Kim

"Kimmie! Kimmie! Kimmie!" my brother Benji yells as soon as he sees me walk into the large auditorium of Grey's Home. He runs up to greet me, is breathless by the time he throws his arms around me.

His happiness makes me forget how much I don't want to be here. We only just saw each other two days ago, but I've been gone a lot for the last ten years, so his excitement at having me around probably won't fade anytime soon. I make it a point to call him everyday when I'm away, but it's just not the same as being together.

My elation at the warm welcome doesn't last long. The fundraiser ladies are all gathered for the meeting and the strong stench of their myriad different perfumes is mixing in the air into a nauseating and nose-burning combination.

"Where is Mom?" Benji asks, eyeing me sideways.

"She can't make it today," I say evasively. My brother has Down's Syndrome and even though he's twenty-six years old, there will always be things he doesn't fully understand. Like our mother's affliction. He knows about it and accepts it, but he'll never comprehend it fully.

"You're here, so it's all humpty dokey," he says and hugs me again too tightly. Knowing his own strength is also not something he understands fully. He means to say hunky-dory. It's his favorite line in the world, but he hasn't yet said it right. I've stopped correcting him ages ago.

"Will she come later?" he asks.

"I don't know," I tell him as I extricate myself from his arms. He doesn't like hearing that any more than I like saying it. And I don't think I managed to keep my annoyance at the whole situation completely from my voice.

"Mom said she'd help me learn my lines. And she said she'd make coconut chocolate muffins for after the play," he says dejectedly. He can't hide his emotions very well. He tries, but he can't. I love him even more for it. He's the only completely non-fake person I've ever known.

I smile as wide as I can and ruffle his hair. It's red like mine, which is odd for a kid with Down's Syndrome, but Benji is special, and his red hair makes him even more so. "But I'm here and I'm gonna help you with the play and everything else too. Well, except with the muffins, you know I can't cook. Aren't you happy about that?"

He gives me a wide smile. "Humpty dokey and no muffins because Kimmie can't cook."

"No need to rub it in, little bro," I say and punch his arm playfully. "So are you ready to play Romeo, or what?"

The smile fades from his face and he shakes his head. "What if I'm no good? I'm so nervous."

He didn't even have to say it, I could read it plainly off his face.

"You'll be great!" I assure him. "You've always had a talent for acting. And I'll help you learn all your lines. We'll start today after the meeting."

Not like I have anything better to do. Except go home and wallow in my own self-pity as I catch up on all the ways life turned out great for my old friends.

From the corner of my eye I spot a guy walk in. He's almost too wide to fit through the open side of the double doors, his bulky, shapely arms covered in tattoos. He's dressed like a biker, wearing a plaid blue, black and white shirt with the sleeves cut off, and a pair of jeans held up with a brass-buckled belt. But his boots are too new, and his jeans and t-shirt too clean to fool anyone that he’s a real biker. Though he plays the part well. And I'm not quite in my right mind, because my first thought at seeing him was, "Here's something I could do tonight." But he's the type of guy I'll always check out from a distance— all muscles, cockiness and brawn—but never actually speak to.

"Is that your new security guard or something?" I ask Benji, who is clearly still thinking about the play, since his eyes are wide and full of nervous fear as he gazes at the stage. He was probably imagining messing up his lines come show time when I interrupted him.

"Huh? What?" he mutters and I point at the guy with my head.

"No, that's Tank!" he yells, the smile on his face almost as wide as when he greeted me earlier. The next minute he's shuffling towards the guy, calling, "Tank! Tank! Tank!"

He almost hugs him too, the way he did me, but then thinks better of it and offers him his hand to shake. Which the guy does, smiling too. I don't think I've ever seen a guy who looks like him smile. It's a very nice sight.

Benji doesn't let go of his hand, but instead starts tugging on it to bring him over. "Come meet my sister Kimmie! Come!"

The guy actually stops dead when he sees me, his mildly interested gaze instantly turning into something very lewd. Kind of like the non-verbal, facial expression version of the bringing him home thought I just had about him.

"Wow, so this is your sister, Benji?" he asks, his smile crooked and very inviting as his eyes travel up and down my body one more time. His gaze makes me feel like I'm lying in the sun. I'm still wearing the yoga pants and hoodie I put on when Russell woke me this morning, and right now I wish I'd taken the time to change before coming here. Not that it'd matter, likely, since he's undressing me with his eyes as it is.

