Gidget wandered out of her bedroom the next morning, trying her damnedest to look casual even though she was far from it. She’d weighed her outfit choices for far too long, knowing that Butch would be at her side. Even though she’d fought her daddy on it, and lost. Even though she secretly relished the pairing.
But Butch would never know that. She walked into the clubhouse, scanning the great room for a sign of Butch. She shrugged her purse over her shoulder, trying not to be caught looking for him. That would somehow be embarrassing. The room seemed empty so she breezed toward the doors. All the better if he wouldn’t be on her tail.
Once she crossed the room, a gruff voice sounded. “Hey.”
Her skin prickled and she turned. Butch lay on the couch by the fireplace, his boots propped up on the armrest. He didn’t make a move, just lay with his arm tucked beneath his head. His bicep bulged, drawing her gaze.
“What?”
“Where you going?” Even from across the room, his eyes sent chills up and down her spine.
“Why do you care?”
“It’s my job to care.” He sat up, eyes flashing. “Now where is it?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. There it was again, that tone that irritated the shit out of her. It made her want to slap him. “I’m not telling you. I don’t need a goddamn nanny.”
Butch crossed his fingers, the silence between them deafening. She swallowed hard, waiting for a rebuke, for a flash of anger, for anything that might mean she’d broken some of his resolve.
“Then you should act like you don’t need one,” he said, his low voice almost a growl. “Do you even understand? You’re a target now.”
His words stung like a whip. She sighed airily, like she was bored with the conversation. “Well, believe it or not, I get it.” She pushed out of the front door, knowing he’d follow her. He was right. She needed extra eyes on her. And her daddy was looking out for her. But she wouldn’t roll over so easily.
The door clanged shut behind her and then a moment later it clanged shut again. She didn’t glance back to know Butch was following her. She headed for her bike, the bright morning sun beating down on her, the humidity tugging at her perfectly plaited hair.
She calmly removed her helmet and tugged it over her head, and then swung a leg over the seat. She wore skin-tight black capri pants with a form-fitting blouse, the perfect semi-professional outfit for the interview she had scheduled that morning.
Would Butch care about her life, what she was even doing? He probably thought she was a spoiled bitch, a ditzy blonde who did nothing but snap at him. And part of her wanted him to know the real her, the Gina she kept guarded beneath breezy looks and disinterested quips. It was her façade for men like him, for anyone she didn’t know well enough to vouch for.
But sometimes, it was easier to play the mean girl part. At least for a while. Until she could decide whether or not he was worth the trouble of opening up. So few men were. So why waste precious energy when it was just easier to flirt, play and provoke?
Her bike rumbled to life, followed by a second one. She bit back a grin. As much as she hated the control, having Butch follow her around like a dog satisfied something a little evil inside her.
The drive to the newest fashion boutique downtown was quick and pretty. Bushy oak trees lined the streets, and neat squares of petunias dotted the sidewalks. She acted like Butch wasn’t there when she popped her helmet off and strolled inside, prepping her game face.
The boutique was recently opened and Gidget wanted to manage their social media, as well as advising clients whenever possible on their fashion choices. It would be the perfect complement to her ambitions, and provide even more exposure for her blog.
And because it was a small local joint, the owner might be more open to sharing creative control. She pulled open the front door, a whoosh of cool, fragrant air greeting her. She strutted inside, her heels clicking softly on the wood floor. A woman with a black, angular bob and glasses that sat low on her nose looked up from the register and grinned.
“You must be Gina.” The lady swept toward her, arms outstretched. Gidget froze, unsure about the sudden display of affection, rigidly accepting the woman’s hug.
“And you’re Frida?” she asked nervously, forcing a smile.
“Of course. Come, let’s begin our chat.” Frida led her toward a back room, past elegant racks of flowing dresses, half-shouldered tops, gauzy material that grazed like silk against her fingertips.
Before Gidget passed behind the ivory drapes separating the store from the back, she glanced over her shoulder, out the full-length front windows. At the curb, Butch leaned against his bike, his arms crossed. She smiled a little—like he would follow me in here?—and pushed through the curtain.
