Chapter 3
Chloe
There he was. Saint.
I showed up for my shift, fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, just in case. And when I walked in the door, Saint was sitting at a table near the back, talking with another member of the club.
This felt like one of my dreams.
Don’t you mean sexual fantasies? A sly voice in my head insinuated.
Saint wore a pair of tight jeans, a red shirt, and a leather vest, or a “cut” as the bikers called it. The patch on the back featured a horned demon. The bottom rocker read “Cajun” and the top one said “Demons.” A smaller patch off to the side said, “MC.”
Back in the day, he’d been a prospect, a hopeful, trying to join the gang. Of course, he’d been successful.
I’d imagined this moment, seeing him again, hundreds of different times. Somehow, this was better than my daydreams.
Saint had the same black hair and bright blue eyes. And he was even better looking than I remembered. The last time I’d seen him he’d been twenty years old. Now, he had to be close to thirty, with dark stubble along his jaw. My fingers itched to touch it, to see how scratchy it was for myself. His body was more muscular, less boyish. He’d gotten older, rougher around the edges, which only increased his bad boy appeal.
And then I suddenly realized, I was standing there, in the middle of the room, gaping at Saint like an idiot.
“See somethin’ you like?” Maya delivered a couple platters of fried catfish to customers and turned to me with a raised brow.
“Yeah? The fish looks good.” I was proud of myself for the quick comeback.
She smirked. “And here I thought you were about to order some beefcake.”
Maya wore another pair of tight jeans and a white tank top, along with leather cowboy boots. Several men ogled her, but she didn’t seem to care, or even notice. I suddenly felt very prim and proper in my oversized t-shirt and my jeans which were the right size, which meant loose, thank you very much.
“I was just—”
“Droolin’?” Maya gave a dirty chuckle. “He’s sittin’ in my section, but I’ll do you a solid. You can take the table instead.”
“Why would I want to take the table?” I asked.
Maya pulled a face as if to say you can’t be serious. “We both know you have a crush on him. You did years ago, and nothing’s changed since.” Maya placed a hand on her hip. “So, do you want the table, or not?”
“Oh, I don’t know…” I wasn’t ready to face Saint yet. The last time he’d seen me, I’d been a chubby girl who followed him around. I needed a game plan before I talked to him again.
Just then, Saint raised his hand, signaling Maya.
“Time to do somethin’ about it, instead of moonin’ over him.” Before I could protest, Maya shoved me toward the table and took off again, hips swaying suggestively. The guys eating catfish nearly choked on it as she trailed by.
And, yet, I didn’t move. I stood staring at him, trying to make my legs work. I felt like they’d become rooted to the spot. Oh shit. Girl, you’re gonna get fired on your first night if you can’t straighten up and fly right.
Apparently, my accent was trying to come back, at least in my head.
So, I marched over to Saint, all steely-eyed and determined, like I was about to face a firing squad.
“Um, hi. Can I take your order?” At least I remembered to pull my pad out of the apron, along with a pencil.
“Well, hello there.” His gaze swept up and down, back and forth several times, taking in every inch of me.
Oh my God. Is he checking me out? Wait. Maybe I’m delusional.
The nickname, Saint, didn’t suit him. He’s more of a sinner. His real name is Michael St. James. I used to write Chloe St. James on my notebooks in middle school, over and over again like some pint-sized stalker.
Thank God, Mamie sent me to a boarding school. And bless the foundation who gave me a scholarship, too. Or I would’ve pined over him for years.
“Hey.” I bit the inside of my cheek. Lame. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“I’d like a beer to start.”
Instead of going to fetch it, I stood there like a bump on a log, gawking at him. Inside, I was still a pudgy twelve-year-old who’d never been kissed. What is it about Saint? He still gave me a bad case of butterflies.
Saint cleared his throat.
Cheeks burning, I started to turn away, heading for the bar, but he reached out and snagged my arm. His touch burned like fire.
“You ain’t from around here, huh?”
Wait. He seriously doesn’t recognize me?
I have to admit, I was a little hurt, even though I didn’t have the right to be.