"Yes, this is Kimmie," Benji says excitedly, missing that entire non-verbal exchange we're having. "Meet her."

He lifts Tank's hand up to mine and finally releases it.

The guy chuckles and offers me his hand. "I'm Tank.”

"Kim," I mutter, my voice stuck somewhere in my throat because touching his hand feels like touching fire and liking it. He doesn't let go right away and neither do I. And the way he's looking at me makes me certain he's also thinking it'd be a good idea to take me home tonight.

"You never told me your sister was a gorgeous redhead," he tells Benji without looking away from me. "Though I might have known, going by your lovely locks."

He finally lets go of my hand to tussles my brother's hair the way I just did.

"Why would he tell you that?" I ask. "He's my brother after all."

I'm not sure where I was going with this line. Probably in the direction of, "He wanted to protect me from a bad boy like you". But thankfully I manage not to say that. I think he heard it anyway, since his smirk just went from inviting to irresistible.

And there I go again with another completely dumb reaction. I've stayed away from guys like Tank for a reason. Their alpha brawn and my emancipated feminism would never jive well together. But it's been a while since I touched a man I wanted to keep touching. Between spending practically the whole winter inside my apartment in New York City, and now being stuck inside the small garage apartment at my mom's house, I haven't even spoken to a whole lot of men lately. Unless you count the kid who bags groceries at the supermarket. And I'm not counting him.

Tank's eyes are still pretty much undressing me, so he clearly hasn't reached the same conclusions as me about how ill-suited we are yet. I'm sure I can help that along by saying something totally off-putting the way only I can. But I'm interrupted from attempting it by Jessica, the leader of this fundraising event and the only participant who doesn't actually have family staying at this home, when the microphone she’s testing on the stage sends a shrill sound echoing through the room. It helps to bring me back to reality. The one where I'm here to help my brother with his lines not trying to avoid getting picked up by hot guys.

"Let's hear what Jessica has to say," Tank says and faces the stage. I don't like that he speaks about her as though he knows her well. And I don't like that they just shared a look confirming my suspicion of it. I don't like that I don't like it.

"We'll talk more later," he adds.

I think he means that one hundred percent. But I'm still not sure if it would be a good idea. Sure, right now it seems like a fun idea to do something I've never done. In this case, getting to know this hunk who's all sorts of wrong for me a whole lot better. But my funnest ideas usually have the worst hangover, and I'm in no kind of state to add more problems to my plate right now. He's got problem and complication written all over him. Just not in ink.

* * *

After the meeting, all the fundraiser ladies surrounded Tank, with Jessica on point. Apparently it's been awhile since he's been here and they all noticed it too. I didn't like that I reacted to that with something very close to jealous annoyance burning a hole in my stomach. But that's not all I felt.

Seeing the women swarm Tank like they did showed me very clearly that he likes to come on strong with all the females he meets. That kind of guy is not something I need in my life right now. In fact, I don't need any guy in my life. I'm much better flying solo.

So I was able to go with Benji to his room and help him with his lines for the rest of the afternoon, without worrying overmuch whether I'm missing something. They'll be performing Romeo and Juliet, and I don't know what brilliant mind came up with that idea. Most likely Jessica. She probably thought it would be cute. While this version of the play is heavily abridged, the story itself is much too complicated for Benji and most of the others here to understand, and much too sad besides. But the plans are all made, so there’s nothing I can do about it except help him learn and understand it.

"Hey," a man's voice greets me in the parking lot just as a strong gust of wind sends my long hair flying all around my head, a few strands hitting my eyeball painfully.

Tank peels himself off the wall by the door, tossing the cigarette he'd been smoking on the ground and squashing it with his boot. His eyes are once again all for me.

"You're still here?" I blurt out, regretting it the second I hear it, since it's rude. "I mean, everyone else has already left or gone to bed."

I only left after the second time the night warden asked me to. I'm not much for obeying the rules, and I wanted Benji to memorize at least the first page of his lines before I left.

"I was waiting for you," he says just as another gust of wind sends my hair flailing across my face. His hand sort of twitches like he means to brush it back, but I beat him to it.

