THIRTEEN
Peyton
There was something up with him.
I could feel it bouncing off him as he moved in beside me.
I knew I had blown cold at him back up at the top of the hill.
Why I did things like that, I wasn't sure. Maybe it was self-preservation. Maybe I was just worried that he would know things had changed a bit for me, that I was unsure about it, struggling with it.
But it wasn't exactly fair to him to show that.
I had been very specific about us being casual.
I had explicitly told him not to catch feelings.
I couldn't go back on that.
My pace quickened as my car came into view, bleeping the locks, then climbing into the driver's side as he went to the back to unload and stash the guns.
He got in beside me, turning slightly in his seat, gaze on me, looking serious. Like he wanted to talk.
And me, well, I wasn't great with the talking thing. That wasn't true. I could talk a high school girl under the table. But only about things that weren't personal. Since this was Sugar, the man I had been fucking - and more - I figured this was definitely going to be personal.
Which meant it was time for some Marilyn Manson. Turned up to ear-bleeding levels.
"You coming in?" he asked when we parked at the compound.
"For sex?" I asked, cringing inside at how that sounded.
"Yeah, sure," he said, sounding less than enthused as he climbed out, fetched his guns, and started in toward the door.
Once inside, he threw the bag on the bar in front of the freak of nature coffee-hater from earlier. "Handle this for me?" he asked, putting a hand at my hip, and steering me toward the hall.
Eager.
But clearly not for sex.
Which, for maybe the first time in my life, I wasn't either.
So why the hell were we going to his room at all?
"We gotta talk," he said, closing the door behind him.
"Why talk?" I asked, dropping my voice, going for a sultry I didn't feel. "When we are so much better at other things?" I went on, moving closer, tracing my fingers up his stomach.
His hand closed over mine, flattening it against his chest.
"About us."
"Us? There is no us."
"Maybe there should be."
Gut. Punch.
And while it should have been a relief, since I was clearly wondering about an us as well, my body did something unexpected.
It surged with adrenaline.
But not the good kind.
Not the kind like when you were at the top of a rollercoaster and about to surge downward.
Oh, no.
This was the kind that you got when you were in traffic, and someone ran the red, and you didn't know if you could brake in time. The kind that jolted through your system, making your blood seem to rush faster, your skin feel like it was crawling, your heart speed to bursting.
Panic.
This was what people meant when they said they had panic attacks.
I was having a panic attack.
Me.
Of all people.
And it was terrifying.
And fear made me angry.
"No," I said even though it seemed impossible with the pressure I felt on my throat, a tightness that was nothing like the excitement of being choked. This was suffocating.
"Stop being so fuckin' stubborn, and think about it for a minute."
"No," I said again, pulling my hand from under his. I needed to get away from here. Before I made a fool of myself. And passed out. It sure felt like I could possibly pass out. Or cry. Because my stupid body was bouncing from one overwrought emotion to another seemingly all at once. God, I really could cry. That would be completely humiliating. I didn't cry. I mean, maybe only a handful of times in my entire life. I certainly couldn't do it in front of Sugar. "Move," I demanded because he was in the way of the door.
"Peyton..." he tried, tone patient.
"What kind of badass biker wants to have the talk anyway? You're supposed to want to fuck bitches and drink whiskey. That's it. Not look for commitment. Why are you trying to ruin a good thing?" I asked, shoving at him, catching him off-guard until he moved to the side so I could yank the door open.
"Seriously?" he asked, voice raised, following me into the hall. "That's your move? Walking away. Don't be such a chickenshit."
"I'm not a chickenshit. I'm not interested," I shot back, not able to face him while I lied. All I could think of was getting out of there.
"Bullshit."
"It's not bullshit!" I maybe, sort-of, possibly shrieked as we made it into the doorway of the common room. "I was very clear about this, Sugar. Right from the beginning. Don't be mad at me because you can't follow the fucking rules."
"Don't be mad at me," he said, getting close, his voice lower as he ducked his face closer to mine. Lower, but no less angry. "Because you don't have the balls to admit what is happening here."
That hurt, actually hurt.
And that was the final straw.
I needed to go.
Now.
"Nothing is happening here," I insisted, choking on the words as I turned and became the epitome of the chickenshit... and ran. Literally ran out of there.
"Whoa, what's the matter?" Jamie asked later when I walked in from work.
While the panic attack had let up sometime between leaving the compound and parking at the library, the mood had stuck with me. And, horrifically, the urge to cry.
