IF ANYONE TELLS YOU the backcountry wooded towns of Oregon are boring, they’re a liar. I haven’t seen “creepy guy” since that morning a few days ago. I lace up my sneakers and stretch, feeling my hamstrings pull looking up with a grin hearing Toad pull up to the curb. I shake my head.
“What?”
“Do you own anything besides that leather jacket, jeans, and boots?”
“Why? Don’t I look damn sexy?”
“Maybe you would, if you didn’t smell,” I answer wrinkling my nose.
“Come run with me,” I ask trying to make friends with the man who has been appointed my bodyguard.
“Hell no. I smoke and drink too damn much to keep up with you. My damn lungs are full of tar.”
“That shit will kill you.”
“I know. But it’s my way of life.”
“Why did you join Creed?”
He shrugs, “You running today or what?”
My feet pound the pavement, earbuds in place, I run against traffic, turn up the volume high to drown out the engine of Toad’s bike coming up behind me. I’ve been avoiding the cemetery, trying to figure out how to broach the subject with Roger. I wasn’t expecting to like him, or for him to be so damned hot.
After a few miles, I turn into the small shopping center in town. Sweat drips down my back, and I lift my shirt to wipe some from my brow.
“What’s up?” Toad asks climbing off his bike.
“Come on,” I command circling my hand in the air. I lead him inside the sports store. Picking out a T-shirt, athletic socks and shorts turning to him, “What’s your shoe size? Twelve?” I don’t wait for him to answer but pick up a box of Nikes and dump everything on the cashier’s counter. Taking out a damp hundred-dollar bill from my sock, I slap it down.
“I can’t let you do this.”
“Too late I just did,” I answer swinging the bag off the counter and placing it in his arms.
He shakes his head and lifts his sunglasses up. Toad’s actually kind of hot when he smiles. “Thank you. It’s been a long time since anyone’s bought me anything.”
“How old are you Toad?”
“Twenty,” he answers looking down.
“You have any family here?”
“No. The club’s my family.”
“I see. Come on, we’re not done yet.” His cheeks turn pink as I lead him next door to Supercuts.
“I’m not sure about this.” He drags his feet, eyes downcast looking anywhere but at me.
“Well, I am. How do you see? You’ve got longer bangs than me.” I grab his arm yanking him inside.
“Jesus. I’m not an intervention. The guys are gonna laugh their asses off.”
“No, they won’t. Especially when you get all the bunnies at the bar this weekend.”
He perks up and doesn’t say shit when I direct the hairdresser to crop it close to his head.
“Level two okay?”
“Make it a level three,” I answer as she holds the buzzing clippers in her hands.
Toad doesn’t flinch as inches of overgrown hair is shorn right off his head. I don’t know what his story is, but I can tell by the hard look in his eyes, that there is one.
“You need me to hold your hand?”
“Hell, no,” but his voice cracks.
“What’s goin’ on?”
The vibration from his rich velvet voice moves through me straight down to the apex between my thighs.
“Hey,” I turn around, pretending he’s just my boss.
One eyebrow is raised, waiting for an answer.
Toad’s face is as red as the clay desert I drove through coming out here from Chicago.
“Nothing. What are you up to?” I ask playing it cool. Like it’s normal for me to be hanging out at Supercuts at a little after nine in the morning with a young motorcycle club gangster with a sleeve full of tats and a gun tucked in the back pocket of his jeans.
His lips try not to tip up. I wait for him to lose the battle, just when I think he might actually crack a smile—he stares me down hard whipping off his aviator lenses. “Guess I wasn’t clear enough the other day?”
“You were. Am I not allowed to go for my daily run anymore? Toad here has been my shadow.”
“Looks like he’s more of a goddamn lapdog than a guard dog,” he turns away swiping a hand across his face muttering, “she’s leading more than one dog around by the collar.”
“What’s that?” I ask with a sweet smile.
“Nothing. Hurry this shit up and go shower. I need you to work the lunch shift today. Tina’s out sick.”
