Bubbles

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At first, I’d rolled my eyes when I’d seen the tiny teenager with strands of light pink, blue, and lavender hair, but the colors fit her, once I got her talking. She was supposed to be off-limits for me sexually, but damn, she was a sweet little thing. My cock had especially liked having her arms around me during the ride.

She’d been awkward as fuck on the back of my bike at first, but she quickly learned how to lean with me, and I’d smelled disappointment when she got off the bike at my house. I’d asked if she’d like the ride, hoping the disappointment was because it was over, and I’m pretty sure that was it. I was beginning to regret promising her sister I’d keep my hands off the little half-pint.

“We’ll need to go back out after we eat,” I told her. “I haven’t bought sheets for your mattress. I should’ve thought of it earlier.”

“I saw a Big Lots on the way in, so we won’t have to go far. They have some furniture in the store, too. Do you have any idea what style you want?”

“I need good shit. I’m a big guy.”

“Some of their stuff is by a decent name brand. Not sure about the rest. We can look, at least — get an idea of what you like.”

“Leather sofa and recliner. I bought black dishes and black sheets. Figured it would go with whatever I end up with.” I’d have asked for Matty’s help if I wanted fancy and complicated. I just needed enough good, solid furniture to be comfortable, but it’d be nice if everything matched and didn’t look like I bought it at yard sales. I’d gone into a furniture store to look, but the saleswoman had asked too many fucking questions, so I’d left. If she couldn’t sell me shit based on the fact I wanted leather and not fabric, and good stuff that won’t break if I sit down heavy, she was a suck-ass furniture salesperson.

I’d seasoned steaks that morning, and I’d cooked a shitload of potatoes in the oven a few days earlier. I pulled everything from the fridge and told her, “I cook the potatoes in the oven ahead of time, so I only have to nuke them until they’re warm. I want four. I’m guessing you want one, so get five out, wet one of those brown paper bags, and put them in the microwave for ten minutes.”

She took a few seconds to figure out what I meant for her to do, but then got to work and did it. Once the potatoes were in the wet bag and circling the microwave, she said, “Great idea. The wet bag keeps them from tasting dried out.”

Why are people surprised when big men know how to cook? We’d starve or go broke if we couldn’t. My stove has an extra section to the side with a built-in gas grill. It was warm enough to start cooking, so I moved the steaks over.

“I wasn’t countin’ on company, but you’re a tiny thing. How much will you eat?”

“Umm, maybe half of one of those? I didn’t eat lunch, so it feels like I could eat more, but I doubt I will.”

“I’ll give you a whole one and then just eat whatever you don’t.”

Her scent was horrified, and her expression told me she felt bad about eating my food. I stopped her before she could argue. “I’ll add some bacon. We’re fine. No one goes hungry in my house.”

She pulled her phone out, started typing, but stopped and looked up. “I don’t have a ton of data left. Do you have Wi-Fi?”

I nodded, pulled my phone out, and texted the control room with her phone number and a request to send her guest login info for the Wi-Fi.

“You’ll get a text in a few minutes with a login and password. The MC pays for a super-fast connection, and the Wi-Fi extends to all the houses.”

“Sweet deal. Thanks for trusting me.”

“No trust needed for the Wi-Fi, Half-pint. Our resident hacker keeps us safe. You got more homework?”

“I’ll need to read through the chapter again, but it won’t take long. I was going to look up some mancaves and see what you like.”

“I have a laptop in my room. Better to look on it.”

“I have a Chromebook in my backpack. I’ll grab it, since I’ll be able to get on your Wi-Fi.”

When she returned, I asked, “What got you sent to foster care?” I needed to know if she’d been molested or some shit.

