She lifts her head from my shoulder to smile in my face. “The Ritz . . . that was the summer I worked as a maid there. The tips were worth the hour drive.”
“The Ritz . . . right,” I whisper, remembering . . .
Twenty years ago . . .
Sara drags me toward a hotel, one neither of us have any business being in.
We’ve both got sunglasses on. She stops me before we go around the corner toward the entrance, steps in front of me, and flips the collar of my shirt up.
“Just act like you belong,” she whispers.
I follow her toward the entrance, and a doorman holds the door for us. “Ma’am. Sir.”
The inside is stunning and over-the-top lavish. We stand for a moment, her with her nose in the air, totally looking like she belongs, while I just stand behind her, wondering what the fuck we’re doing.
Sara scans the semi-crowded lobby, then moves toward a seating area where two near-empty martini glasses sit abandoned, a couple having just walked away toward the elevators. We sit, and she glances around then picks up the glasses, passing one to me.
“Act like these are ours. We can pretend we’re two strangers who just met in the hotel lobby.”
“Well, you’re already acting like somebody I don’t know, so we’re halfway there.”
“I’ll be Shelby, and you can be Bentley.”
I cock a brow. “So we’re cars?”
“Oh, Bentley, don’t be droll.”
I lift my glass to hers, tapping the edge. “To you, Shelby, dear. How was your day of shopping? Did you buy any diamonds?”
“I had a glorious time. Your platinum card was quite well used, dear Bentley.”
“Hmm. I see. Good thing I own all those oil wells.”
She waggles her brows. “Let’s get a room.”
“We can’t afford a room here. Even the people we’re pretending to be can’t afford a room here.”
“I used to work here. This place has checkout at eleven. Check-in is at three. Which means there’s a whole bunch of rooms upstairs just waiting for turndown service. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“That you’re using sex as a weapon?”
“Yep. Come on.”
We take the elevator up with another couple. They use their key card to get us up to the tenth floor. We get off with them and turn another way. Sara pulls me around a corner, and we spot a maid’s cart. She peers in the open door, then moves back to me.
“Wait out of sight.”
“Why?”
“Because you want to have sex with me.”
“Good enough reason.”
“Natasha,” she hisses into the doorway as I stand out of sight.
“Sara, what are you doing here? Did they hire you back?”
She whispers something to the girl that I can’t hear.
“Is he worth it?”
“Totally.”
“Fine. You can have this room; I’ll come back to clean it last. You better be gone by then or I’ll be fired.”
“Thanks, hon.”
A young maid walks out pushing her cart past the alcove where the ice machine is. She gives me the once over, and then winks at Sara. “Totally.”
Sara pulls me into the room and hangs the Do Not Disturb sign on the door.
Only one of the two beds looks like it’s been slept in, so I steer her backward to the other one, asking, “What was your plan if you hadn’t bumped into Natasha?”
She shrugs. “I’d have figured something out.”
“Have you done this before?”
“Do you want me to slug you or fuck you?”
I’m not stupid, so I shut up and have sex on thousand count Egyptian cotton sheets.
I look over at her now, and it seems like just yesterday. She’s smiling, and I know she’s remembering it all, too. “It was a fun afternoon, Shelby. Thank you.”
She giggles. “You’re welcome, Bentley.”
I stroke her back, content having her in my arms.
“Why do they call you Green?”
“They?”
“Misty said everyone calls you Green.”
“Guess they do. It’s sort of a nickname. Maybe someday I’ll tell you how I got it.”
I rub her back until I hear her breathing change and know she’s drifted off to sleep. I stroke her silky hair, and wonder how she’ll react when I tell her I’m in an MC.
9
Sara
Sunday morning
The morning sun is streaming in the window when I open my eyes and find that sometime during the night Irish carried me to the bed. I look over at him. He’s sound asleep. Perfect time to go exploring, besides, I’d kill for a cup of caffeine. I smile; press a kiss to his shoulder, and ease from the bed. I grab his white dress shirt and slip it on, doing up one of the studs between my breasts, then pull on my discarded panties and tiptoe from the room.
I float silently down the carpeted stairs and find my way to the kitchen. I start a pot of coffee, and peer out the window to the back while it brews. There’s a metallic green custom chopper style motorcycle parked out there, as well as a shiny black one that looks more suited to handling long distances. It’s bigger and has saddlebags.
I move toward the door and step outside on the small back porch to get a closer look. I lean my palms on the railing, and peer up at the clear blue sky.
The door opens behind me, and then arms slip around my waist, and I’m pulled against a solid wall of a warm bare chest. I reach back with my hands and grab his ass while Irish dips his mouth to nuzzle my neck and ear.
“You’re up early.”
“You have a motorcycle.”
“Count again.”
“You have two motorcycles.”
“Which one’s your favorite?”
“The black one. It’s pretty.”
“Babe, it’s awesome, it’s fast, it’s badass, but don’t say it’s pretty.”
I giggle.
“Want to go for a ride?” he asks.
“More than anything.”
“First we eat.” He throws me over his shoulder, and I shriek. I’m carried back inside and set on the kitchen counter. Then Irish proceeds to make me breakfast.
