The ride back to my place was mercifully short, though the silence was so tense and thick I was surprised there was room in the car for any air to breathe. Cal pulled his Mustang into my garage and quickly pressed the clicker for the garage door to close behind us. He exhaled a lengthy breath and I put my hand on the door handle to exit the car.
Before I could pull the handle he said, “You want to tell me why I gotta be examined by your best friend’s husband?”
I swallowed and said, “I don’t know. Things seem like they’re moving so fast, and you’ve just, I don’t know, all but inserted yourself into my world. I mean you’re a biker, and you’re hot. You can have any woman you want. I don’t know why you’re getting involved with me, and talking about if we go the distance when we only met each other two-and-a-half weeks ago. It’s weird to me, and I don’t want—”
Cal cut me off. “Mallory, you’re rambling. Take a breath. In the future, you got qualms about things, talk to me. Don’t try to pull some covert shit to sort out your issues. That’s playing a game, and I don’t do that shit.”
I didn’t like being accused of playing games, because that really wasn’t what I was trying to do. My eyes narrowed slightly at him and I said, “I wasn’t playing a game, dammit. I mentioned to you that I thought going to Bike Week was a little much and too soon. You brushed it off because you move fast in all the ways you can move. Then you mentioned us both being in our thirties and no reason to go slow. I needed another opinion.”
Cal gave me a long blink, and then said, “Okay. Taking you to Bike Week isn’t too much or too soon. You still seem to be shit-scared of living life. The few times you’ve let go of that fear, you’re a fun chick to be around. I’m taking you to Bike Week because it’s my favorite event of the year, and I didn’t think riding my Harley could get any better, but having you on the back of it makes riding a hundred times better.”
“I’m not scared,” I said.
Cal’s eyes were gentle and he said, “If you say so. Let’s just agree that if we got issues in the future, we bring them to each other, not bring our friends into it. That shit ain’t cool. You don’t need another opinion. Your opinion of me is the only one that counts. Let’s go inside.”
We moved inside, I disabled the alarm, and Cal turned on various lights. I went to my bedroom and pulled out the Victoria’s Secret pajamas I had worn the first night Cal spent with me. I closed the door of the bathroom while I washed my face, brushed my teeth and put on the pajamas. I opened the door to the bathroom to find Cal leaning a heavily-muscled arm on the upper portion of the door frame.
He gazed down at me. “You’re pissed.”
I pressed my lips together and said, “No. I’m not. I’m just sorry our night with the Russells didn’t end more smoothly.”
Cal took his free hand and traced along my hairline down to my jaw, and then he said, “It’s all right. I don’t think I was a total asshole, and it might work out better if Natasha comes with us. She’s gonna be a bit of a third wheel, but as long as I keep Vamp away from her, it’ll be fine.”
My eyes narrowed, my eyebrows crinkled together, and I asked, “Vamp? You can’t be serious. What?”
Cal moved his arm off the door frame and pulled me to him. “I know you didn’t miss him eye-fucking you when you met, but he took more than his fair share of covert glances at Natasha when y’all weren’t paying attention. The man is all about a conquest. Married woman or not. After meeting those two boys and her husband, ain’t no way I’m letting Vamp anywhere near Natasha.”
My confused expression had not eased at all, and I said, “Well, color me skeptical. Besides, Natasha can put him in his place.”
Cal started walking us toward my bed.. “Enough talking about other people. I’m ready for dessert, and there ain’t anything sweeter than eating you.”
* * * * *
It was Wednesday afternoon, and most of my coworkers were pushing their chairs under their desks to leave. It had been a good day. Work was getting done, and I had gone to Adamec during my lunch hour. I bought three kick-ass tops for next week. My good day had started off right with Cal’s notion of dessert last night which lulled me into a dreamless sleep. Thinking about last night made me realize I could seriously get used to ending every day that way with Cal. I had to stop thinking that way quick. Now who was moving fast? Gah! I was packing up my lunch bag, my purse and turning off my computer when my cell phone rang. I was hoping it was Cal, but when I pulled the phone out of my purse, it showed up with a number that had no contact information, but looked vaguely familiar.
