by Jessica Joy
You need to get your shit together girl, you don’t have time for a breakdown right now. Pull up your big girl panties and go ogle the tatted-up Adonis downstairs again.
I take another deep breath and check myself in the mirror, making sure I only look like a hot mess and not the full on escaped-from-a-psych-ward chic that I feel. When I come out of the bathroom, I find the bedroom… my bedroom… empty. I take a moment to look around the room again before I head for the door to go grab Evan and find Clay. When I get to the second landing I stop outside the doorway to the nursery and see Mr. Sex-on-a-Stick sitting on the floor next to Evan, playing planes together. I can’t help the soft smile that tugs at the corner of my lips as lean against the doorframe to watch.
I take this moment to stop and really look at him, to see past the tattoos and intimidating air. The first thing I notice is his eyes. Damn those eyes. He’s focused solely on Evan right now, but I can remember the rich warmth of them, the color of bourbon. I could get drunk on those eyes.
Wait… what the fuck? Leave the romance novel shit to the books please. Gag, girl. Gag.
His sandy brown hair is cropped short on the sides and kept longer on top. The longer strands are swept back, he must drag his fingers through it all day. He has a neatly trimmed beard covering his strong jaw, and my fingers itch to run along the lines of it. His nose is a little crooked, like it’s been broken and reset more than once. His ears are stretched with large wooden plugs. He’s wearing faded blue jeans, black motorcycle boots, and a tight black t-shirt beneath a well-worn leather jacket with what looks like another leather vest over it. There are tattoos covering the back of his hands and coming up out of the neckline of his shirt, so it’s safe to assume he has many more hidden underneath his clothing. The visible ones are all done in shades of black, gray, and red. Still crouching on the floor with Evan, it’s hard to make out any other physical attributes, but damn I want to see more.
Bruised Adonis is buzzing his lips and making silly plane noises, calling out faux commands and playing with Evan like he knows the difference between a bank and a roll and it’s making something in my chest constrict. I close my eyes and let his voice wash over me. It's rough gravel, deep and rumbly washing over me like a warm scrub. Seriously, it should be illegal for men to be this good looking and so sexy sounding all at once. Not fair, my ovaries are screaming against this affront.
I stop and give myself a mental slap upside the head, reminding myself that the last thing I need or want right now is a man, much less one that attracts danger like this one must. I can see that “1%” patch on his vest. I’m not stupid, I’ve seen Sons of Anarchy. I know that means he’s an outlaw biker and that I want absolutely nothing to do with that shit. I don’t care how ungodly sexy, handsome, and downright lickable this man is, or the fact that his voice could have the power to turn me into a puddle with one word. Nope. Don’t care. I stiffen my spine, shake off my dumbfounded look and step into the room.
“Well, what’s going on in here?” I say sweetly, drawing Evan’s attention. He smiles before letting out a glorious little giggle and flails his arm with the toy plane still in his hand. Sawyer smiles down at Evan again before rocking back on his heels and pushing to his feet. My eyes stray to his thighs as they flex with the movement. The tight stretch of his jeans over the muscle dragging my thoughts in a decidedly ‘R’ rated direction for a moment. He’s tall, like crazy tall. I guess about six foot two compared to my diminutive five two self. He has an imposing build with broad shoulders and narrow hips. The way those jeans hang off those hips and cling to his ass should be a sin. I wonder if he gets them special-made to do that...
Down girl. He’s just a good-looking outlaw biker. Who’s most likely amazing in bed. NOPE. Not going there. He has a tiny, crooked little penis. It twists like a corkscrew. And he has weirdly saggy balls. That are different sizes. Yep. He does. Just keep telling yourself that… it’s probably true.
I try to push away the lusty haze my traitorous and lonely lady bits have shoved into my brain and attempt to maintain my footing in this exchange.
“Ummm… thanks for watching Evan and for helping get everything set up. I hope it wasn’t too much work for you,” I say with a forced brightness in my tone as I bend down to grab Evan; god I sound like a schoolgirl when I do that. Evan continues to giggle and slap his arms with the plane in his hand as I straighten and prop him on my hip, placing a quick kiss to his temple.