“You mean she’s hungover?” I ask elbowing Toad in the side. We both saw her making out with one of Smith’s boys from Creed last night after closing.
“Whatever, just be there,” he grunts putting his sunglasses down to shield his eyes, turning to walk out.
“I can’t.”
“Excuse me?”
“I have plans.”
“Break them.”
“You don’t own me. So, no I won’t. I’ll show up at six like the schedule says.”
He stalks towards me stopping an inch away. He leans down, the whiskers from his beard gently brushes against my ear as he whispers, “I do own you sugar. You just don’t know it yet.”
“No man will ever own me.”
“That’s quite a statement. But I wouldn’t bet on that sugar. You just haven’t met the one who will, yet.”
Or maybe I have, and I’m fighting like hell to pretend otherwise. Since you don’t look twice at me anyway.
He smacks the door open so hard the bells jangle for minutes after it shuts. His bike roars out onto the road kicking up dust and turns right towards the cemetery.
“Hey Toad.”
“Yeah?”
“Whose grave does he go visit?”
“Colin. He was the original founder of Creed, and our first Prez. He died a month ago. He and Meat were tight.”
“Huh. Have you heard of a woman named Dee Dee Stanton?”
He jumps off the chair like his pants are on fire, pulls a twenty from his wallet and slaps it down on the counter. “That’s a cursed name. Don’t ever say it.”
“Toad? Spill. I smell a story here…,” my foot taps, my cheeks are red, but I bite my tongue. I’m pissed as hell that he just disrespected Dee.
“Hey, Dev… you better show up for Tina’s lunch shift or my ass will be on the line,” he answers, choosing to ignore me.
I turn around meeting his gaze. “Fine. But I’m not done with you yet.”
“Jesus H. Christ. What’s next?”
“You’ll see,” I answer with a wink.
“How many more bags?”
“Ten.”
“Christ.”
I just smile and point to the heavy bag filled with gardening soil and watch as he loads it all onto the cart.
“I need tools too.”
He rolls his eyes but does whatever I tell him to. Toad’s a good guy and I’m working this whole bodyguard thing to my advantage. Besides, it’s a lot less creepy than having him following me all day without speaking.
He rolls the heavy cart over to the checkout, and I swipe my card feeling giddy. I can’t wait to dig my hands into the earth and plant my bulbs for spring, line the rows with my favorite herbs that I bought last week, and watch as the flowers bloom with bursts of color.
The total reads over two-hundred dollars because I kept adding shit on top of the already packed cart.
“Hey, Dev?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re crazy,” he shakes his head eyeing the bill.
“I know. But guess what? You are going to be my lawn boy.”
“Fuck no.”
“Yep.”
“I’m toast. I’m never gonna live this shit down if anyone catches me out in your yard with a friggin’ sunhat and a pair of gloves on.”
“Don’t give me any ideas.”
I lift the gate of my Subaru, and together we load my treasure in.
“You’re gonna be late for your shift.”
I shrug, “We better drive fast then, because you stink.”
I make quick work getting back to my rental. He takes the keys from me and gets his Glock out, checking the door like an actor in a film as he unlocks the main entrance and climbs the stairs to my second-floor walk-up.
He unlocks my door motioning for me to wait until he checks out my apartment.
“It’s clear.”
“Well, yeah. I’d hope so.”
I brush past him and open the fridge taking a cold bottle of water for myself and one for him.
“Strip.”
“Excuse me?” He chokes on his water.
I roll my eyes. “The bathroom’s the third door on the right. Leave your clothes on the floor outside so I can wash them.” I hand him the bag with the sport clothes I bought him.
“Jesus. Is this what having a girlfriend feels like? You sure are damn bossy.”
“Just do it,” I snort pulling out cold cuts and bread to make lunch for us.
“You have no intention of showing up at Sassy’s do you?”
“Nope,” I reply slamming the jar of mustard down on the counter.
“Fuckin’ hell. It’s gonna be my ass.”
“No, it won’t.”
“You don’t get it, do you? Meat’s word is law. Literally. He runs the whole goddamn town.”
“I’m not a mindless sheep.”