"Stupid fucking men," I growled, throwing my purse on the chair and reaching for the bottle of wine, uncorking it in warp speed.
"Okay, never mind," Jamie said, taking back the cup she had been getting me when I tipped up the bottle to drink straight from it. "Are we talking the sex as a whole, or one in particular?"
"He tried to have the talk with me," I said between chugs.
Drunk.
Drunk sounded good right now.
I had made it through a shift of answering questions Google could have easily answered, shelving books with embracing couples, and shooing making out teenagers from the corners of the library.
Without screaming at anyone.
I earned all the alcohol.
"There are a lot of talks, babe," she said, head tipped to the side. "The safe sex talk. The 'it's time to start using toys' talk. The it's over talk..."
"He wants more," I said, feeling my belly twist.
"Figured that was coming. And the problem is?"
"I don't."
"Okay. I love you," she said, giving me her serious voice. "So, you know I am saying this because of that. But cut the shit already. It's fine to be scared, to feel unsure. It's not okay to lie to yourself and everyone around you."
"I don't do commitment, Jame," I said, shaking my head, feeling the wine seem to settle heavily inside, the way alcohol always did when you used it to try to drown an emotion you didn't want to feel.
"Remember when you gave Savvy a bullet and she said she wasn't someone who used toys. What'd you tell her?"
Damn Jamie and her elephant memory.
"That just because she has never been one in the past doesn't mean she can't be in the future."
"How's this different?"
"Sex toys give you orgasms."
"From what I can tell, so does Sugar."
"Be serious."
"Stop being a baby," she shot back, smiling when my mouth fell slightly open.
I was used to Jamie, the mama bear.
But Jamie could also be the kind of person to give you a smack upside the head when she thought you needed one.
I, apparently, needed a good whack.
"I have never... I don't even know how to do something more than be casual with a guy."
"Well, it's a good thing there is no way to, I don't know, try and work at something to get better, right?"
"You've made your point."
"And yet you're still here."
"I shrieked at him," I admitted, tone horrified. "Right there in the common room in front of his friends."
"Shrieked, huh?" she asked, smirking.
"I was having a panic attack," I admitted. "And he wouldn't just let me storm out. And I was like on the verge of crying. I just... it wasn't one of my finer moments."
"You do not-finer better than most people do finer."
She would know.
Many of those moments happened around her.
"Remember that time I didn't realize Jake gave me Molly instead of the aspirin I asked for?"
"By the time I found you, you had lost all your clothes, and were wearing some dude's fedora and a tie as a belt. A belt that held nothing up because all you had on was a thong," she recalled, smiling. "I think I still have the video of you home after dancing around the kitchen with Hannibal to "'I Believe In A Thing Called Love.'"
"I am quite frankly offended that still shots from that didn't end up as your Christmas card that year."
"See?" she asked, shrugging. "You don't mind making a complete ass of yourself."
"Hey!"
"You're not offended," she shot back. "So what if you made an ass of yourself in front of his friends? Own that shit. Or act like it didn't happen. But don't throw this chance away when we both know you do want it, even if you are scared. Figure out a way to spin it," she told me, patting my hip as she moved past me. "Oh, how did shooting go?" she asked, dropping back down on the couch. The pussy pillows had come in yesterday, and she was a much happier camper.
"Don't cross me," I said, taking my wine down the hall with me. "That is all I am saying."
I dropped down on my bed, letting myself use the bottle of wine as a sippy cup until I felt a warm fuzziness overtaking me.
Then and only then did I reach for my phone.
And it took me almost a full hour before I got up the nerve to write anything. What I came up with sucked, but I tried.
Okay. Sorry for the imitation of The Exorcism of Emily Rose earlier. I don't respond well to being pushed. But let's talk.
Sugar was attached to his phone.
I didn't even let my phone go dark, figuring he would get back to me in a few seconds, and it would be pointless to have to unlock my phone to view it.
But it wasn't a couple seconds.
It wasn't a couple hours.
And as the night got closer to morning with no response, there was a hollow, swirling feeling in my stomach that had nothing to do with the wine... and everything to do with the disappointment building inside.
I fell asleep sad.
I woke up angry.
"Uh-oh," Jamie said, stepping into my doorway. "You know shit hit the fan when a woman is blaring 'You Oughta Know.' What happened?"
"I texted him," I told her reaching up to mercilessly pull my hair into a ponytail. "I owned up to being a crazy bitch. I suggested we finish our talk."
"And?"