“Hello,” I said tentatively.
“Hey, Fireball, it’s Razor.”
Oh, boy. Not who I expected. “Hi, Razor. How are you?”
He chuckled. I was guessing phone manners were not to be expected from or expected to be given to bikers while conversing. I didn’t know why it would be the least bit amusing though.
He said, “I’m good, Mallory. I got some info you asked me for. You going to keep your end of the bargain?”
I did a mental groan, but said, “One drink, right?”
Razor’s voice rasped in my ear. “Mmm, that’s right, but no Cal. You gonna be able to swing that in the next twenty to thirty minutes?”
I didn’t like the sound of this, but I did my best to keep my voice neutral and said, “I think so. What side of town are we talking about?”
“Thought I was picking you up?”
“Well, I’m leaving work right now, depending on the Buckman traffic, I might get back to the Westside in thirty.”
“Actually, I think I’ll let that slide. I’m around the Town Center right now. How about we meet at the Ale House at Tinseltown. Twenty minutes. Sound good?”
No, a spork in my ear sounded good right about now, but Cal was the one who wanted this info from Razor, so a girl had to do what a girl had to do. Instead, I said, “Sure thing. See you soon.”
There were five Ale Houses around Jacksonville. Even though they were all part of the same franchise, and subsequently laid out all the same way with the same décor, the one at Tinseltown had the distinct air of a meat market. As in, getting a girl or a guy, meat market. By nine o’clock on any given night, the bar area would be a wall-to-wall crush of yuppies, hipsters, college students, and any other unattached person, lookin’ for a little sumpin’-sumpin’.
Luckily, when I walked through the thick oak doors, it was only six-o-five. I was wearing a jewel-toned amethyst blouse with a ruffle down the center and a black pencil skirt. I had grey-and-black herringbone patterned tights on my legs and on my feet were black three-inch high heels with pointy toes. There were some men who had staked out their space for the evening, especially if the looks they gave me as I wandered toward the back bar area were anything to go by. As I was nearing the high-top tables and the pay-as-you-play pool tables, I noticed Razor stand up from the bar. He quickly moved to me and using both hands on my hips, he gently turned me around. We headed back to the hostess station.
Before I could say word one, he asked the hostess, “A booth please, for the two of us.”
The hostess was a young Asian woman who didn’t look like she was older than twenty-three. She looked at Razor and gave him a coy smile. She marked something on her podium, flashed him a gleaming smile and said, “Yes, sir. Right this way.”
I slid into the booth she showed us to, and Razor scooted in right beside me. I was having flashbacks to the Mossfire Grill with Cal. What was it with these bikers, anyway? I was about to let Razor know he needed to sit on the opposite side when the hostess ran her fingers along his arm to get his attention. “Your server will be right with you. If you need anything else, please let me know.”
When Razor looked back at me, a devilish grin was on his face. I arched an eyebrow and said, “Well, she should be just your type. One-hundred-percent forward like you. Oh, wait, she didn’t manage to feel you up before she offered anything else you might need. Oh, well, guess she’ll get a score of nine out of a possible ten.”
Razor’s grin became a smile as he said, “Nobody likes a smartass, Fireball.”
My head tilted slightly. “Ever notice it’s the people who aren’t able to be the smartass who always say that?”
He shook his head at me, but before I could ask him for the information he had, our server came up and asked for our drink orders. Just like Cal, Razor ordered for me and didn’t let me put a word in edgewise. Unlike the Mossfire Grill, the Alehouse was picking up a crowd so our server took off before I could request water with lemon.
I glared at him and said, “I do have to drive home, you know. And that entails crossing the river. Christ. I couldn’t even give the waitress my request for water with lemon before she hot-trotted off to the back. And for the record, not that you seem to care, I don’t like that Fireball shit and I’m not big on draft beers.”