“No problem,” Sawyer says, sliding his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels, his eyes intense as he takes a good look at us. Is he nervous? Is the big bad biker worried about being caught playing with a baby? How dare he do anything other than wave a gun around and beat someone up. I can’t help but roll my eyes at the thought.
“Well, I have him from here so you’re off the hook. Thank you again,” I say with what I hope looks like a sweet smile. Seriously, could this exchange be any more awkward? Why is he staring at me like that?
“A Brother needed help, so here I am,” he offers with a shrug. His voice is stronger now, losing its awkward edge, but the gravely rumble is more pronounced, even more devastating to my wanton vagina.
Get it together dammit! Stop it! Freakin hussy.
I scold my traitorous anatomy again. I have zero desire to ever get sucked into another man’s mess ever again: not happening.
“Umm… Okay then. Well, Thanks again Mr. Sex…” I cut myself off with a cough as I realize what I was about to say.
Bitch! You did NOT just almost call him Mr. Sexypants to his goddamn face! That’s it, pussy is going on timeout.
“I uh… I am just going to grab Clay and go find Evan before he leaves… I mean find Clay… I...” my thoughts are a jumble and I stumble over the words as I nod my thanks to Sawyer again. I turn to leave the nursery, hoping I can get the hell out of this room before I either say something monumentally stupid or he sees the deep red blush I can feel creeping up my neck.
“The name’s Sawyer. You can say it,” he rumbles behind me, suppressed laughter clearly in his voice. I turn and look back over my shoulder. He is looking at me with a devastating smirk as he scratches at his jaw in that ridiculously sexy way men seem to instinctively be able pull off. His eyes warm with a teasing light that somehow burns right through me.
Oh my, damn.
That smirk is… lubricating. Damn traitorous lady bits.
I make a mental note to avoid Sawyer and his devil smirk at all costs from here on out. I’m pretty sure that’s what they call a “panty melting” smile and it is entirely too accurate of a description. I need to beat my libido back into submission tonight once mommy has some alone time.
I gape at him for a second before squeaking some little response and rushing out of the room. His deep chuckle follows me down the stairs as I hurry to the main floor. Stepping into the kitchen I see Clay sitting at the weathered wood table in the far corner of the room. He and another man are laughing quietly as Clay tells him a story. The new man laughs at something Clay says and I smile at the sound of his easy laughter. He has a boyish air about him that is utterly disarming with his dark brown hair that has just a hint of curl to it and his clear framed hipster glasses.
Clay turns to set his coffee mug on the table and catches sight of the two of us and smiles, waving us over. “Darlin’! Come on over here and meet another helping hand. This here is Tinker, he set up some security around the place. I wanted to make sure you and your boy would be all set,” Clay says, inclining his head toward the other man.
“Heya sugar. Nice to meet ya,” Tinker says, flashing a disarming smile.
“Tinker? There’s a story behind that one. I can’t imagine your mother was that evil to saddle an innocent kid with that name,” I laugh.
“Oh, there ain’t nothing innocent about this idiot,” Clay chuckles.
“Hey, my ma’s a saint. But yeah, they call me Tinker cuz there ain’t a machine I can’t bend to my will and make do my bidding,” he sa
ys with a wink and a boyish smirk.
“Remind me to keep my laptop away from you. Nice to meet you though, Tinker. So how did you get roped into this?” I respond with a smile. He reminds me of the goofy little brother in every movie ever; I like him instantly.
“Yeah Tinkerbell, why’re you here?” Sawyer’s deep chuckle rolls into the room from behind me, the sound making the little hairs at the back of my neck stand on end.
God that laugh… I want to hear that in my ear as he… SAGGY BALLS! Goddamn woman keep it in your pants!
Ouch… Evan succeeds in slapping me with the airplane wing, plush as it is, something to the eyeball hurts. Thanks for the distraction little man.
“You know as well I do jackass. A Brother needs us, we come running. All part of a day’s work, little lady. Glad to do it, and it’s only a bonus I get to steal coffee from a sweet little thing like you,” Tinker says in his thick accent, giving me a wink just this side of suggestive.
