Chapter 4

I’m not saying she’s a hoe, but she’s taken more loads than a washing machine.

-Verity to Truth upon discussion of Truth’s ex

Verity

My vagina was pleasantly sore, and I found myself following behind Truth and his seatless motorcycle thirty minutes after the best sex of my life—that I could actually remember.

I was sure all the orgasms he gave me while in Vegas were pretty amazing, too. Yet, I couldn’t remember much more than vague impressions of greatness from that twenty-four hours.

We arrived at the restaurant he said was the best place in four cities surrounding our little town, and I opened my car door just as he walked up to my car.

“I’m not really sure that riding seatless is altogether safe,” I told him. It’d been something I’d thought about the entire way here, and my mouth didn’t know how not to blurt shit out.

He grinned.

“Riding a motorcycle isn’t the safest thing in the world to do, yet you see me still riding, don’t you?” he teased, offering me his elbow. “If you put aside your dreams in lieu of safety, or comfort, what will that accomplish? Not much. Because in the end you’ll be unhappy. But hey! You’ll be safe!”

I pinched his side and fell into step beside him, my arm hitched up high and tight to the side of his chest.

“You’re incredibly tall,” I mumbled. “And one of your strides are two of mine.”

He immediately slowed down, not that I was telling him to. I’d only been making conversation.

I was a nervous chatter box when I was in a position where I felt that silence wasn’t the best option.

Such as now, walking into Truth’s favorite restaurant.

“Six foot four and some change,” he answered as he opened the door with his free hand.

You know, the one that wasn’t currently pinning mine to his chest.

“Thank you,” I whispered as I walked inside.

The bright sunlight from outside made it impossible for my eyes to adjust immediately when we entered the darkened pub. But the moment they did, I gasped.

“Holy shit!” I breathed. “This is like a real Irish pub.”

Truth chuckled at my back and moved me forward, finally letting go of me, but not for long.

Settling his hand on the small of my back, he guided me forward to a hostess stand.

He didn’t stop, though.

Instead, he grabbed his own drink menu, a couple of kids coloring mats, two sets of crayons, and showed me to a table all on his own.

“You’re allowed to just seat yourself here?” I asked in confusion.

The pub wasn’t empty. In fact, I would say it was almost packed.

Every single table except for a booth on the far west wall, and a couple of tables interspersed throughout the room, were taken.

He led me to the bar, though.

There was a little section with high top tables and stools to the side of it that was set apart from the rest of the restaurant. It was closer to the kitchen—which was quite noisy. It wasn’t the most ideal place, nor one that I would’ve picked on my own.

But this was his favorite restaurant, so I bowed down to his desires. Even if they were unorthodox.

“Yep,” he finally answered as he pulled my stool away from the bar top. “I know the owner.”

“So…” I said the moment he sat down. “Your real name is Ernest?”

Truth’s eyes narrowed.

“I wasn’t kidding about sharing that,” he informed me. “If it gets out, I know just who to come to when I hear it.”

I held up my hand in the universal sign of promise. “Vulcan’s honor.”

He snorted and picked up the menu.

“What are you getting?” I asked. “Since it’s your favorite restaurant and all.”

“The special,” he answered. “I was just trying to see what there was for an appetizer. I can hear your stomach growling from all the way over here.”

I grinned.

“I started these shake/meal replacement type things a few weeks ago, and I drink it for breakfast and sometimes lunch if I’m having a bad day,” I explained. “This’ll be the first time I’ve gone out to eat since I started them. I’ll have to try to eat healthy.”

Truth grunted something unintelligible, and before I could ask him what that grunt was supposed to mean, an old man who looked to be in his mid-seventies walked up to the table and placed his large, frail hand on top of Truth’s head.

“There’s my boy,” the old man said.

His voice was still loud and boisterous, despite his hunched over position and frail body.

And now that I was looking at him, I could see the resemblance between the two men.

It must be his grandfather. Their ears were exactly the same, and you could really tell seeing as Truth shaved his head, and the old man had no hair to speak of.

The old man, however, did have an amazing beard. One that hung nearly all the way down to his navel.

It was snow white on the top, and faded from white to grey to black at the ends.

It was the most unusual beard I’d ever seen, and I found myself wanting to sneak my phone out of my purse to send a picture to Randi.

She would definitely understand the majesty that was this beard.

“What can I get you, boy?” the old man asked.

I couldn’t place his accent.

I’d heard something similar, but I wasn’t sure if it was Irish, Scottish, or English.

It was thick at times, and not so thick at others.

“A draft, an order of cheese fries, and I’m going to have the special,” Truth answered. “What are you going to have, Very?”

I blushed and opened my menu, and chose the first thing that I saw that looked excellent.

“Uhh,” I murmured, looking at the old man who was scrutinizing me like one would a potential adversary. “I’ll have the special number two and a sweet tea, please.”

The old man nodded.

“All right, Nessie. I’ll be back.”

Then the man walked away without looking back, but did it so slowly that I worried he’d even make it to the kitchen.

I shouldn’t have worried.

He never had any intentions of going to the kitchen.

The second he reached the end of the bar, he took a seat, and then bellowed out the orders to a passing waitress, who nodded her head and went to a computer without another word.

I blinked.

Then smiled.

“That’s healthy?” he teased.