Razor just threw his head back and laughed at me. It was quite a sight to see, I had to admit. He had a muscular neck, and his chin was square. There was a very dark five-o’clock shadow coming on, but it was highly attractive. He lowered his head, and I was forced to admire his wide, shiny smile, that under other circumstances might have had my insides melting.
Razor’s smile faded, he licked his lips, and said, “You’re funny, babe.”
“Well, I’ll try to keep the jokes to a minimum. So, what’s the story on Bush trying to take me against my will into a van?”
The server strolled up with our shots and draft beers. She tucked her tray under her arm and pulled an order pad out of the front pocket of her apron. “Have you decided on what you’re having yet?”
I was again cut off from saying we weren’t ordering dinner when Razor ordered for us, “Chicken nachos, hold the jalapeños, and two house salads. One with Italian dressing.”
Razor turned to me and asked, “What kind of dressing, Mal?”
I looked at the server and said, “Ranch, and I need a glass of water with lemon please.”
The waitress gave me a nod of her head, and she took off. I turned to Razor and gave him a scowl. “What happened to just one drink? This is dinner, for heaven’s sake, and you haven’t even told me anything of note.”
Razor leaned his shoulder into mine, giving me a friendly nudge. “You’re the one who’s worried about crossing the river to get home. This way, I get my drink, and neither of us has to worry about you driving because you’ll have some food to soak up the alcohol.”
He pushed a larger than normal shot glass toward me and said, “Now, a deal’s a deal, Fireball. One drink with me, then I’ll give you some info.”
We both raised our glasses, and Razor clinked his against mine saying, “To the Fireball.”
The cinnamon-flavored whiskey scorched a path straight down my esophagus to my belly. I could feel the burn start to radiate out from there. I was reminded why I didn’t care for the flavored whiskeys. If I wanted whiskey, I wanted whiskey and the woody taste of a well-aged one. This whole Fireball fad was like dumping a barrel of red-hot candies into what might have otherwise been a decent whiskey. Razor picked up his beer and chased his shot. I was reluctant to follow suit, but since the server wasn’t half as quick with my water as she was with the booze, I was left with no choice.
After he set his pint glass down, Razor said, “So, Bush wouldn’t tell me why he was trying to take you off the street Saturday night.”
I looked at the wall of the booth to my right, trying to ease the anger rising in me. I looked back to Razor and said, “Seriously! You got me out here to tell me, you got nothin’?”
Razor shook his head, “I didn’t say that. Cool your jets, chick. Maybe givin’ you Fireball was a bad idea. Anyway, you related to Gwen Pierce?”
I couldn’t keep the look of mild irritation from my face. I shook my head and said, “No. She was my mother-in-law, or I guess is. I don’t know. At this point, she’s quickly becoming persona non grata with me. Why do you ask?”
Razor’s sky blue eyes were looking at me intently. After a beat or two he said, “The VP of your guy’s club has been askin’ around if my club’s lending money to Gwendolyn Pierce. We don’t divulge our clientele. Our clients need cash, we loan it, but they gotta pay it back with the interest in the time frame we give them.”
I swallowed a sip of my beer, which was not mixing all that well with the Fireball shot, and I said, “That’s fine and great, but none of that has jack to do with me.”
Razor leaned away from me slightly. “Well, that’s the thing. Bush was at Grumpy’s the first time I saw you, and your mother-in-law was at Grumpy’s that morning too. Not sure if you knew this or not, but my brother Prank works as a line cook there part-time. Bush and Prank both noticed you slid some envelope across the table to her. Nobody can give me any deets, but my gut says, Bush wanted to find out what you gave her in the envelope. If she’s got a source of cash, and isn’t paying her debts, that’s a problem. Not that we’re loaning her money, but sometimes we act as enforcers with people who should pay up to a loan shark.”
The server arrived with my water, the house salads and dressings on the side. I dressed my salad and waited until I had eaten more than three bites before I spoke again.