“Huh?”
“It’s like an expression. I have my own mind and won’t be led by him.”
“He’s gonna come lookin’ for you.”
“Oh, I count on that,” I answer taking out a bag of chips and munching on one.
“Dev?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I eat before I shower?”
He looks at me sheepishly, and my heart hurts. In this moment I see the lost boy in him, not the ruthless man he’s morphed into.
I take out two plates and set them on the small oak table by the window. The window is halfway open and the breeze ruffles the red plaid gingham curtains. I take a seat across from him, and we each make our own sandwiches.
“Umm, this is good,” he says through a mouthful of food.
“Slow down. Damn, I forgot how a man can eat.”
“I haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. Meat had me run an errand during your shift last night.”
“Oh?”
“Club shit. You know I can’t talk about it.”
“Why do they call you Toad?”
He shrugs, “I tried kissing Chrissy Tate. She’s the sister of the Prez up in Canada. I was a pledge at the time, and she said she only kisses princes not toads.”
“She sounds mature.”
“She was fifteen.”
“What? What in the hell is wrong with you?”
“I was sixteen at the time.”
“Wait… I thought you had to be twenty-one to pledge.”
“Nope. Not anymore.”
I shake my head, the teacher in me coming out. “What’s your real name?”
“Mac.”
“Okay, that’s better. So, Mac… what were you thinking getting mixed up in an MC when you were still a kid yourself?”
“I was thinkin’ I was safer in Creed’s clubhouse than in my foster home.”
Stunned, I sit back in my seat and chew my food.
“Damn, you sure like to talk a lot. I’m gonna take you up on that shower now.” He throws down his napkin, suddenly seeming irritated.
“Hey, Mac… I was adopted. My mother gave me up the second she pushed me out of her body.”
“That sucks. Is your adopted family good to you?”
“Yeah, they are. I should call my mom.”
“What are you doing in Springdale anyway?”
“I needed a job. They were cutting teachers back in Chicago, budget cuts and all,” I lie through my teeth.
“Huh.”
“Which reminds me, after we plant my garden we got to get to work setting up my classroom at the high school.”
“Christ.”
“Towels are in the linen closet. Don’t use my expensive shampoo. And if you use my razor, I’ll cut ya’,” I say mimicking the slang that’s so common here.
He shakes his head, laughing as he shuffles down the hall.
I like Mac, I really do.
My motive at first was to see what info I could get from him about Dee, Creed, and Roger but now I genuinely like him. He’s only ten years my junior and with his lean muscles definitely not a kid anymore, but I’ve never been into younger guys. I’ve never had a type per se, but if I were to close my eyes and think of my dream man—I’d see a tatted beast with a beard, pale blue eyes that would chill you to the bone wearing a pair of glasses that gives him a sexy edge as he whispers dirty things in my ear while doing them with his hands.
The dishes clatter in the sink. I rinse my hands catching a glimpse of something outside, just at the edge of the woods at the end of the yard. My pulse races and I feel uneasy. I shut the sink off and stand behind the fluttering curtains.
My nerves are getting the best of me. There’s nothing there but a baby deer munching on a patch of wildflowers. This MC business has me spooked. The only crime that happens in my neighborhood in Chicago is when your parked car gets dinged, and the person who did it gives you the finger as they drive off.
Turning away from the window, I walk down the hall snatching up Mac’s pile of clothes that smell like beer, cigarettes, and exhaust. I put them in the wash, adding an extra cup of detergent. With a smirk, I add my lavender scented fabric softener. The poor guy has probably never had a drop touch his clothing before.
Humming to myself, I do a quick clean up and water my houseplants.
“Why aren’t you ready? He’s gonna kill me.”
“We have to wait for your jeans to dry. It’ll be fine. He doesn’t really need me there he’s just blowing smoke.”
“Girl, you are in for a world of hurt.”
“Don’t I know it,” I mutter walking past him as the dryer buzzes. “Here. All done. Try to keep yourself up. I can’t have my tail hungry and smelling like some homeless guy.”
“Dev, I am homeless.”