“Mama got busted for hooking, and tested positive for a shitload of illegal drugs, plus a few legal ones she didn’t have a prescription for. She didn’t have to do time, but…”

She shrugged, and I didn’t press. It’d likely been a scary time. I’d been about the same age when I went into the system, but I was bigger than most men by then. She took a breath and continued. “Our Gran died when I was a baby and Etta was five. Apparently, I was pretty malnourished after Gran died, until Etta was old enough to properly feed me, and that’s why I’m so short.” She shrugged. “Etta’s been my mom most of my life. It was stupid to put me in the system when Etta was eighteen and could legally take care of me, but she was working as a waitress, and they were going to lose the apartment since Mama got busted for drugs, and…” Another shrug.

“One foster family the whole four years?”

“I was with a short-term family a few weeks before I went to the other one, but yeah, I was with them the rest of the time. My foster mom told me up front that the daily goal was for us to get along with each other, and the long-term goals were to get me through high school alive, not pregnant, not addicted to anything, and with an education. She asked me if I agreed with those goals, and when I did, she said we’d get along great as long as we focused on those objectives. No matter what came up that we argued about, she took us back to those five things.”

Sounded like she’d lucked out in the foster-family lottery. I had, too, but that had more to do with me bein’ a werewolf than anything the government had done. “Just you? Or a houseful of girls?”

“Four girls, two to a bedroom. I researched it and found out they were getting close to four grand a month to keep all of us, but they never made us feel like they were doing it for the money. They fed us decent, and we shopped at secondhand stores for clothes, but they were good clothes, and she had lots of nice dresses in another closet for dances and special occasions. They lived about a half mile from a couple of fast food places, and we all got jobs so we could buy our own makeup and stuff. They made us put at least half our paycheck in savings, which meant I had enough to buy a dependable car and pay for insurance when I graduated and moved out.”

Right, because foster kids don’t get their driver’s license until they turn eighteen. Her mom might be a junkie whore, but at least she was giving her a place to live. She was probably charging her for it, but it was still a place she was welcome to move, with a living, breathing human who might occasionally care about her.

And she had her big sister.

It wouldn’t hurt to give her some rules while she was here, though.

“A few things.” I met her gaze. “There are boxes in the garage. Stay out of them unless I specifically direct you otherwise.” The boxes were just winter clothes and some random shit I needed to unpack, but if I smelled her scent around them I’d know not to trust her. “If you overhear something you don’t think you should know, forget it. If a door’s closed, don’t put your ear to it. Don’t lie to me, for any reason — refusing to answer a question is far better than answering with a lie. For these things, I’ll bare your ass and take a belt to it. Are we clear?”

I breathed in her scent, and her reaction surprised me — equal parts fear, indignation, and arousal. I shook my head. “Not that kind of spanking, Half-pint.”

The poor little thing’s eyes grew as big around as saucers. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

“Don’t bet much if you ever play poker.”

“I wouldn’t have done any of those things. You didn’t have to threaten me.” Now she was pure indignation. She reminded me of a tiny kitten, but one who wasn’t afraid to use her claws when necessary. She was definitely growing on me. I wanted to pull her into my lap and pet her, but… maybe later.

“Then we’re on the same page. Oh, I should add — don’t do anything stupidly dangerous. You’re under my protection, and I’ll be pissed if you go and get yourself hurt.”

“You fix cars. Does that mean you don’t work at the… where Etta works?”

“I’ve helped out a few times, but they keep me away as much as possible so we don’t screw with my parole.”

“But Etta knew you were a good guy. She trusts you to take care of me.”

“We had a situation a while back, where we pulled everyone important to us into the compound to keep them safe. I helped Slick make sure our workin’ girls were comfortable and had food, since we kept them out of the main room.”

She gave me an odd look, and I shrugged. “The ol’ladies can be brutal about some stuff, and not all of ’em know about that particular venture. Easier to keep everyone segregated than to try to explain.”

She looked down and I could scent the argument she wanted to make, but she must’ve decided against it, because she looked up and said, “Thanks for explaining.”

“You’re walking on eggshells. Why?” I’d done nothing to scare her. Well, except for threatening to belt her, but I’d given specific reasons.

“You’re giving me safe haven, and you’ve put me under your protection. I’m not walking on eggshells, but there’s no reason for me to be rude, either.”