Frida led them to a tiny table in the back corner, next to a fridge and microwave. She gestured for Gidget to sit down and then perched on the opposite chair, arranging her skirt around her.
“Now, Gina.” Frida peered at a folder she’d brought with her. Gidget tried to sneak a peek at the contents, and caught a glimpse of her resume. “I was very impressed by your cover letter and suggestions. And I must admit, I’ve followed you on social media.”
Gidget beamed. “That’s great. I’m so happy to hear that. I noticed your boutique right away and thought it might be a perfect fit, honestly.”
“You seem to be very invested in fashion.”
“It’s all I want to do.” Gidget shook her head, nibbling on her bottom lip. “I was born to work in fashion.”
“But don’t you think you should be heading somewhere like LA or NYC?” Frida asked, lowering the folder. “Or do you have plans to move there?”
“No, ma’am. My home is here. Social media and blogging can be done anywhere. And I’m going to be a bridge between these worlds. To show people that fashion isn’t reserved only for the big cities, for people with money.”
Frida smiled in a way that told Gidget she’d already gotten the job. The ladies chatted a bit longer, going over Gidget’s sparse work history and her familiarity with registers and customer service. After a half-hour interview, Frida stood, offering her hand.
“Well, Gina. It looks like you’re my newest employee, if you’re still interested in the job.”
Gidget popped to her feet, shaking Frida’s hand vigorously. “Oh, thank you! This is so exciting. I can’t wait to get started!”
Frida led her back into the store, just as the front door tinkled with the arrival of a new customer. Frida squeezed her arm, and said in a low voice, “Let’s have you start on Wednesday.”
Gidget grinned, nearly skipping out of the store. Outside, Butch watched her, expressionless, dark trendy sunglasses on his face.
He didn’t budge as she strutted up to her bike. She couldn’t fight the silly grin on her face.
“Aren’t you gonna ask me how it went?” She reached for her helmet, pride bubbling inside her.
“How what went?” He shifted against the bike, his biceps flexing in the light. Sweat glistened on his temples. He must have been hotter than a dog standing out here for almost an hour in the sun.
“My interview.”
“How would I know what you’re here for?” He reached for his helmet too once she strapped hers on.
“You never asked.” She swung a leg over the bike, looking back at him.
“Didn’t get too far by asking earlier,” Butch grumbled.
She grinned, though normally that comment would have ruffled her. “You’re so witty.”
He leveled her with his gaze.
“Fine. If you don’t care, I won’t tell you.”
“Didn’t think caring was in the job description,” he said.
Gidget’s face fell a bit. “Okay. Fine. Maybe I’m just excited. I got the job, by the way.” When no congratulations came, she became irritated. “But you’re right, let’s just keep it professional. No need to speak to one another.”
She groaned as she started the bike, her aggravation disappearing in the thrum of the motor. That’s what she got for trying to share her good news. Maybe Butch really was just an asshole. An extremely sexy asshole. But weren’t all the best-looking guys just secretly disappointing?
She blazed down the road, pleased by the way the rubber met the road. She drove around town aimlessly, trying to cool her irritation. After a couple curvy, tree-dappled roads she smiled at the thought that this was their first pseudo-date: driving through the pretty roads of Sturgis together. She glanced back, noticing Butch had lagged behind her, his neck craned to look up at the trees.
Her way of connecting to him, despite both of their resistance. And in a way, it was sort of sweet.
Not that she’d ever let him know that.
***
Butch laid on the couch in the clubhouse, grateful for the chance to rest in the cool air. Sturgis humidity was killer this time of year. Though he didn’t know if it was the heat, or just the slowly building pressure between him and Gidget that zapped his energy. Either way, he felt ready to wilt. He draped an arm over his eyes, grateful that Gidget had finally returned home to do god-knows-what in her bedroom.
He was able to snag some sleep, though he hadn’t at all intended it. When he jolted awake some time later, he grappled for his phone to see what time it was. Only a few hours had gone by—but did that mean Gidget had slipped out without letting him know?