“What?” My head whips up so fast I bang it on the dryer door.
“I’m livin’ in the basement of Sassy’s. There ain’t no washer and dryer there.”
“That place gives me the creeps,” I shudder horrified for him.
“It’s not that bad… compared to some of the places I slept as a kid.”
I walk towards him placing the warm jeans in his hands. “I want you to stay here with me. Meat has you following me everywhere anyway. You can take the couch and wash your clothes and eat here.”
“That’s… that’s,” he swallows hard.
“Don’t cry on me.”
“Shut up. I’m not cryin’. It’s just no one’s been this kind to me in a long time. But I can’t. The boys are my brothers. I’ll stay with them. Besides, when we catch that creep Gregory, we’ll be riding back to LA.”
“Okay,” I shrug, “but if you change your mind, my offer stands.”
He nods taking his jeans and closing the bathroom door.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Silver Fox: 10 minutes.
Me: Or what? I’m not afraid of you…
Silver Fox: You should be.
Me: Oh yeah? What are you gonna do?
Silver Fox: Everything.
“What?” I squeak, partly in shock he’s flirting with me like this. That man is a trip. Hot one minute, cold the next.
“Who is silver fox? Meat?”
“Shut up. Don’t you dare!” I squeal trying to grab my phone that Mac grabbed right out of my hands.
“It’s your fault for squealing like a sorority girl.”
“Was not.”
“Was too.”
“Oh my god, is this what it’s like to have a brother?”
He hands me back my phone, “Probably. Let’s go sugar. Your silver fox is waitin’.”
I tuck my phone into my waitressing apron with a red face. “He so is. What’s his story anyway?”
“Meat’s? I dunno. He’s never taken an old lady.”
“How old do you think he is?”
“Christ, Dev… I’m not a girl. I don’t do gossip.”
“Whatever. In my experience, men are the worst gossips.” Swinging my purse around, I grab my keys and walk out with him chuckling behind me.
Three wooden spoons. That’s how many I’ve snapped already stirring the pot of sauce simmering on the stove. She defies my every command. Shoots daggers at me when she thinks I’m not looking while other times… looks at me in ways a girl like her shouldn’t.
I know I look damn good for my age. It’s part good luck, part hard work. I drank and smoked my nights away for years, but I always ate clean, organic even. The boys give me shit. I used to get high, drink a half bottle of whiskey then go home and make sauce from scratch out of the tomatoes I’d pick up at the farmer’s market. But I never stopped powerlifting. I started at eighteen and never missed a day at the gym.
Lifting the spoon to my lips, I blow softly before taking a taste. It needs more salt.
“Boss? She’s here.”
Grunting, I add more salt and stir the pot again. “Motherfucker!” Spoon number four snaps. With a sigh, I untie my apron and chuck the broken pieces in the trash.
“Watch my sauce. If it burns, I’ll have your ass.”
Federico grins, takes another spoon and dons his apron. “It needs more basil.”
“Bullshit. It’s perfecto.”
“Nah, I’m tellin’ ya it needs more basil.”
I spin around taking a fresh spoon and dip it in, “You’re full of shit. Too much basil will ruin it.”
Before he can reply, I’m nudged over. The smell of her hair sweeter than honey fills the air as she brushes against my arm. She takes the spoon right outta my hands and dips it in the pot. Federico and I stare at her like two dumb fucks as she brings it to her mouth blowing on it.
“Garlic. It needs more garlic.”
She drops the spoon and sashays back out. My eyes are glued to her ass and legs. She’s wearing a black mini skirt tonight. It’s leather, tight, and hot as fuck.
“Damn, she’s fine. Mind if I tap that?”
“Employees are off limits,” I growl.
“I thought that rule only applied to you… ”
He breaks off seeing the rage brewing inside me. I pulverize him with one look.
“Understood,” he nods backing slowly away.
“Damn right, you do. Garlic? The freakin’ princess just strolls in here tellin’ me my sauce needs more garlic? Who in the hell does she think she is?” I mutter swatting pots and pans with my hands as I walk to the fridge.