I sit and watch while he pours me a cup of coffee and carries it to me. Then he fries up bacon and scrambles eggs, and between times cracking and stirring, he kisses me.
After we eat, Tim loads the plates into a dishwasher, refusing my help. He swats my ass with a dishtowel. “Quit distracting me.”
“How am I distracting you?” I ask. “I’m just standing here.”
“Exactly. You in my shirt, that’s all you gotta do.”
I grin and pop a grape in my mouth. “Fine, I’ll take my coffee and check out your old house.”
“You do that.”
I wander around and end up in the front parlor, running my hand along the mantle of the stunning fireplace. There’s a chess table and two chairs in front of one of the windows. I pick up the knight, and study the beautiful piece, remembering how his grandfather taught us both to play.
The floor creaks behind me, and I see Irish leaning a shoulder against the frame of the archway, sipping on his coffee. My eyes run down his shirtless body, his sweatpants slung low on his hips, and all those beautiful abs on display.
I flush, and his eyes sparkle, having caught me. Turning back to the board, I set the piece in its place. “Do you still play?”
“What, chess?”
“Yes. You were quite good, I remember.”
“I haven’t played in years. Since high school, I guess.”
I sit, taking the white side, and arc a brow at him, challenging him to a game.
He chuckles but strolls over to take the chair across from me. “Your move.”
We both set our coffee aside and I play my queen’s pawn, moving it two squares forward.
Irish grins at my classic move, and counters, moving his queen’s pawn forward two squares. I bring forward my
white knight, putting his pawn in jeopardy, and he counters with his black knight. I bring out my queen’s bishop putting his knight in jeopardy, and smile.
The roaring of motorcycles comes up the street, vibrating the window glass. Irish has his arms folded on the table, and he leans to one side, peering out the turret window. “We got company.”
“What?” I whirl around, my eyes widening. Three bikes slow and turn in the drive. I take in the patches they wear. These aren’t just recreational riders; these guys are in a real club. I twist to look at Irish. “You know those guys?”
“Yep.” He makes no move to get up to let them in, instead he puts his hand on a chess piece studying his options, and hesitating.
I frown, confused by his action, or lack thereof. Are we just going to keep playing and leave those guys outside? “Irish?”
The back door creaks open, and then boots are clomping across the kitchen floor. I sit, stricken, knowing if I make a dash for the stairs, I won’t make it in time. I glance around for an afghan or something to cover the fact I’m sitting here in just his shirt but find nothing.
And then three bikers are trooping in, taking up most of the room. I feel like all the oxygen has just been sucked out of the space, and I look over to catch Irish grinning at me, his chin in his hand. I mouth, “You are so dead.”
He chuckles.
The men stop short, staring, and by the strange look on their faces I’m not sure if it’s the sight of me that has them so shocked.
“What the fuck are you doin’?” one of them asks.
Irish calmly turns his head to look at them. “Playin’ chess with my woman, you rude ass bastard.”
Oh shit. My wide eyes flick to the men he just insulted, and my skin goes cold. I wait for one of them to pull a gun and shoot him. I’m trembling when the tall red-haired one that looks strangely like a Viking, grunts.
“Since when the fuck do you play chess, Green?”
Green. There’s that name again.
“I play. What’s it to ya?” Irish replies, still just sitting there with his arms folded.
Another of the men strolls closer to the table, and stares at me. “This her?”
Irish looks up at him. “Yeah. You come by just to see?”
The man has dark hair and a beard. He smiles at me, flashing white teeth, and extends his hand. “They call me Wolf, darlin’. Green lacks the manners to introduce us.”
My gaze darts between Tim and him, and I slowly place my hand in the man’s. “Sara.”
He lifts it to his mouth and kisses the back. “Enchanted.”
“Knock it off, Wolf. Sara, these are my brothers, Wolf, Crash, and the big Viking over there is Red Dog.”
“Brothers? But I thought you were an only child.” I scan the men; none of them look alike.
“Club brothers, darlin’,” Wolf corrects me.
My gaze pierces Tim’s. “Club . . .” my voice trails off, putting it together. Oh. My. God.
The one called Crash leans against the mantle. “He didn’t tell you he was in an MC?”
“Ya mind, we’re trying to play a game here,” Tim says, turning his head.
Wolf whacks the back of his hand against Tim’s shoulder. “Since when the fuck do you play chess, Green?”
“Since always.”
Red Dog folds his arms, his boots spread. “Who the fuck are you, Green? Tuxes and fancy balls, and now suddenly you play chess.” He lifts his chin toward me, his eyes still on Tim. “I suppose she’s Alice in this fucked up Wonderland, huh?”
“Fuck off, all of you. You just came by to fuck with me. Think I don’t know it?”
Crash chuckles. “That’s our job, bro, especially where you’re concerned.”
“You really think we’d haul ass across the mountain first thing in the morning just to check out your woman?” Red Dog asks.
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Tim replies, arcing a brow at the man.
Red Dog breaks into a big toothy grin. “You’re damn right, we would.”