"You were? Why?" I ask in a very sarcastic voice. He has to be lying. This is just some clever pick up line to get me to like him. It has to be. He was probably fixing something until late, or possibly spending some alone time with Jessica while he quote-unquote waited for me.

"I thought we should have a drink," he says, smirking at me and seemingly completely unfazed by my lack of response to his efforts. I guess some girls would blush and twirl their hair at a line like that coming from a manly, well-spoken guy like him, but I've never been that sort of woman.

"I'm…I…" An excuse is just not coming to me. Most likely since I have absolutely nothing to do back home except stare at my computer screen and wonder if I'll ever be able to take control of my life again. He's waiting very patiently for an answer, still smirking at me like he already knows it.

"OK, sure," I say. "One beer." What can it hurt?

"Great," he says and actually visibly perks up, breaking up his carefully erected façade of playing the bad boy no woman can resist. He may look like this badass biker, but that's just an act. He's probably just some hipster and this biker thing is the fad du jour. But then he points at a shiny silver Harley at the edge of the parking lot.

"I know a place just down the street. Let’s ride there. " He says it like he means more than just a ride on the back of his bike. And my wariness finally kicks in. Sure, Benji likes him, and he seems to be a hit with the fundraiser ladies, but what do I really know about him? He could be a psycho. I've had run-ins with those before. I blame my flame red hair.

"Or we could walk," I say. "If it's just down the block…"

He shrugs, his gaze passing longingly over my legs like he was really looking forward to feeling them wrapped around his back. And I'm kinda sorry I won't be getting the chance to wrap my arms around his wide waist, but this isn't that kind of drink. This is just something to pass the time and bring some excitement back into my life.

"Let's walk then," he says and points down the street to the left. "It's this way."

"So, I take it you've been volunteering at Grey's for awhile," I say as he falls in step beside me.

"Yeah, for years, on and off. It's been almost six months since I was here last though," he says and smirks at me again. "And I know a lot about you. Benji told me everything."

My breath catches in my throat, wondering what everything could possibly be. But while I try to call my little brother everyday from where ever I am, I don't actually tell him a lot about what I'm doing. He doesn't understand much beyond that I travel the world and write articles for newspapers.

"What do you know?" I ask.

"I know you're a big time journalist working for the best papers in the world," he says just as we reach the bar we were heading for. He holds open the door for me and lets me enter first. "He also says you spend a lot of time in Africa."

"And the Middle East," I say. "I'm surprised Benji told you all that."

"I'm easy to talk to," he says, smiling at me crookedly again, and I know the full meaning of what he just said encompasses more than just talking. I cast my eyes over the bar to avoid getting sucked too far into his.

The place is only half full and one of the tables at the window is occupied by Jessica and two other fundraiser ladies. They stop talking when they notice us, their eyes zeroing in like lasers, mostly on me. I veer right and walk to the table farthest away from them without greeting them. Which I regret the second I'm seated, since I do have to work with them for this event.

"Was that too rude? Maybe we should go and say hello to them," I say rising a little in my chair and peering over my shoulder in what I hope is a friendly but inconspicuous way. They're still glaring at me.

"Nah, we just saw them," Tanks says as he nods in their direction before sitting down across from me. I sit back down too.

Our table is tiny and he's a huge guy. I’d say he’s at least six feet tall and very wide, so his thick thighs are flanking mine under the table, less than an inch from touching. I'm getting a little lightheaded from all that closeness. Or maybe that's because he hasn't stopped looking at me like he wants me naked in his lap since we met.

He's not talking, and I've kinda forgotten what we were saying before I got distracted. He may not have much to say, but his eyes are doing plenty of talking. They're blue like the deep ocean, and they're sucking me in.

I order a scotch and a beer chaser, but I know that won't be enough to steady my nerves before the waitress even leaves. I have no intention of letting his wish come true tonight, but my body has different ideas. He's just so damn muscular and tattooed and manly, and I've never been with a guy with half his masculine appeal. Guys like him are for girls who spend hours doing their hair, makeup and nails. They're not for me. I think too much.

"So you know all about me," I say, breaking the silence after our drinks arrive. "What do you do when you're not helping with fundraisers and playing at being a biker?"

