Star
Surrogate. That was a job that sounded easy enough to Star. Lay back, get pregnant, have baby, get paid to take care of the baby. Not really a surrogate, though. More like a paid mother. To her slightly-tipsy mind, it actually didn't sound half bad.
The Blood Warriors biker in the booth next to hers got up for another beer as she wondered her thoughts aloud. His boots stomped across the floor right in front of her booth.
“Geez,” she said aloud, forgetting how empty the bar was, “I wonder how much you'd have to pay a woman to have your baby?”
The boots scraped on the floor as they came to a dead stop.
She had a sinking feeling, and it wasn't the alcohol. She didn't know how she knew it, maybe it was some deep instinct, but she felt like she was being watched. Star glanced up from her beer.
Yep, she was being watched. The Blood Warriors biker, the handsome, sexy one who had come in a second ago, was staring at her. He worked his jaw, clenching and unclenching his teeth like an animal, his pale blue eyes bored into hers for just a moment. As their gazes lingered, he broke off their connection to turn and go back to the bar.
What was that about? Was it because he thought she might have overheard them talking? Oh no, part of her brain screamed at her, he needed to shut her up. He didn't want it to get out that he had to get a woman pregnant to get his inheritance. She never should have come to the Old Crow, never should have come here instead of Juicy Lucy’s.
She was going to get raped here, or killed, or both. She grabbed her beer and went to finish it down, her mind working overtime. Not that she'd mind, at this point. What else did she have to live for, anyways? At least it would be a handsome man ending her life.
“Jethro,” the biker called, “two more beers, buddy.”
He was such a drunk low-life. He was ordering two beers for himself! She paused and took a deep breath, then finished the rest of hers, to steady her nerves to leave.
The resounding thump of each boot heel preceded him as he came back over to the booths.
She fumbled for her purse.
He set the beers on the table and pushed one in front of her. “Going somewhere?” he asked, his voice as unyielding as his muscle-bounds arms probably were.
She glanced up at him. “N-n-no.”
“Good. Have one on the house.”
“I don't need you to buy me a drink.”
“I'm not. I'm part-owner of this place. I'm giving it to you.”
Part-owner? Him? She glanced from the beer to his face, to those cold, sexy eyes, and back again. “I think I should really - ”
“Look,” he said as he slid into the booth, across from her. “Jethro told me you were looking for a job cocktailing. Right?”
She nodded, her spirits rising a little. Maybe, since he was part owner, he could hire her. This could be a good thing.
“Well, you don't exactly look like the cocktail waitress type.”
Well, that wasn't a promising start to the interview. Her spirits sunk again. She didn't feel like the type, either, and shook her head.
“You're . . . the respectable type.” He said it like he'd never seen it in person before.
“I guess I am,” she agreed. And, she was, even if she happened to be sitting here in this dive of a biker bar, getting drunk on cheap liquid courage before she went to apply at a strip club.
She'd wanted to go to college, but that hadn't happened because of her parents. Instead, she'd been flailing, trying to find a way out of this town, a way to get as far as possible from the memories of both here and the next town over.
He took a big gulp of his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his scarred, callused hand. He set the beer down and bored his eyes into hers again, forcing all of her attention on him. He folded his hands on the table. His veined, rippling muscles danced beneath the tattoos that sleeved both forearms.
“I have a proposition,” he said.
Maybe it was a job? Nervous, she felt her heart quickening. She could certainly imagine herself working under his management. “What kind of proposition?” she asked in a wavering voice, and took another drink.
His eyes held hers like a snake-charmer mesmerizes a cobra. “I'll pay you five-hundred-thousand dollars to have my baby.”
Thank God he'd waited till she'd finished swallowing! That was more money than she could imagine, especially right now. But, it wasn't enough to completely guarantee a life for her, or for a baby.
“I'll pay your living expenses while you're pregnant,” he continued, “and support him after he's born. My father left me more than enough money. Normally, I wouldn't give two shits about it, but I need it for my mom. Okay? This isn't even for me, and you'd still be making a killing on it.”
All of her money problems would be taken care of. She could stop dodging Martin, the embodiment of filth that masqueraded as her landlord. Her mouth was suddenly dry, but she swallowed anyways.
His eyes were steely, his voice made of granite. “My word is my bond. You'll be taken care of if you do this for me.”
There was something about the determination in him, a weird sense of a rogue's integrity. He was unlike any man she'd ever met before. And here he was, a man who lived or died by his honor, staking that honor when he made this promise. Star knew she shouldn't believe him, but she did. She believed him with ever fiber of her being.
But, still, that was probably just the liquor and beer believing for her. “When's my appointment with the doctor, then?” she asked, a heavy note of sarcasm dripping into her voice.
“Doctor?” he asked, genuine surprise in his voice. “No doctors. We'd just do it the old-fashioned way.”
“The old-fashioned way?”
“You really are prim and proper, aren't you?” he asked.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“I mean,” he said with an oddly sexy curl of his lip, “we fuck.”
“Listen,” she said. “I don't know you, and you don't know me.”
“Perfect,” he said. “I want to keep this about making a baby.”
“Not about raising one, then?”
He shook his head. “The only thing I care about are my brothers, the Blood Warriors. You and I, we have a baby. I get paid, you get paid. Simple as that.”
Star laughed a little, nervous about the conversation, and about how the man across the table from her was making her feel. She wanted to agree, if only because she might get to see what he had beneath that biker vest and tight black shirt if she did.
“I don't even know your name,” she said, “and you don't even know mine.”
“Tanner Rainier.”
“Star Bentley.”
“See? That simple. We're practically fucking already.”
Laughing uneasily, she shook her head. “I don't really think practically fucking is enough to build a life around, or enough to make a decision. I'm the one who has to carry a baby for nine months, after all.”
“How about this?” he asked. “How about we meet again tomorrow? When there's no beer involved?”
“No shots, either,” Star said, taking another drink of beer.
He nodded in agreement. “There's a park on the square, downtown near the courthouse. How about noon?”
Star thought briefly about her busy schedule of sitting around being unemployed, before agreeing to the meet.
“Good. Noon, then,” he said and vacated the booth with his beer. He nodded a goodbye to Jethro, and was headed for the door before Star had a chance to reconsider.
Even though she was nervous about their meeting tomorrow, she watched as his perfect, tight-jeans-covered ass disappeared through the front door. Her eyes lingered, waiting to see if he'd come back in.
“What in the hell have I gotten myself into?” Star wondered aloud before finishing her beer.