Of course, Saint doesn’t remember me. The last time he saw me, I was a kid. Since then, I’ve grown a foot, and finally developed breasts. As I got taller, I grew out of my baby fat. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still curvy, but I’m a lot more proportional. Not to mention, I did away with the clunky glasses, in favor of contacts.
Yeah, it must be the glasses. This is a whole Clark Kent, Superman sort of situation. Lois Lane hadn’t been able to tell either.
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“You wouldn’t, huh?” He grinned, all smug. I bet he’d talked dozens, no hundreds, of girls into his bed with this kind of light flirtation. And why wouldn’t they go? He’s got great-in-bed written all over him in capital letters. Underlined.
“What’s your name, darlin’?” The endearment wasn’t particularly meaningful. I’d heard him use it on dozens of girls back in the day. And yet, it made me giddy.
I opened my mouth to tell him who I was, but then stopped myself at the last second. So, I’ve got a real dilemma here. I could confess, tell him my name, and he’d probably shut down this little flirtation right away. Or I could play along and see what happened.
Wait. What if I’m looking at this all wrong? This could be an opportunity in disguise. We could “meet” without any awkward ugly-duckling past. Maybe Saint would see me in a brand-new light.
The decision was easy.
“You can just call me darlin’ for now.” Thank God Nettie hadn’t given me a name tag yet. “I’ll be right back with your beer.” And I almost skipped away from him, feeling light as a cloud.
Nettie waited for me behind the bar, with her arms folded over her chest. Her pursed lips spoke volumes.
Uh oh.
“And just what, pray tell, do you think you’re doin’?”
“Getting a beer for a customer.” I pointed to the Budweiser. “One of those, please.”
“Oh, you wanna give him a lot more than a beer.” Maya came out of nowhere, like a snake. Or a spider.
Dammit.
“He doesn’t know who you are, hmm?” Maya flipped around, resting her elbows on the bar, narrowing her eyes at Saint. “What a dipshit.” She shook her head. “But, don’t worry, he’s about to ask you out.”
For a second, I thought I might be having a heart attack. I felt dizzy, sweaty, a little faint.
“What makes you say that?” I asked, in a strained whisper.
“For one, he can’t take his eyes off your ass.”
Saint scoped out my butt? I tried not to look so happy about it.
Nettie’s face was thunderous. “Let me give you some advice, Chloe, steer clear of him.”
I leaned forward. “You aren’t gonna tell him, are you?”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’ve got half a mind to walk over there and slap his face so hard, his eyes roll into one.”
Maya laughed at the thought of her brother being a cyclops. “If you do, I’ll work for free tonight.”
I folded my hands together, beseeching Nettie. “Please just leave it alone, for tonight anyway.”
A long moment elapsed as Nettie considered my request. She muttered under her breath, a long string of French curses, no doubt.
Nettie groaned. “Fine, but mark my words, you’ll regret this.”
“Thank you!”
“Don’t be grateful. I ain’t doin’ you any favors, Chloe.”
Her words were ominous. It brought to mind a “birds and the bees” talk I’d had with Mamie and how she’d told me men only “want one thing.” She’d scared the bejesus out of me at a young age, and I’d been wary around men ever since. But I ruthlessly shoved the memories down.
“Why?”
I couldn’t imagine feeling remorse after sleeping with him. He’d been the star of all my sexual fantasies in my teen years. Although, they’d been innocent at the time. I hadn’t imagined doing more than holding hands with him and smooching.
What if this was a chance to let loose? Have a little fun? Yeah, and look at how well that turned out for Mamie and your mother.
“Are you listenin’ to me, Chloe?” Nettie snapped. “Or daydreamin’.”
“Sorry. Go ahead.”
“Saint’s a wild one, restless. He treats women like food, something he consumes and then discards. Afterward, you’ll be broken-hearted.”
“She’s right, you know,” Maya added. “Me and Nettie are the only women he gives a damn about. The rest of them are playthings.”
Maybe, but if I didn’t jump at this opportunity, I’d forever wonder about what might’ve been. I hadn’t forgotten about him, after all these years.
I promised myself, I’d do this safely. My heart wouldn’t be involved, and I wouldn’t allow myself to get attached. We’d have a fun fling and then I’d finally get him out of my system. For the rest of my life.