“She’s right.”
“Fuck. Of course, she is,” I reply taking my knife and mincing more garlic for my sauce. “Send Toad in,” I tell Federico before he leaves.
“Will do.”
“You wanted to see me, boss?”
Ignoring him, I sauté the chopped garlic in some olive oil. It’s an old tactic of intimidation, but it works every time. “I asked you to tail her not be her goddamn girlfriend. Shopping? Going to the salon? Christ, did you get matching mani and pedi’s too?”
“No, we had lunch and shared a piece of apple pie instead—with one fork.”
The little shit is baiting me.
“Switch with Federico. You’re on the door, and he’s on her ass.”
He steps forward, hands inching towards the basket of fresh baked rolls that just came out of the oven.
I close my eyes and count to ten, feeling the wooden spoon splinter in my hand. “You wanna explain why you smell like her?” I walk closer sniffing the lavender scent coming off his shirt. “Jesus H. Christ what else did you do besides lunch?”
“Nothing,” he holds his palms out backing away.
“Get the hell out of my sight—NOW,” I bark. “Shit!” I mutter seeing my sauce bubbling and burning in the pot. “FUCKIN’ WOMEN!”
“Another one? Boss, you need to chill.” Federico walks in seeing the fifth spoon on the ground snapped in two.
“Did Toad speak to you?”
“No. He just told me to come in here and deal with you. What’s goin’ on you’re acting like a grumpy old man.”
“He’s whipped. He’s losing focus the way she’s getting in his head. The two of you are switching duties.”
His coal eyes assess me, he takes a toothpick and places it between his lips squinting like he’s trying to solve some mathematical equation. “She’s not in his head. She’s in yours, and I don’t like it. I haven’t seen you touch a woman since you opened up this place. You should ride up north with Smith, visit the ladies in Canada and take the edge off. I can run shit here.”
I bow my head, angry with myself. I hate how she’s makin’ me feel. I wish I could stop it. But my body responds to her, plain and simple. It’s not something you can control. It’s purely chemical, instinctual, and I’ve always been able to control it.
Until now.
Until her.
I place a dishrag over one shoulder. “Thanks, brother. I just might do that. Tell Tina she’s tending bar tonight. I’m running the kitchen then heading home early. You’re up Federico. I’m putting you in charge. Don’t blow it.”
“I won’t.”
I get busy taking orders and cleaning tables waiting for him to bellow my name at any second. But he never does. He doesn’t come out of the kitchen to tend bar either. Tina’s eyebrows rose, but she seemed happy to be in charge of the bar all night.
Something is up. Mac won’t look me in the eye and stands just outside the door taking Federico’s place as the watch guard. The men are somber tonight; something is definitely going down. Something big. Smith checks his phone, smiles faintly at me as I take his empty away and stands up. He saunters to the door, motions Mac inside and flips the sign to closed as his fingers lock the inside bolt.
It’s only nine thirty.
“Federico will drive you home,” he says softly to me before raising his hand in the air, “Boys, it’s time to ride.”
The men thump their fists on the tables, finish their drinks and stand.
“Tina?” I hiss leaning across the bar, “What in the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know. Don’t ask questions and keep your head down.”
A tingly feeling starts at the base of my spine and quickly moves upwards. I know he’s watching me. My hands shake as I lift the empty glasses off my tray and place them on the bar. My head swivels in his direction. But he’s not there. The door to the kitchen rocks on its hinges. He might’ve vanished, but his presence lingers. One by one, the men of Creed come down the hall carrying roll bags.
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
“What’s going on Mac?” He takes me by the elbow, and I walk with him down the hall to the back door.
“We’re riding north. Word is that’s where he went.”
“The guy who’s a threat?”
“Yep.”
“Be safe,” I reach up kissing him on the cheek.
He walks out, and my eyes find Roger. He’s out in front with Smith leading a delegation of thirty bikes. He revs his engine and tears out without even glancing my way.
It cuts.
It’s for the best.
I need answers not orgasms from the man.
But damn if I don’t want both anyway.