“You put me on the spot. I wasn’t sure what to order,” I shrugged. “I’m never going to be a small girl,” I finally admitted. “In fact, losing all this weight is a fluke.”

His eyes darkened. “I happen to love the curves you have just fine,” he told me bluntly. “I gotta say, you look real nice, but Jesus. That dress you were in at the wedding…that was my dream girl right there.”

My mouth twitched.

“I still have all those curves, but I just try to keep them all contained.”

His mouth thinned.

“If you ever want to let them out to play again, you know where I am,” he finally said. “Not to mention I’m fairly positive that those capri pants you’re wearing come in at a close second to the dress.”

I huffed out a laugh.

“They’re definitely something that I struggle to get on every day,” I told him matter of factly. “But they make my ass look good, so I keep slicking them on even though they cut off circulation to my calves.”

He snorted just as our appetizer was set down on the table in front of us, and I did nothing but stare.

“Holy shit,” I murmured. “That’s…big.”

He chuckled and picked up his fork, setting the napkin that it had been rolled in on his lap, causing me to squeal inside.

My GG would love him.

I was fairly sure if she’d been there with us, and had seen him place his napkin on his lap, she would’ve stared at me with ‘marry him now’ eyes.

As it was, I knew that my GG was going to give me the third degree the moment I got home.

I’d seen her as we were driving out of town, and I knew she was paying attention to the man on the seatless bike who I was trailing behind.

She’d put two and two together, and likely get way more than it was ever supposed to be.

But that was my GG. A pain in my ass and my first best friend.

GG had been the woman who had practically raised me, and the moment that she suspected I was about to find a man, she’d be there, ready to inspect him.

“You gonna eat any of this?”

I looked down to see nearly half of the plate of cheese fries gone, and Truth looking at me with upraised brows.

Picking up my fork and placing the napkin on my lap, I took a hesitant bite, and moaned.

“Oh, my God,” I gasped. “This is white cheese sauce…and it’s perfect.”

It was, too.

It was the best thing I’d ever tasted in my life.

Fries. Bacon. Cheese sauce. Bacon. Ranch.

What more could a person ask for in life?

Apparently, the answer to that was more cheese, because the moment Truth’s grandfather came back over thirty seconds later, he was appalled to see how little cheese sauce we had, even though the plate was already overflowing with it.

“More, more, more!” he ordered at the first waitress he saw. “And bacon.”

The waitress nodded and disappeared, leaving us with a glaring grandfather standing beside the table.

“Why didn’t you say anything, boyo?”

Truth’s smile was fierce.

“I thought maybe you were trying to slim me down,” he challenged, leaning back and letting his work-roughened hand trail down his taut belly.

“Introduce me, boyo.”

Truth grinned.

“This is my grandfather,” Truth said, then pointed to me. “Pop, this is Verity. My woman.”

“Nice to meet you, Truth’s woman.”

Then ‘Pop’ rolled his eyes and walked away.

“Your grandfather is…festive,” I laughed.

Truth snorted.

“I…”

Then everything went to hell.

The doors to the pub burst open, and two men, both carrying baseball bats, came inside bellowing about dues.

Before I even knew what was going on, Truth was on his feet and rounding the curve of the bar and heading straight for the two men, who looked extremely upset.

Truth arrived in front of the two men just as a large man arrived. A man dressed completely in black.

The man in black looked like he was a freakin’ mob boss with his black hair, black clothes, black shoes, and dark eyes.

Truth, though he had the same tall, dark and dangerous vibe going on, didn’t look like he was going to kill the two men.

At least not until they took two threatening steps in the direction of his grandfather, then he looked murderous.

“No.”

Just one word from Truth’s mouth had both men halting in their steps.

“We…”

“This is a place of business,” Truth snapped. “You need to leave, or I’ll have you thrown out.”

“You’re not the owner. Only the owner can do that.”

Truth laughed in their faces.

“My grandfather owns this bar, and I’m his beneficiary,” he told them bluntly. “There’s literally nothing that I can’t do here, besides fire people. But that’s only because Pop hates hiring new help.”

The two men said nothing.

The mob boss at Truth’s side, however, had something to say.

“Get. Out,” he ordered. “Or I’ll make you get out.”

Between Truth and the mob boss lookalike, the two men came to their senses and backed out.

But not before he pointed at Truth’s grandfather, promising retaliation despite not saying a word.

“Out!” Truth’s grandfather bellowed.

Definitely Irish.

The more upset or animated he got, the more the accent appeared.

Noted.

Truth walked to the door and watched the two men, while I sat in my spot and contemplated asking him if he was related to the Irish mob.

By the time he retook his seat, I realized that he was too upset and pissed off to broach the subject.

Maybe tomorrow when he didn’t look like he could crush the beer bottle he was holding with one hand.

This scary, pissed off Truth was actually quite appealing. However, I didn’t continue to chatter because I knew he didn’t want to hear my overactive mouth talking. Not at that moment, anyway.

So I sat there, in silence, while he tried to compose himself.

Which took all the way until our food was brought over.

“Wow,” I murmured. “You weren’t kidding. It’s huge.”

His mouth twitched as he picked up his knife and fork.

“I think you said that our first night together, too.”

I snorted a laugh, and then enjoyed the most scrumptious steak I’d ever had in my life.