“That’s twice I’ve heard that today; Brother?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow at him in question, wanting confirmation of my MC suspicions.
“We’re members of the Forsaken Sons Motorcycle Club, Darlin’,” Clay says, motioning for Tinker to turn and show the back of his leather vest with the large Club patch, that matches the one on Sawyer’s.
“Motorcycle Club? Like Sons of Anarchy?” I ask, not sure if I’m upset or excited that I was right. I may or may not have been a huge fan of the show when it was on the air, and I also may or may not have an addiction to romance novels staring hunky, bad boy bikers. I see Clay roll his eyes and the other two chuckle, shaking their heads at my question.
“Yeah, something like that,” Sawyer says walking further into the room from around me. “Except I ain’t no Jax, I’m the real thing, Babydoll,” he growls, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he passes. My eyes go wide in shock as he settles himself against the counter next to Tinker. Sawyer steals the coffee mug from his Brother’s hand and takes a swig from it, shooting me a wink.
“That explains the Cuts,” I say, but after a beat I wilt a little and whisper to Clay, “they are called ‘Cuts’ right?”
Clay barks out a laugh and nods as Tinker chokes on the coffee he stole back from Sawyer. The cocky bastard smacks Tinker on the back while staring at me, his eyes bright with amusement. I feel another deep blush creep up my neck and turn to nuzzle a kiss to the side of Evan’s face, trying to hide my reaction from the men. He promptly screeches in my ear to join in on the laughter.
Clay clears his throat, drawing our attention again. “Well, Darlin’, you need help bringing anything in from the car? We can help with any of that and then leave you and your boy to get settled. No need to have a bunch of burly sacks of meat hanging about, stinking up the place,” as he motions to Sawyer and Tinker.
I wouldn’t mind having a bit of his man meat…. Oh holy fuck! Get ahold of yourself you wanton little hussy!
“Hey! I will have you know I always smell delightful,” Tinker supplies with a grin.
“Yeah, be sure to tell that to Roxy’s plants in the office next time they wither and die when you take your shoes off,” Clay says, smacking Tinker upside the head as the younger man saunters past on his way to the back door. Clay follows him out back to the driveway. In a daze I turn back to Sawyer who is still leaning against the counter, his ankles crossed and hands in his pockets and I get the distinct feeling he is sizing me up. I meet his gaze for as long as I can, until it turns awkward. Thankfully Evan squirms in my arms and gives me an excuse to turn away without relenting, technically. I bounce him on my hip and give him his pacifier again before I turn back to Sawyer and offer a tentative smile.
“Thank you for helping us. I’m sure you had better things to do than fight with a mobile all afternoon,” I say, giving him a teasing grin.
“Babydoll, no worries. Though I almost lost a finger to that damned thing.”
“Well I’ll just have to make it up to you,” I all but purr back.
Wait WHAT? Did you just PURR at Mr. Tie-Me-Up-Tie-Me-Down?? Shit.
My jaw snaps audibly shut as I attempt to stop any further stupidity from leaking out; luckily his smile falters and he looks away from my rising embarrassment. He clears his throat and looks back at me quickly, offering a much smaller smile than he had been sporting before my thirsty outburst.
“Well, I should… uh, I’ll go help the Brothers finish up and get outta your hair,” he says, meeting my eyes for only a moment before looking away again and clearing his throat. He looks around, seeming to look everywhere but at me before giving a little nod and rushing from the room.
Well done you twat. That’s one way to solve your panty melting issues, scare the poor man away.
I kick myself as I watch him practically scurry away, letting the screen door slam behind him as he clears it.
At least I won’t have to see him again. That’s something right?
Chapter 6
Sawyer
If there’s one thing I hate about living in Minnesota it’s the weather. Seriously. It’s April. When will this winter just let up and die already? It snowed two days ago, but I haven’t been back to my house in over two weeks. Axel and Gage have been up my ass since my little bender and the disagreement at the bar.