I speared a cucumber and tomato and said, “This all seems a little farfetched to me. Really, those two see me at a diner with my mother-in-law, notice I slid an envelope to her and they want to kidnap me in order to find out what it was all about? Why not ask me at the pool hall last week?”
Razor looked at me and said, “I seem to recall your man, Cal, telling Bush and Prank that you weren’t their doll face. He claimed you outright. If you don’t understand what that means, you need to get some info from him, not me. Though, I have to say, if he doesn’t get his cut on you soon, I might push my luck where you’re concerned.”
I shook my head at him. “Really? Because Cal claims me, they can’t just figure out a way to ask me a straight-forward question?”
Razor semi-shrugged. “Apparently, they thought I was working the angle on you, also. They saw me tuck that napkin into that sweet pocket on that t-shirt of yours. Watched me eat half a lunch with you at Jason’s Deli. When I cut in on Cal’s tirade at the pool hall, Bush thought I was working on the mom money also. Kills me to let anyone know how much miscommunication there is in my club right now, but there you have it. When Bush realized I wasn’t part of the plan to get info on Gwen, he made a rash decision. For what it’s worth, he’s got a bloody nose for his lack of manners.”
I almost spluttered around my salad. “Lack of manners? That’s what you call it? Really? You’re nuts. Certifiably.”
“Funny, I’m doing you a favor here. You don’t sound very grateful.”
“You’re right. You are doing me a favor, but I guess I had high expectations. I don’t see how this prevents me from being taken later on, you know? Do Bush and his buddy driving the van know to leave me alone because of a bloody nose?”
Razor’s head tilted slightly and his left shoulder came up a touch. Then he said, “They should. It’s become clear of late that you’re not related to Gwen in a way that is useful. We knew you were related in some fashion, but not the way we thought. I’d say, my apologies, but it wouldn’t be sincere. I don’t like to be insincere.”
“You guys are really after Gwen?”
Razor was holding a forkful of salad, and said, “Club business. Surely, Cal has educated you about that much?”
I gave a chin lift in the affirmative, and ate more of my salad.
Razor cleaned his salad plate in half the time it took me. As he slid it away, a food runner hurried out with the gargantuan sized nachos. The employee set down two appetizer plates on the end of the table, and then set the nachos in the middle of the table. The nachos were enough to feed ten people, seriously. The only time I had ever had the chicken nachos was when I was out with coworkers or back in college when Natasha and I would hang out here with the guys.
I looked at Razor, who was cutting a large portion of the nachos and moving them onto his plate. “What were you thinking when you ordered this? There’s no way I’m going to put even a slight dent in that.”
“Don’t sweat it, Mallory. Whatever is left, I’ll take it home.”
“Speaking of home, how about I just get going?”
His striking blue eyes narrowed at me. “No can do, babe. You need some food to soak up your Fireball shot. Gonna have to stick around a little longer. My company’s not that bad is it?”
I shook my head. “Pass me my plate, please.”
I was stuffed after finishing all of my salad and a single portion of the nachos. I washed it down with some of my water, and when I put my water back on the table, Razor’s arm slid around my shoulders.
I looked up at him and asked, “What are you doing?”
A small smirk twisted his lips. “Probably exactly what you think I’m doing.”
He leaned into me, his face got really close to mine, and I watched his eyes close, and he kissed me. My eyes closed reflexively, and I could feel his lips working at mine to make me open my mouth. I just couldn’t do it though. It wasn’t there. Razor was great to look at, and he smelled fantastic, but he wasn’t Cal. He started to pull back from me, but before I could open my eyes, his tongue glided along my upper lip. I was surprised, and gasped, which parted my lips. Then Razor’s hand on my shoulder moved up into my hair. He held my head still while his tongue forced its way into my mouth. It might have been a good kiss, but it was wrong and the circumstances were wrong. I suddenly realized that what I was feeling wasn't guilt. The first time Cal kissed me, I had felt an onslaught of guilt like I had never experienced before. Part of my guilt a few weeks ago was because I enjoyed Cal’s kiss. There was no guilt assaulting me with this. I didn’t like that Razor was kissing me, and I thought he had been a tad underhanded about it. When all was said and done, I didn’t enjoy his kiss. I started pushing back against his hand in my hair, and after a few seconds he finally relented.