Crash lifts his hand toward Red Dog. “Dog’s son, Billy, is turning eighteen Monday. We’re throwin’ a party at the clubhouse.”
Tim nods. “Okay. I’ll be there.”
Wolf lifts his chin at me. “Bring Sara.”
Tim nods. “I will if you haven’t scared the hell out of her. She might hightail it out of here the minute you shitheads pull out.”
Crash takes Tim in a headlock and rubs his knuckles on the top of his head. “She hightails it outta here, it ain’t gonna be because of us, dumbass. That’ll all be on you.”
When he releases him, Tim looks ready to come out of his chair and kill him, but Wolf pats his chest. “Don’t let him get to you, Green. We’re goin’. Nice meeting you, Sara.”
I nod my head, and Wolf pushes Red Dog around. “Let’s leave these two lovebirds alone, boys.”
They troop out, and Tim just sits until they’re gone. When the back door slams and boots clomp down the back steps, he meets my gaze.
“Guess that cat’s out of the bag.”
“You mean the one where you’re in a biker gang now?”
“Yeah, that one.”
“Were you planning on telling me?”
He nods. “You said you wanted to go for a ride. I figured it’d come up when I slung my colors on my back.”
I sit quietly, staring at him, and trying to take this all in. “How long have you been in?”
“While you were doin’ four years of college, I was doin’ four years in the Marines. Started prospectin’ with the Dead not long after I got out, so I guess it’s been about sixteen years now.”
“The Dead?”
“The Evil Dead MC. That’s our club’s name.”
“Oh.”
He stares at me a long time. “You still want to take that ride, or are you thinkin’ about leaving?”
“I still want to take that ride.”
He smiles, like he just got a reprieve from death row.
“Thank God.”
We make a quick stop at my hotel to change clothes, and then head out.
An hour later he’s ridden us up into the mountains, then down along the coast. Before I know it, he’s pulling over near Natural Bridges State Beach. It’s early in the afternoon when we arrive. We climb off the bike and find an overlook spot to sit and watch the surf break against the arch-shaped rock formations.
“I always loved this spot,” I say, staring out at the water.
“I remember,” Irish says. I feel his eyes on me and turn to find him studying my face.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just, you haven’t changed a bit.”
I huff out a laugh. “Were you looking for wrinkles?”
He chuckles and turns his head. “No. Just looking at you.”
I turn back to the water.
“I haven’t been back here in years. I think the last time was when I came home from Iraq,” he murmurs.
My smile fades, and it’s my turn to study his profile. “Tell me about it.”
He shrugs. “Not much to tell. Went over there, kicked ass, took names, and came home.”
“And then you joined the MC?”
“Yep.”
He doesn’t seem to want to talk about it, so I don’t push. I decide that if he wants to talk, he will. I look out over the surf. “It’s whale season.”
“Yeah. Guess so. They should be heading north.”
I see a spray of water as one blows, and tap Tim’s arm, pointing. “Look! There’s one.”
We watch for a few minutes, but it’s the only one.
“Straggler,” Tim says.
“Don’t say that.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Just . . . I guess I hate to think of it out there all alone.”
“Sometimes it’s good to be alone.”
I think about that statement. Sure there are hours, maybe even days I like solitude, but overall I get lonely, and I hate loneliness. Melancholy swamps
over me like the tide coming in.
“What’s wrong, babe?” Tim asks.
I shake my head and look down. The next thing I know, tears are welling in my eyes. Strong arms wrap around me, and I tuck my head under Tim’s jaw.
“Come here, sweetheart.” He holds me tight.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m sad about.”
“You sure?”
I wipe at my cheeks, dashing the tears away. “I love LA. I do, it’s just . . . I don’t know, it’s full of people, and yet can be the loneliest place on earth. I guess I’m not making much sense. I must sound silly to you.”
“Not at all. Sometimes, I’m in the middle of the clubhouse, packed with people, and I feel that way.”
I stare up at him. “You do?”
“Sure.”
“I wish . . . I wish you’d looked me up when you got out of the service.”
He stares at me for a long time. “I wish I had too, Sara. Maybe things would be real different for us.”
“We ended so horribly.”
“I was angry when you left. It felt like you’d abandoned me.”
“I’m sorry I left you that way, Irish.”
“I realize now how selfish I was to ask you to stay.”
I shake my head. “You weren’t selfish.”
“You had to go. I know that now. Hell, maybe I knew it then.”
He’s trying to make me feel better, but I’m only feeling worse.
Like he senses my feelings, like he always used to, he takes my hand, and lifts it to his mouth, kissing the back, then shakes it. “Hey, only happy memories today, okay?”
I stare out over the surf. “Remember coming here to watch the sunset? How picture-perfect it would be when the sun turned bright orange as it sank below the horizon, turning the sky ribbons of purple and red. They were really beautiful, weren’t they?” I murmur, turning to gaze at him.
He brushes his hand over my hair and meets my eyes. “Gorgeous.”
We stop back at my hotel, and spend the rest of the day and night in bed there. I can’t get enough of this man, and it seems he can’t get enough of me either. I feel like I’ve been storing up all my desire, hoarding it away for this moment in time.
Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition Page 19
