz’s table.
Empty.
Where the roofing crew was seated.
Empty.
The overbearing college kids who stared at my ass when I walked away.
Gone.
I glanced toward the booth where Reno was seated. He raised his empty water glass and smiled.
After clearing the tables, I shuffled to his booth and sighed. I sat down. “That was insane. We’re rarely that busy.”
“Had an interesting talk with the old man that reads the newspaper every day,” he said.
Reno had been in the restaurant enough times to recognize Mister Ortiz as a regular. Realizing it caused me to smile. “Mister Ortiz?”
“Walter,” he said. “He’s a cool old man. Vietnam Vet.”
“What did he say?”
“Not too much.” He chuckled. “Warned me of the dangers associated with doing you wrong.”
I was embarrassed and flattered at the same time. “Oh really?”
He nodded and then exhaled a long breath. “I’m not worried about doing you wrong. I’m not that kind of guy. I’m loyal, that’s not an issue. I’m not abusive, or violent. I’m respectful. It’s just.” He raised his brows and rocked his head from side-to-side. “I don’t know.”
There was something he didn’t want to say. “What?” I asked. “You’re withholding something.”
“Kind of why I came here, I think.”
“To keep something from me?”
Reno: Devil’s Disciples Book 5 Page 12