Pushing around this slop, that’s somehow both snow and puddle at the same time, on my front walk is exactly what I want to be doing at the ass crack of dawn. It’s probably all gonna melt before I’m even back from tomorrow’s run, that or it’ll freeze into a goddamn skating rink. Seriously, fuck Minnesota weather right up its frozen, temperamental slushy ass.
I like to keep my place nice; a man should take pride in what he owns. It’s great to have a room at the compound, but after spending so much time alone on the road, I’ve gotten accustomed to my space, to the quiet of a room and the humming of the furnace. I love my Brothers, but I don’t need to hear their nasty ass grunts and groans when they plow their way through the club whores on any given night.
I’m about halfway down the sidewalk in front of my little two-story, my jeans soaked to the knees over my pathetic excuse for snow boots, wading through this damn half-frozen soup when I hear a screen door slam echo down the quiet street. Another headache from these interminable winters, the dampeners on these cheap doors always go to shit. I look up, unconsciously searching for the crappy door when I see a bright flash of teal across the street.
There’s no mistaking that body especially with those painted on leggings and the soft chocolate-brown ponytail hanging down over her teal running jacket. Even in the cold she’s wearing those tight-fitting thermals and, damn, can she wear them. Leggings hug the slim curves of her calves and the perfect roundness of her ass and hips; the jacket narrowing as it moves over her waist and swelling as it passes her shoulders.
She’s facing away from me as she fights with the lock on her screen door and I take a moment to enjoy the view while her attention is elsewhere. The phrase “fun-sized” floats into my mind again. She’s at least a foot shorter than I am, maybe topping five feet on a tall day. Her oval face with eyes the size of a full moon; pouty lips that beg to be touched, to be kissed… to be wrapped around my cock. She turns, and holy shit those tits; just a little more than the perfect handful, every man’s fantasy. I’m still staring like an idiot when she walks down the sidewalk, looking down and shuffling to avoid the patches of ice as she settles her headphones in her ears. She reaches the sidewalk and turns to start her morning run, when she looks up and meets my gaze. She comes up short, surprised to see me, or anyone for that matter, standing here in the chilly morning.
To be fair, I look like a crazy person with my soaked jeans and dirty gray hoodie, staring like a middle school boy with his first boner. She looks at me with a blank stare for a moment before offering a small smile and a wave as she pulls her earbuds back out.
Fuck. What do I do? Do I wave back? No, that’s some Leave it to Beaver shit, right? Does she always wear those pant
s when she runs? Does she go running every morning? Fuck, maybe I need to take my morning coffee on the porch…
I look over and see her smile slipping, it doesn’t touch her eyes anymore and she is twisting her fingers in the hem of her jacket.
Why is she looking at me like that? Am I scowling? How do people normally have their face? I’m not that scary, am I? Fuck. Come on ya moron, do something!
She starts to turn away and I shake myself from my little pep talk and raise one hand in an awkward wave and offer a pathetic “hey.” I feel my inner voice gearing up to punch itself in the fuckin’ dick for that stellar showing. She falters and turns back and offers a little wave and chirps a “hi” back at me, but I can tell she doesn’t want to be here anymore. Awesome. And the award for most awkward exchange on the face of the earth goes to this goddamn moment.
Say something! Open your goddamn mouth and say something you asshole! Stop just staring at her!
“Going for a run?” I croak out and immediately wish I hadn’t. Awkward and obvious, well done. I’m pretty sure I would have beat myself up in school. So, yeah. This is going really well for me. She blinks at my question, tilting her head to the side like a puppy; attempting to process the idiotic question I just dropped in front of her like a kid dropping a porno-mag in front of his mom.
“Uh...yep,” she responds, tossing her thumb over her shoulder. Jesus fucking Christ could this get any worse? “I uh. Didn’t know you lived around here,” she says, offering me another weak smile.
“Oh, yeah. Right here,” I lamely motion to house.
Seriously man, of course you live here, you’re shoveling the fucking walkway.
“Awesome. Well, I uh… guess I will see you around then,” she says with a forced smile as she moves to put her earbuds back in place and start off down the sidewalk.
She’s leaving asshole. Last chance. Don’t fuck it up…