And God knows, I’d use protection, since he got around so much. It would all work out. No problem.
I glanced back at Saint and his lips curved into a sultry smile. It made my knees knock together.
Nettie handed me the beer. “You’re a damn fool.”
“Nettie, don’t be like that.”
She shooed me away. “Go on and make a huge mistake. I’ll be here to help you pick up the pieces.”
Gee. Thanks.
I hurried over and plunked the bottle down in front of Saint, but I didn’t leave. He twisted off the cap and took a long pull on the beer, looking me in the eye all the while.
With the way he sucked on it, it was hard not to imagine his mouth wrapped around other things.
Stop it.
“Did you decide what you want?” I asked.
He leered. “Oh, darlin’, I know exactly what I want.”
Oh my God. “And what’s that?” I tried to sound cool and calm. Inside, I was skipping up and down.
“You.” Saint leaned forward. “What time do you get off tonight?”
“Midnight.” My mouth got so dry, I felt like my cheeks had been stuffed with cotton balls.
“Maybe we can meet somewhere? Have a drink.”
“Sure, but I didn’t drive here. Where did you want to go?”
I hoped it wouldn’t be too far away. Getting a car was also on my to-do list. With my budget, it would have to be an old beater, but it would be better than hoofing it everywhere. Mamie’s old truck had up and died on me the first week I’d come back.
“Actually, that’s perfect. Why don’t I give you a ride home? And we can get a drink at your place.”
His meaning was unmistakable. We were both thirsty alright, but not for alcohol.
“On your motorcycle?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He was cocky, acting like I’d already agreed and he’d just played a trump card. “I’ll take you for a spin on my Harley.”
“I've never ridden on one before.”
“Well, after tonight, you'll no longer be able to say that.”
Sweet baby Jesus. I’ve always wanted my arms wrapped around him as he drove us through town. When he was a prospect, I saw him with Betty Jo Buford, the trampiest girl in town. She’d been clinging to him like a second skin and I’d been so jealous, I could spit.
I had to clear my throat to speak. “Sounds like fun.”
“Oh, it is, darlin’. I’ll give you one hell of a ride, show you things you’ve never seen before.” His words were drenched in innuendo.
“Will you?” I lifted a brow. My prim and proper side reared to life. I’d spent years being a “good girl.” And they don’t engage in double entendres with bikers or agree to go on rides with them. I was tempting fate here. But would I pay the price?
“I guarantee it. You won’t be disappointed.” He held out his hand. “What do you say?”
I stared at his palm. Suddenly, this felt like a proverbial crossroads. So, who’s guiding me? Papa Legba? Or Kalfou? Hmm.
If I took his hand, things would never be the same again. I glanced at the wall, with the veve, and I swear to God it glowed, flashed red, before turning black once more.
Or maybe I’m nuts.
“I don't know…sounds risky.”
“I promise, I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”
“You will?” Damn. That’s disappointing.
He smirked as if he’d heard my thoughts. “Well, not perfect, but damn near close. See? You ain’t got nothin’ to lose.”
Before I could stop myself, I shook his hand. The contact lasted longer than usual. Any minute now I’d let go. Saint rubbed circles on the back of my hand with his thumb. I swear I could feel it everywhere.
Especially on my…
I forced myself to speak. “So, uh, what can I get you for dinner?”
“I’ll have catfish and cheese grits.” He looked me up and down again, all heat and hunger. “But I’m lookin’ forward to dessert.”
God help me. I’ve got a date with Saint.
***
Six hours later, I clung to Saint as he took me home on his motorcycle.
Not all of the roads were paved in the town. Some of them were still brick, like the one leading to my house.
It made for an especially bumpy ride.
“You okay back there?” he called, over his shoulder.
Way more than okay. My arms were wrapped around his waist, breasts pressed into his chest. My thighs were clamped on either side of his, legs spread. He smelled even better than I imagined, a hint of masculine musk, a bit of smoke.
So far, this night was flawless. Everything I’d ever wanted. And more.
But the deception bothered me. If he knew who I really was, would it turn him off?