“Fuck that shit. If I say something you don’t agree with, argue the fuck out of it.”

She laughed. “There’s really nothing to argue over. It bites that the ol’ladies think they’re better than the workin’ girls, but I get it. I could point out how unfair it is, but ya’ll still protected them, so…” She shrugged.

“You’re terribly practical for a nineteen-year-old.”

“How old are you?”

A question I didn’t want to answer. I look twenty-five, but I’m a werewolf and I’m older. I wanted to try to pull off mid-twenties, but she was supposed to be off-limits. My deal with her sister was that there’d be no sex. So, telling her my actual age shouldn’t matter, since nothing would happen.

“Thirty-six.”

“No way!”

I laughed, checked the steaks, and pulled them off. “They’re medium. Is that good or should I leave yours on longer?”

“Longer, please. No pink.” She went to the fridge, pulled out sour cream and butter, put them on the table, and looked at my cabinets and drawers. She found the flatware with the first guess.

“You have a problem with me drinking your beer?”

“Grab three, one won’t do it for me. I have a reverse osmosis water filter system, so the water’s good, too, but feel free to drink my beer so long as you won’t be driving.” I met her gaze again. “Drinking and driving is another of those things that’ll put my belt on your ass.”

Straight-up arousal this time. No fear, no indignation. “And just how much would you enjoy belting my bottom?”

I grinned. “More than you probably want to know.” Yes, the little kitten wasn’t afraid to use her claws.

She took a few bites, and her scent told me she was still running scenarios through her head involving her bare ass and my belt. Eventually, she asked, “So, if you whipped me when I didn’t do anything wrong, would that mean Etta wouldn’t have to do her part of the bargain?”

I sat back, took a long drink, and didn’t take my eyes off her. She met my gaze for a good twenty seconds before she dropped them to look at her plate, but she didn’t retract the offer.

There was no way I could accept it, but I had to poke at it. “Betty’s offer includes an hour of sex, in any and all holes I choose.”

She shook her head. “I can’t offer that. I could give you a blow job… after.”

Her sister had warned me she was too innocent for me. Why the fuck had I poked? “Are you still a virgin, Half-pint?”

She shook her head no, but I smelled the lie.

“I only gave you a few rules.”

“I am in my, ummm, back door. Not in the… fuck. I’m sorry I brought it up. Just drop it, please.”

Her pink face was brighter than the pink in her hair, and I stifled a laugh.

“Glad you didn’t lie. Your sister was right — I have no business messing with you. Eat your food.”

And the hell of it was, even knowing all this, I still wanted to pull her into my lap and pet her. I didn’t say or do anything though. Just went back to eating. I’d keep her until I was sure it was safe to turn her lose, and that’d be it.

After several minutes of uncomfortable silence, she asked. “You work on old cars? What are you working on now?”

“Sixty-seven Mustang. Total restore job. Been rebuilding the tranny the past couple of days.”

“What did you do before you went inside?”

“Worked for the club. I have to show legitimate income while I’m on parole. Last couple of years inside were in minimum security, and I took mechanic classes. Got my certifications once I was out, and then worked at a garage in Atlanta before making the move. My PO did a lot of spot checks when I first transferred up, but now I pretty much only see him for scheduled check-ins.”

“You’re still living in Georgia. How did that work?”

“I didn’t have to get permission to move to another state, only to move within the state and get a job just over the line. You seem to know a lot about parole.”

She shrugged. “I grew up in the projects. They’ve torn most of them down because...” She took a drink of beer. “The ones I was in, we didn’t have to worry about the cops because they wouldn’t come in. If they had to for some reason, the whole swat team came. Trucks full of them — everyone in full body armor, sometimes with those silly shields, too.” Another drink of beer. “Parole officers still came though. Nothin’ stops them.”

Later, I’d find out she grew up in the roughest projects in Chattanooga — so bad, they were the first to be torn down, and the area is still a huge vacant lot.