He bolted to his feet, convinced she would have taken the opportunity to escape without him knowing. And wouldn’t that be perfect—failing at his first assignment on day two. Though maybe it would be for the better. He still wasn’t sure about this whole “family club life” idea. He still itched for his loner ways, with nobody checking in, nobody wondering about him.
Butch headed down the hallway, finding her bedroom door slightly ajar. He tapped lightly.
“Who is it?”
He crumpled with relief at the sound of her voice. She really did sound like an angel, if you could just look past the sinfully sexy devil façade. “Butch.”
“What do you want?”
“Make sure you’re okay.” He pushed the door open a bit, enough to catch a glimpse of her. She was laying on her bed, stomach down, in her panties, reading a magazine.
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Her words lacked the vicious tone he’d come to expect. There was a note of suggestion there. Something that made him push the door open just a bit further.
“I fell asleep.” He leaned against the doorframe, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Thought you might take the chance to run for freedom.”
She smirked, kicking her feet in the air behind her. “I’m busy, so no, I didn’t run for freedom.”
He looked around her room, trying to figure out what ‘busy’ entailed. “Yeah, booked solid, huh?”
Her smirk blossomed into a grin and she turned back to her magazine. “Leave me alone now. You don’t even know what I do anyway.”
Butch’s eyes made desperate rounds over her body one last time before he ripped himself away, heading back to the great room. When he got there, voices boomed—some brothers had returned from an errand, and they stood in leather cuts and jeans laughing raucously by the bar.
“Butch! My man!” Zebra came up to him, and the others nodded at him—Deke, Tundra, and Zane. “Did you hear? There’s another party tonight.”
Butch grinned. Any excuse to drink alcohol was welcome, after his latest stint in prison. Maybe he’d get to ogle Gidget a little, too. “And what’s the reason?”
“No reason. Just good old-fashioned fun.” Zebra clapped him on the shoulder, turning to the others. “We should have beer pong, though. And a fight! Let’s do a fight for charity.”
“You fight pretty good, don’tcha?” Tundra nodded his way, the jagged scar on his bald head glinting in the light. He was named as such because his head was a white tundra. “We’ve heard the stories. We should see it tonight.”
Zebra cackled. “Oh yeah. That’s the shit. Against who?”
Butch shoved his hands in his pockets, trepidation creeping at him. He had a fuse, and once it was lit…it was hard to keep it contained. These guys might not know what they were in store for.
“Geo!” Deke said.
“Nah, we’d have to let Geo win. And I want to see Butch in his full glory.” Zebra’s eyes glinted like a mad man. “Who’s the toughest recruit we got right now? This might be our chance to break him in.”
“Manny,” Tundra offered. “He’s a tank. They’d be a good fight.”
Zebra nodded, looking toward Butch. “You down for that?”
Butch shrugged. “Sure. This isn’t fight to the death, right? We should be fine.”
Zebra squeezed his shoulder then headed toward the back hallway. “I’ll let the others know. Tonight there’s gonna be a show.”
A few hours later, music pounded through the clubhouse and Butch was three shots deep, waiting for the alcohol to ease his nerves. Gidget had promised she’d be staying in tonight, and occasionally he saw her skulking around the edges of the party, magically transformed into a form-fitting dress that only accentuated the curves he’d grown so curious about.
But she was off-limits. He’d do well to remember that, too. He took another shot, enjoying the buzz of alcohol through his veins. He needed this—all of this. The brothers. The party. The fight. Especially the fight.
Zebra and Deke came up to him after he’d been at the bar for almost an hour, thinking and drinking.
“It’s time, brotha.” Zebra nudged him, jerking his head toward the back door. A lot of the party had moved outside, where a fight ring sat on a permanent basis. Part of the Carvers pastime, he’d learned, was staging friendly fights. It was like a bonding experience, or maybe a cleanse.
“Well shit. Let me go get my brass knuckles.” Butch offered a lazy grin and pushed up from the bar, feeling a slight wobble in his step. That was okay. He’d punch his way through it. And he’d probably still win even if he was black-out drunk.