"And nothing. No response. That fuck," I growled, yanking Superwoman leggings up to go with my plain black tank.
"Give it time," she suggested. "Kind of subdued today, no?" she asked, meaning my outfit and minimal makeup.
"I am going to the gym."
"Wait... what?" she asked, looking almost stricken. "You? The gym? Weren't you the one who, when I suggested you come workout with me, threw a donut at me and told me to stop fat shaming you?"
"Not that gym. With the treadmills and the stupid rowing machines."
"What other... oh," she said, smile spreading, realizing what I was up to. "Well, have fun," she said as I stooped to slip my feet into my sneakers, then grabbed my bag.
"I'll be back."
With that, I drove across town, parked in the back lot, and made my way inside, hoping there was some kind of class going on. I didn't care if it was advanced and I couldn't keep up. I just needed to hit something, damnit.
"Peyton," a voice called as I stepped inside.
I turned, seeing Cash walking out from a room to the side.
"Oh, hey," I said, a little annoyed at having to see that cut on him, having to be reminded of Sugar.
"I didn't know you come here."
"She doesn't," another voice chimed in as Lo walked up behind me to join us. "What brings you in?" she asked, her eyes very... knowing.
"I'm feeling a little throat-stompy today. I was wondering if you can teach me how to... you know... stomp on throats."
"Ah, throat-stompy," she said with a nod. "I know throat-stompy well. I find a man is usually the culprit."
My gaze must have gone to Cash who shook his head at me. "Don't know what lies she's telling; I let her browse around Barnes & Noble for three hours yesterday without complaining. I am gonna head out. Catch you around, sweetheart," he told me, then pulled Lo in for an embarrassing, hard, long kiss before turning to head out the door.
"So," she said, making my stomach tense, worrying that she was going to go all girl on me and want to talk about it. "Have you ever taken any self-defense classes before?" she asked. I shook my head, and she went on. "Well, we have them all. You want to try some Russian Systema, some Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, some Israeli Krav Maga..."
"Hmm, we don't have our own, huh?"
"Well, we have LINE. But, really, LINE is just bits of all the other ones."
"What do you recommend?"
"Well, that depends. If you are in the lifestyle," she started with an emphasis that seemed to say the outlaw lifestyle, "then you should learn Krav Maga. It teaches you a lot of disarming techniques. If rape is a concern, Jiu-Jitsu is the best bet. It has a lot of floor work, and since most rapes will happen with a woman on the floor, it has the best chance for results. We are going to start Tae Kwon Do classes soon too. There's a lot of emphasis on kicks which keeps an attacker further away from you..."
"I kind of want to hit things. That is my current mood."
"Well, for hitting things," she said, waving a hand out to the ring set up in the back of the center of the room. "We throw some headgear on you, stick a guard in your mouth, and let you beat the hell out of..." she looked around for a second, then her lips curved up. "Adler!" she called, making the man's head turn, inspect us, then move over.
"What's up, Lo? Mermaid," he said, giving me a smirk.
"Peyton here wants to get in the ring."
"Yeah?" he asked, looking a mix of surprised and almost... I don't know... standoffish?
"Yep. Get her a guard, gloves, and cover her head," Lo demanded, even though I was pretty sure Adler didn't actually work there, then moved off toward the back room.
"Why the ring and not a class?" he asked, holding an arm out, inviting me to walk with him toward the ring and the shelves of stuff piled behind it.
"I want to hit something."
"Fair enough," he agreed, ripping the gloves out of my hand when I reached for them. "No."
"Lo said..."
"Ya want to hit things, ya fucking hit things," he said simply, putting the gloves back. "But we'll wrap up yer hands. Heard ya got family that won't be too happy if I let ya rip up yer knuckles."
I stood there, arms out, as he wrapped up my hands and wrists.
"I ain't hitting ya, so ya don't need a head guard either. But I'll give ya a mouth guard in case ya fall or some shit."
"Wait," I said, ripping the guard out of the packaging as he just moved casually to the ring. "Don't you need some padding or something?"
"If ya are gonna put yer hands on me, duchess, I want to feel it," he declared with a wicked smirk as he ducked under the ropes, holding them open for me to do the same.
"Alright," I said once we were in the ring, feeling a bit silly about the whole situation suddenly. "So..."
"So, whoop my arse," he suggested, holding out his arms.
"Arse," I snorted, feeling some of the anger drain, annoyed with myself for letting it be there in the first place.
I was not that kind of girl.