I'm being standoffish and sarcastic, because that's my defense mechanism and a one-night stand is just not happening tonight.

His face turns serious for a split second, before his smirk grows even wider. "You think I'm just pretending to be a biker? How do you figure that?"

"Well, for one thing, your boots are too polished," I say, returning his smile as I glance down at his shoes. "And for another, no biker I've ever heard of goes around helping at a place like Grey's."

He leans back in his chair, the smile not leaving his lips as he nods slowly. "And you know a lot of bikers, do you?"

"I figure you're some IT guy or something computer-related like that," I say, avoiding answering his question completely. "I bet Tank is your online name and that your Instagram is full of gorgeous roadside vistas and funky meals. Am I right?"

He stops nodding, and looks like he's trying not to smile even more widely.

"You're already sure you are," he says.

"But am I?" I venture, then take a swig of my whiskey.

"You got it, more or less," he says after a slight pause. He leans forward and grabs his own scotch glass. "My real name's David, but no one calls me that anymore. And I'm not some computer nerd. I work at an auto body shop. We renovate old cars and bikes, and do custom jobs too. So this outfit comes with the job. And I don't do Instagram."

OK, so I was off. But he is a hipster, that much is clear. He's just a hipster that works on cars.

"But if I did have Instagram, I'd post a picture of you right now. With hashtag 'the hottest redhead I met in the last six years'," he adds, taking my breath for the second time tonight. No, the third. The first was when he shook my hand.

"Only the last six years?" I counter sarcastically. "Is that supposed to make me feel special?"

He chuckles. "Yeah. It obviously didn't work though. But who knows, you could be the one that makes all others fade in my memory, past, present and future."

And there he goes again, shocking me enough to make my breath catch in my throat. I've never met a man so immune to my sarcasm, and so unfazed by it. Most guys, even the ones who come on the strongest, would be getting agitated by now, maybe even growing angry that I'm not participating in their mating dance. But Tank, he's just taking it all in his stride and flipping it back around on me. He also has this way of saying the plainest thing in the world and making it sound like so much more than he's actually saying. Or maybe I'm just hearing that because getting naked with him is starting to sound like the best idea in the world the longer he looks at me.

"You really speak your mind, don't you?" I say, picking up my beer bottle and drinking about a third of it. That should help the tightness in my stomach, the desire to be the woman who makes him forget all others, if only for a little while. But sex with strangers isn't something I particularly enjoy. It's never as much fun as I think it will be. I like to know a person before I get naked with them.

"Yeah, life's too short for anything else," he says, taking a swig of his beer too.

Everything he says sounds so unbelievable. Guys don't say things like that to girls they just met, yet there's not a trace of self-consciousness in his voice, or bravado for that matter. There’s only a forceful, strong alpha male confidence. But that can't be. He's just talking like he's commenting online where no one actually sees him. Some guys do that nowadays. People spend too much time online and they've forgotten how to interact properly in the real world. I was going to write an article on this phenomenon, and I had already shopped it around. The New York Times said they'd take it, and I already did some research on it. But I never finished it after what happened in Nigeria.

"You say that like you've had quite a life," I say, finishing the rest of my beer. "Is it hard being a mechanic in a small California town?"

Now I'm just being a bitch. But I never could stand people who front and say fake things to make themselves sound more interesting than they really are. There's a whole world out there, but most of the people I know around here are happy ignoring that, as they go on thinking this little town is the center of the universe. I could never come back to live here. Not after everything I've seen.

"No, that's the easiest job I've ever had. And the most fun. But I've lived some," he says, leaning back again and grinning at me like he enjoys the rude way I’m talking to him. His thigh is now so close to mine the heat of his body is searing my skin even though we’re both fully dressed.

The worst part about his particular brand of faking it is that I believe what he's saying. Somewhere deep down, I know he's telling me the truth, that he knows life is short, understands it, because he's seen it end too many times. Just like I had. But that's just part of his act, I'm sure.

"Yeah, like what?"

"Not the kind of things you talk about on a first date," he says and grins wider.

"Is that what you think this is?" I say, but can't help smiling too. "I wouldn't call it a date."

"Really? Because I was fully willing to let you take me home after this drink," he says, pretending to be shocked.