“None of that here,” Zebra mock-chided him, pushing him toward the back door. A puff of heat greeted him as Butch strode out onto the back patio, which was covered by an overhang. The blatant humidity had receded into a distant mugginess, which contrasted starkly with the cool interior of the clubhouse. Sweat prickled in the creases of his arms and he tore his shirt off, strutting toward the ring like he owned the place.
“Atta boy,” Zebra said as Butch headed for the ring. Club brothers and a lot of their friends and party girl accessories already crowded around the ring. His opponent, Manny, stood across the ring, similarly bare-chested and prepping, hopping from foot to foot amongst the chatter of the crowd.
“Here they are!” Geo’s voice boomed over the gathering as he eased into the ring, commanding the attention of the crowd to a quiet hush. “Another Famous Carver Fight Night!”
Applause erupted, and then Geo continued. “This time we have our latest member, Butcher Kinney, against our hopeful recruit, Manny Flores!”
Zebra pushed at Butch’s back, which he took to mean to step into the ring. He ducked under the ropes, acclimating to the bright lights over top of the ring. He cracked his knuckles, turning his waist from side to side. Manny stepped into the ring a moment later, built exactly like a tank. Butch smiled a little, sizing him up. Piece of cake.
“Who would like to ring the bell?” Geo looked out at the faces surrounding the ring, squinting against the lights. “Anyone? They’ll start with the bell.”
There were a few squeals and shouts, and then a hand shot up into the air. Butch traced the tanned arm to the exact person he’d been hoping to see more of tonight—Gidget herself. She slunk up to the ring, her gaze burning a hole through him. He straightened as she approached, wondering if she liked what she saw.
She didn’t take her eyes off him for a second as her dad handed her a cowbell. Maybe this was her secret blessing. Like wanting him to win. Even though the fight meant nothing and was all for fun…maybe still, she was rooting for him.
Her pink tongue traced the edge of her bottom lip, and then she rang the bell so it echoed loudly through the patio. Excited gasps mixed with the humid sting of night as Butch’s focus shrunk to encompass only Manny. He approached slowly, pupils dilating as a surge of adrenaline overtook him.
Manny stepped forward and swung, but he was a little slow. Butch raced forward and caught his arm, pinning it between them, landing a solid punch to Manny’s side and then his face.
The crowd ooh’d, but it rang distant to him, like it was happening on a television in someone else’s house. Manny pulled free and scampered backward, but Butch approached again, swinging and hitting Manny’s arm.
Manny frowned and affected a boxer stance, his arms protecting his face. The two sparred for a little bit, boxer style, landing light but playful punches in rapid succession. Laughter and gasps echoed around them. Butch landed a punch close to Manny’s face—that might be a black eye for him tomorrow.
Manny rushed forward and tried to topple Butch but he darted away, nimbler than maybe Manny had bargained for. But if a take-down was what he was after, Butch could give him that. He came from the side and hooked Manny’s neck, bringing him to the ground in a walloping, ground-thumping flourish. Shouts emerged, the crowd growing more vigorous around them. Manny landed some defensive punches but he was trapped between Butch’s knees.
Butch punched him and then locked him into place until Geo counted to three. After the win, Butch came to standing, offering a sweaty hand to his opponent.
“Nice job,” Butch said, shaking Manny’s hand. “You gave it a good shot.”
Manny looked disappointed but shook his hand anyway. “You’re too fast.”
“Yeah. Prison life will do that to you.” Butch turned, climbing out of the ring, looking around by default for Gidget. Wondering if she’d seen the whole thing. Hoping she’d been cheering for him.
He spotted her toward the periphery of the patio, her blue eyes shining with lust—or maybe that was just his post-fight brain in pure masculine mode. She didn’t yank her gaze off his as he parted the crowd, heading for Zebra.
Once Zebra and some of the other brothers congratulated him, Butch did another scan for Gidget. Maybe this would be the night he got to see a little more of her. Maybe this was the night he could actually open up.
But when he looked for her again, she was nowhere to be found.