The one who waited by her phone.
The one who was hurt when it didn't ring.
No.
Not me.
"Not that it's a chore to stand here and look at ya, we're supposed to be teaching ya to hit."
"This feels silly all of a sudden," I admitted, my voice all warbled from the mouth guard.
"Ya came in here in a mood, didn't ya?" he asked, tipping his head to the side, eyes mischievous. "Something to do with the screaming match I heard yesterday?"
"I didn't scream," I objected, small-eyeing him, embarrassed that I totally almost had.
"Did he dump ya?" he asked, blunt, almost painfully so. I knew he was trying to goad me, but he did it so effortlessly. "Tell ya he was sick of fucking ya, wanted more variety?"
"No," I objected. And while he was using the wrong material, just the mention of Sugar right then was starting to tick me off again.
I had apologized.
Owned up.
Agreed to talk. Full-well knowing that if we talked, feelings would be involved, and that I was about as emotionally inarticulate as a human being could get. So that was huge for me.
"Come on," he demanded, doing the 'come at me, bro,' fingers.
I planted my feet, pulled my right arm back, then thrust it forward, slamming into his shoulder.
Adler wasn't a brick wall of a man. He was tall and lithe. As such, I expected my punch to knock him back a bit.
But he didn't budge.
"Hand hurt?" he asked, smiling.
"Shut up," I told him with small eyes as I tried again.
And again.
And again.
Sometime in the next twenty minutes, I finally admitted I was pissed because Sugar was ignoring me, to which he had nothing to say but to keep goading me on.
"It's like getting a massage from a kitten," he informed me, patting my arm, making me push a hand into his chest with a laugh.
"The fuck is this?"
Well, that was a fine way to spoil the good mood I had finally gotten into after twenty minutes of attempting to beat up Adler as he heckled me.
"Uh oh," Adler said with a guilty look at me.
"This is me taking a boxing lesson," I said, lifting my chin a little.
"Wasn't talking to you," he said, not bothering to look at me as he kept advancing the ring.
I'd seen a lot in those gorgeous eyes of his since I met him, but I had never seen this. Anger.
Even as he ducked under the ropes, his body was tense, taut as a coil ready to spring.
Adler's arm moved out, catching me fully across the chest, pushing me back several feet effortlessly as Sugar got closer.
"Told you to keep her out your fuckin' head. You take that to mean to put your hands on her instead?" Sugar asked, slamming his hands into Adler's shoulders hard. Hard enough to send the man who - to me had been unmovable - back several feet.
"Ya don't want to do this, man," Adler warned, voice carrying a threat I didn't know him well enough to understand.
"Don't tell me what I want. I get a call saying you're down here sparring with her," he said, pushing Adler again, this time pressing him back into the ropes.
"Don't be mad at me because ya can't treat yer woman right," Adler shot back, for whatever reason choosing not to de-escalate the situation by telling the truth.
That, well, that was the wrong thing to say.
I blinked, and suddenly the men were tearing into each other.
Some women romanticize the idea of men literally fighting over you, but right here in the muck of it all, watching two men I liked slamming fists into each other, drawing blood, hissing in pain, yeah, no. There was nothing romantic about it.
It was ugly.
Brutal.
And I didn't know enough about how to get between them without getting hurt.
"Do something," I demanded, seeing a few of the guys standing around watching.
"They got to get it out," one of them shot back, shrugging.
"Shoulda called yer woman back," Adler said, blood dripping down the corner of his lip, but he was smiling. Like he was enjoying this somehow.
"You fuckin' knew I was on guard all night, and sleeping in today," Sugar shot back, angry still, but not swinging suddenly. "You could have told her."
"Ain't my job to do yer job," Adler shot back.
"You're a fuckin' asshole, Adler," Sugar declared, breathing a little hard, but seeming to lose some of the rage.
"Never claimed anything different," he agreed, then turned to look at me. "Ya wanna go again, kitty paws, let me know," he said, then ducked out of the ring as though he hadn't just gotten into a fight.
I took a deep breath, watching as Sugar seemed to do the same thing. His hand rose, the knuckles a little raw, rubbing the back of his neck. On a sigh, he turned back to me. "I just fuckin' got up," he said, shaking his head.
And right then, I could see it.
He looked beat.
"You couldn't wait like half a fuckin' day before you went all vengeful on me?" he asked, his tone strained, but his lips were twitching slightly.
"I just wanted a good workout," I lied.