"I know," I say, trying and failing to stop smiling, so he'd take me seriously. Because he clearly isn't. "But I'll have you know I haven't showered yet today."

His eyebrows shoot up for a second. "You say that like you think I'd mind. Besides, we can always shower together."

"I haven't shaved in about a week either." Why the hell am I saying these things? The old-timers in every newsroom I've worked in would call it breaking balls, but in reality, I'm coming off as a mad woman. And now I can't stop picturing us taking that shower.

I clear my throat and stand up before he can say some new clever thing. "I should go."

"Already?" he asks, but gets up too and fishes some cash from his pocket. I reach into my purse for my wallet, belatedly remembering that I was about to walk out assuming he'd pay, and that's so unlike me I can't even begin to berate myself for it.

He just shakes his head and gives me a bemused smile before tossing a couple of bills on the table. "After you."

He actually extends his arm to invite me to pass, and I do so hurriedly, only stopping long enough to hold the door for him.

The wind's blowing like crazy outside, and I walk fast down the sidewalk. He has no trouble keeping up.

"This is me," I say, finally breaking the silence once we reach my mom's silver Ford.

"You're not gonna reconsider, are you?" he asks.

"I'm not the girl for you, Tank," I say, surprising myself with my bluntness.

"Yeah, you are," he says in that damn confident way of his that leaves no room for doubt. "But fine, we can do it your way."

"And what's my way?" I ask without thinking.

"Slow and hard," he explains like he has me all figured out. And like he means more than just getting me to come on dates.

I just stare at him, since I’m at a complete loss for what to say. I'd like it slow, and hard, and rough, and everything in between. That's what something in my head is saying in response to his unsaid suggestion. But it makes no damn sense. There's no way I'm right about all these double meanings in what he says. That's just my own mind playing tricks on me.

"Do I at least get a kiss goodnight?" he asks, but it's not really a question. He's getting what he wants. He doesn't doubt it and I don't doubt it. And that makes even less sense.

I take too long to come up with a snappy response and the next thing I know his arms are around my waist and his lips are on mine, and whatever doubt I had about doubting him is gone. I've never yet kissed a guy and instantly wished we were naked and alone somewhere comfortable. But I'm wishing it now, as his tongue enters my mouth, seeking mine. My lips and my tongue know exactly what to do, as though we've kissed a thousand times before. That makes no damn sense either, but I know this is exactly where I'm supposed to be. In his arms, getting kissed.

But how can that be?

"I have to go," I say breathlessly, as I pull away from the kiss. And I have no idea why I'm saying it, why I'm letting him let go of me, why I'm unlocking the car door and letting him hold it open for me. I have absolutely no idea why I'm not still kissing him.

"I'll see you soon, Kim," he says as I climb in.

He closes the car door behind me and takes a step back before I have a chance to reply. But I have no doubt that it's a done deal.

* * *

Tank

Fucking redheads, man. They're all the same. And I haven't yet met one I didn't want to bend over and fuck until she begged for mercy even as she pleaded for more and harder. With Kim it's no different. She might be a hard talking little fireball—all redheads are—but I live to tame lionesses like her. She's gonna be a real treat, since she's clearly never met a guy like me before. Showing her what she's been missing is exactly what I need to take my mind off those other things.

I've spent too much time brooding lately. I need to have some fun, and then even killing off the rest of the Spawns won't be so tedious anymore. Doing some good for the community only goes so far. Fucking a hot woman is always better.

It's a nice story I spun her. I sometimes wish I was just doing custom rebuilds of old cars like I used to years ago. But I haven't touched a wrench in over a decade, except to do some minor repairs on my bike. Maybe I should've told her I was a cook. After Cross kicked out all the ladies from Sanctuary when his daughter moved in, I started cooking since it became clear very fast that I was the only one who could prepare edible food. I even enjoyed doing it, but Roxie took over all kitchen duties when she moved in. Maybe I'll flip it around to that if she keeps asking questions.

Though I don't plan on doing much talking when we're together next. Which I wish could be tomorrow. But I'm leaving for Illinois tomorrow to hopefully take down the next batch of the Spawns and bring us one step closer to ending this war.

Once that's done, I'll be all hers. And, more importantly, she'll be all mine.