He opened his eyes, and then said, “You got nothing for me, huh?”
“It’s not right.”
Razor tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear. “How so?”
I shrugged my shoulders and said, “It just isn’t. I just didn’t feel—”
“You didn’t feel anything, just then?”
I gave it some thought, then said, “Well, no. I felt nothing, I guess.”
I expected Razor to be upset, but he softly said, “You’ve got it for him.”
I felt my eyebrows pull down. “Say what?”
Razor’s voice sounded annoyed when he said, “Cal. You’ve got it for him. And I’d have to bet that you’ve got it bad. Been a damn long time since I laid a kiss on a red-blooded female and I got nothing in return.”
“I’d be surprised that you getting nothing from a female has ever happened to you. I mean, the day you came to my table at Grumpy’s, I was thinking if my experience with Cal at his compound hadn’t tainted me at the time, that I could have really been interested in you. I know that you know you’re hot as hell. The upside for you is that you aren’t like other hot guys who know it, because you don’t overtly act like you know how hot you are.”
Razor slid slightly away from me in the booth, and then said, “Thanks for the ego stroke telling me how hot I am, but let’s leave it be.”
My phone chirped in my purse. I pulled it out and saw that I had a text from Cal.
Cal: When U leavin'?
Apparently Razor was reading over my shoulder. He asked, “He know you’re with me?”
“Uh, no.”
That was probably not a good thing, now that I thought about it. I thought about asking Razor how I should proceed, but I didn’t think he would have my best interests in mind. I decided to be vague, but truthful, if that was such a thing. I angled myself so Razor could no longer see my phone and the conversation.
Me: Soon. Where are you?
I looked up at Razor and said, "Well, this has been nice, and I appreciate the information you were able to get for me. I'm gonna have to get going though."
Razor shook his head at me, and when he stopped he gave me a sly grin, "I'm glad I could help you out, Mallory. I'm disappointed that I couldn't lure you away from Callous, though. I really thought we had an attraction."
I tried for a placating smile, "I definitely find you attractive, but the chemistry isn't there. You'll find yourself a good one, and I'm sure she will be off the charts compared to me."
Razor slid out of the booth, "Be hard to find a chick feistier than you, Fireball. But, you were right, that hostess was plenty forward. I think I'll see if there is anything she can do for me."
When I cleared the booth, Razor winked at me and slid back into the seat. I hightailed it back to the Mustang. Once inside the car, I checked my phone again. Cal was apparently at the compound. I pulled up his contact info and pressed the call button.
I put my phone to my ear, and Cal's voice rumbled, "You just getting off work, sweet cheeks?"
"Sort of. Razor called just before I left, so I had to have one drink with him."
I heard a slight groan on Cal's end, but before he could say anything further, I said, "You were right. This apparently has everything to do with Gwen. Bush got a wild hair, thinking that I was Gwen's daughter. He was going to ask me what I gave her at Grumpy's that morning when he saw us there."
Cal took a breath and then asked, "Razor take any action on Bush?"
"He said he gave Bush a bloody nose."
Cal sighed and said, "I hate to say this, Mallory, but I want you at my place tonight. It'll make me feel better."
Now it was my turn to let out a sigh. "Dude. I don't have any clothes for work tomorrow with me. You want me to go to my place and then drive all the way back to your place?"
"Did you ever unpack your suitcases Monday or Tuesday night?"
I thought hard about it. "No, I don't think I did. I'm such a slacker."
Cal chuckled, "Then I'll swing by your place and grab your two bags. You'll have clothes, and tomorrow we'll see how things go. You'll have to get over there to pack up for Bike Week on Friday, but if you're there, I'm gonna be with you. Drive to my place, use the clicker on the visor of the Mustang to put the car behind the gate. I'll be there in the next thirty minutes or so."