“I might as well give you a tour, since you’re new,” he called over his shoulder.
I winced. “Sure.”
“After all, I swore I’d introduce you to newfangled things.”
Somehow, a tour of my old home town wasn’t quite what I had in mind.
“The Jackson’s house is over there.”
Saint pointed out a stately white column and red brick home, like mine. I remembered the place well. On Halloween, Jeb Jackson and his wife, Viola, used to give out full-sized Snicker bars. They even dressed up in matching costumes, Jack and Jill, Robin Hood and Maid Marian, and one year—a witch and a warlock. It was sort of hokey, but the candy was memorable.
Only now, there was a godawful pink and purple shed in the back of the property, near the edge of the woods, behind the stables. I hadn’t noticed it before, probably because I’ve been consumed by my own grief.
It colored everything. For the past few weeks, I’d been a walking, talking zombie, barely aware of my surroundings.
“What’s that ugly pink thing?” I asked.
Saint chuckled. “A she shed.”
“A what?” I’d never heard the term before.
“It’s like a man cave, only for women, and it’s a separate building. From what I heard, Viola is really into gardenin’. She uses it to make wreaths and bouquets or some such.”
Wow. Mamie must’ve been jealous.
Mamie had a green thumb, too. Especially when it came to herbs. She had a huge assortment, growing in the backyard flower beds. Although, the actual plants were cluttered with weeds now. Her prize possession was the rose garden, though. She fussed with those, pruning them and optimizing the soil with fertilizers.
I should fix them. Yet another to-do list item.
Soon, we pulled up outside the gate, a white picket fence surrounding the property. At least it used to be white. The paint had peeled, crackled in the hot summer sun.
Even I had to admit, the house looked run down. It could use a good hosing down, several coats of paint, new trim. Probably a new roof. There were also several shingles missing. Everywhere I looked, I saw more projects to complete.
“Thanks for the ride.” I slid off the back of the bike. My legs were a little numb from the vibration of the bike.
“No problem.” He reached over and unlatched the gate, holding it open for me.
I was a nervous wreck. My stomach bounced up and down like a trampoline. I hadn’t been able to concentrate all night. All I could think about was being alone with Saint.
And here I am.
Now, the terror had set in. What if I turned him off? What if he didn’t like me? What if I’d built this up in my mind but Saint turned out to be a huge disappointment? There were so many variables, I couldn’t even calculate them all.
“It’s time we got that drink, huh?” His voice dipped lower, causing a rush of goose pimples up my arms.
“Uh, yes. I’ve only got bourbon if that’s okay.” My body trembled, and it had nothing to do with the cool night air.
He winked. “Darlin’, I’ll have whatever you’re servin’.”
We headed over to the porch stairs. I felt like my knees were going to give out any second. Somehow, I made it to the front door, only to fumble with my keys.
“So, is Chloe rentin’ this place out to you?” Saint asked.
“Chloe?” The sound of my own name startled me so much, I dropped the keys.
Saint bent and picked them up, before handing them to me. I glanced up, meeting those startling, swallow-me-whole blue eyes. Somehow, I couldn’t look away.
Saint cleared his throat. “What was I sayin’? Right. Chloe’s the girl who owns this place. Her grandmother passed a few weeks ago. She must’ve rented it out to you.”
“Oh, uh, um, yes.” The lie clogged my throat, and I had to force the words out.
“What’s wrong?” He studied my face.
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
And then his eyes widened. “Wait a minute. No.”
“What?”
“Holy shit.” Saint stabbed an accusatory finger at me. “You're her.”
“Who?” I played dumb, desperately clinging to the plan.
“No fuckin’ way.” He backed off. “You're Chloe!”
“Yes, but—”
“But you’re...Little Bit.” He trailed off. Saint had given me the nickname when I was a kid because I’d been short. Not to mention, round. “No, I can’t do this. It ain’t right.” Saint shook his head as if trying to clear the cobwebs away. “Sorry. I have to go.”
Saint raced back down the path. He straddled his motorcycle and then took off, leaving a cloud of dirt and smoke in his wake.
And I was left alone on the front porch.
Well, that didn’t go according to plan.