"Bullshit," he called me out, smile starting. "I heard you were feeling throat-stompy. Figure 'cause you finally got your head out of your ass and texted me. And thought I was giving you the silent treatment."
"My head was not up my ass," I objected, small-eyeing him.
"So far up your ass it was back on your shoulders again," he countered.
"Don't be a dick," I shot back.
"What are you gonna do about it?" he asked, head dipping to the side. "Hit me?"
"Don't tempt me," I said, lifting a brow at him.
"Take a shot, baby," he invited, holding his arms out. "Don't be a chickenshit," he added, using the same word he threw at me the day before.
And, well, I'd be damned if I'd get called a chickenshit again.
Unlike Adler, though, he wasn't just going to stand there and let me wail into him. Oh, no. But I didn't know that until I tried to strike a second time and found my wrist grabbed and twisted until I was somehow turned around, my back slamming into his chest, his arm going around my waist, holding me in place.
"Admit it."
"Admit what?" I asked, trying to twist, to sink down, to find some way to get away from him. My pride was not liking being so helpless.
"Admit what we got here is more than just fucking," he specified, letting me go, spinning me out.
"And if I won't?" I asked, all bluster now that he wasn't holding me hostage.
"I'll make you," he promised. It shouldn't have, but it made my sex clench hard.
"Bring it," I demanded, charging at him.
It wasn't two minutes before I slammed back hard onto the mat.
"Admit it," he demanded again, looking down at me while I tried to catch the breath that had gotten knocked out of me.
"Nope," I shot back, kicking a leg out, landing in his shin, sending him down on a knee with a hard hiss. "Fighting dirty," he accused, but he sounded almost... proud.
"Just wait until I start taking my classes. I will wipe the floor with you," I said, rolling to my side so I could push up.
"I'd like to see that," he said, moving so fast that he blurred, pressing into my shoulder so that I lost my balance, falling onto my back again. His hands grabbed my wrists, pinning them up above my head. "Now admit it," he tried again, eyes on me, body completely preventing me from moving even an inch.
"This is good foreplay," I said instead, making him let out a low, rolling chuckle that made my insides go all gooey.
"You're a fuckin' trip," he told me. "Now admit it." When I said nothing, his smile went wicked. "I can play dirty too," he told me, head lowering to run his tongue up the side of my neck, sending a shiver through my body even as his hips shifted, pressed my thighs open, and his cock pushed against my pussy. "Got no shame. I'll keep going," he added, snagging my earlobe between his teeth. "Tell me you want more than fuckin' from me."
Feeling desire like a live wire through my system, wanting to get it out so we could get out of here and do something about it, I took as deep a breath as my pinned body could, and forced the words out. "I want more than just fucking with you," I admitted, my words small and choked.
When Sugar pressed back up to look down on me, his smile was victorious.
"Was that so hard, you stubborn ass?"
"Yes, actually, it was," I shot back, tone snippy.
"Get used to it," he said, pushing back onto his heels. "If we are committing to more, you are gonna have to fuckin' talk to me."
"Ugh, fine," I grumbled, reaching for the hand he extended to me, letting him drag me back onto my feet. "You owe Adler an apology," I informed him as he unwrapped my hands.
"No, I don't."
"Yes, actually, you do."
"No, Peyt."
"You came charging in here and flew at him."
"Yep."
"He didn't do anything."
"Yeah, he did."
"He just happened to be here," I insisted. "Lo picked him to spar with me. That was it. He didn't do anything wrong."
"He did, baby."
"What? Because he wasn't your errand boy?"
"Because he knew he should have sent you in my direction. Or called me himself."
I rolled my eyes at that, tossing my mouth guard into the little holder he held out to me, making a mental note to wash it out later.
"Even if he tried to send me in your direction, I would have stayed here. Would you rather I spar with one of these other randos? They might not have kept it as PG as Adler did."
"There are rules, Peyt. In an MC, there are rules. You don't get that yet. He knows, and did his own thing. So he paid for it. It's not personal. We'll raise a glass later and laugh about it."
"Guys are stupid," I decided.
"Says the girl with the emotional intelligence of a goldfish," he teased, throwing an arm across my shoulders in a way that I would never admit aloud, but I loved. "So, am I coming back with you?" he asked, clearly meaning to my apartment.
"For?"
"Well, aren't you supposed to patch me up? I defended your honor and shit."
"First, my honor did not need defending. Second, I'll trade you patching up for sex in the shower and lunch before I have to get to work."
"I can work with that."
And so he did.