Guns: The Spencer Book
Page 8
Plus, I have a great family. My dad and gramps are cool as hell. Yeah, they were mean bastards to the boys all growing up, but I was their little princess. The spitting image of my mother.
That makes me smile.
My mom died giving birth to Vann, my baby brother. Well, he’s no baby now, he’s seventeen. I was already six when he was born and my oldest brother, Vic, he was twelve. The twins, Vinn and Vonn—don’t ask about the names, it’s my dad’s thing—were eight.
And my brothers might’ve challenged that princess side of me every chance they got, trying to toughen me up and teach me survival skills. But they love the f**k out of me. They are always there when I need them.
So check. I’m one lucky bitch. I should be happy. I should be grabbing this half-satisfied bull by the horns and riding the f**k out of it.
But I just can’t get past Spencer. I fell in love with his ass the first night I met him and I even f**ked him the next day. We were practically strangers. And that love has only gotten stronger. In fact, I might be on the verge of being obsessed with him.
“Ronnie!” Rook’s knock on the bathroom door shakes me out of my funk.
“Yeah?” I answer back.
“Hurry, bitch. We gotta go.”
I laugh at her calling me bitch. I taught her that. She couldn’t make herself say it back to me at first, she thought it was an insult. But I told her, That’s what bitches call each other. “Be right out.”
I love Rook. I hope she never goes back to Denver. I want her to stay in Fort Collins with me forever. Rook is really the only great thing about my life right now. She’s always down with my stupid plans to get back at Spencer and today just proves it—she’s a keeper.
I turn the water off and step out onto the plush pink bath mat. The floor might be a mess, but I have my own stuff to counter it. I wrap myself up in a big thick towel and open the door. Rook is watching TV on the couch, stuffing her face with popcorn. “I’ll only be five minutes,” I tell her as I dash to my bedroom.
“Whatever,” she calls back. “That’ll be the day.”
Yeah, and that would usually be right. I’m a primper. I take forever to get ready. I dry my hair, curl it, brush it, curl it again. Then the makeup. I luuurve makeup. Like bad.
Then the clothes. I love clothes. I have my typical outfits. Tight low-scoop-neck t-shirts with the Sick Boyz logo on them. I wear those a lot with jeans. So much, in fact, it’s like my uniform. They’re comfortable and pretty.
I’m an eighties girl when it comes to fashion. I like big hair, tight leggings, stiletto heels, red lips, and tank tops under short jackets. And my big Betsey purse.
But today, I’m not about fashion, I’m about purpose. My last-ditch attempt to grab Spencer’s attention. I sigh as I fetch a pair of jeans from my dresser. They are old and ripped in the knees. I slip them on and notice they are a lot looser than the last time I wore them. I like my jeans tight, so I almost take them off, but really, I’m in the mood for loose today. I grab a Shrike Bikes t-shirt. This one used to be red, but has faded to an almost grayish-pink color. It has a vintage pinup girl riding a WWII-style bomb. Over the girl it says Spencer Shrike, but the words below are what I love about it. It says Bombshell Bikes.
He made a bunch of different bombshell shirts specially for me back when he was trying out all his different logos. Now he uses the ravens and a few other things.
But this bombshell piece was like an arrow through my heart. It’s like carving Spencer and Ronnie sitting in a tree on the picnic table in my back yard. Which I did the very first week we met.
I smile a little at this as I fasten my lacy pink bra and tug the shirt over my head. I slip on my old black Frye Harness boots and grab the leather jacket off the sturdy hanger.
I sigh as I look at it. And then I giggle. I stole this from him last year. Back when I could tell he was getting ready to leave me behind just as his business and body-painting careers were taking off. It scared the shit out of me and I wanted something more than a t-shirt that would keep me connected to him. Spencer never gave me a motorcycle jacket all painted up like he did Rook. And I do admit, I’m insanely jealous of that jacket she has.
But this jacket that I swear to f**king God I can still smell his musky scent on makes up for all that sadness and what I’m about to do today. Well, it’s a defining moment for me.
I slip my arms into the smooth sleeves of the leather and put my hair up in a ponytail. The contents of my purse are exchanged into a backpack and then I walk out of the room.
Spencer thinks he can just boss me around, leave me hanging after getting himself off, and there’s not gonna be consequences?
Yeah, right, buddy.
“Shit, Ronnie, took you long—” Rook stops talking as she takes in my outfit. I’m a girl who dresses for the occasion and Rook knows this. “No,” she says. “You said you wanted me to help you haul it back to town on the truck, Veronica.”
I tilt my head up and smile. “I know what I said. But I lied. Else you’d say no. But you already sold me the bike, Rook. It’s mine. All I need is a ride out to the farm to pick it up.”
My phone buzzes in my backpack and I grab it, hoping it’s Spencer calling to apologize or maybe stop by after lunch to finish me off…
No such luck. “Carson,” I say into the phone after I accept the call. “I’ve been thinking about that dinner invitation you gave me last week…”
“No, Veronica,” he cuts me off. “That’s not why I’m calling. I know you were looking for a car, so I lined up a friend of mine to show you some nice prospects tonight.”
That makes me smile.
My mom died giving birth to Vann, my baby brother. Well, he’s no baby now, he’s seventeen. I was already six when he was born and my oldest brother, Vic, he was twelve. The twins, Vinn and Vonn—don’t ask about the names, it’s my dad’s thing—were eight.
And my brothers might’ve challenged that princess side of me every chance they got, trying to toughen me up and teach me survival skills. But they love the f**k out of me. They are always there when I need them.
So check. I’m one lucky bitch. I should be happy. I should be grabbing this half-satisfied bull by the horns and riding the f**k out of it.
But I just can’t get past Spencer. I fell in love with his ass the first night I met him and I even f**ked him the next day. We were practically strangers. And that love has only gotten stronger. In fact, I might be on the verge of being obsessed with him.
“Ronnie!” Rook’s knock on the bathroom door shakes me out of my funk.
“Yeah?” I answer back.
“Hurry, bitch. We gotta go.”
I laugh at her calling me bitch. I taught her that. She couldn’t make herself say it back to me at first, she thought it was an insult. But I told her, That’s what bitches call each other. “Be right out.”
I love Rook. I hope she never goes back to Denver. I want her to stay in Fort Collins with me forever. Rook is really the only great thing about my life right now. She’s always down with my stupid plans to get back at Spencer and today just proves it—she’s a keeper.
I turn the water off and step out onto the plush pink bath mat. The floor might be a mess, but I have my own stuff to counter it. I wrap myself up in a big thick towel and open the door. Rook is watching TV on the couch, stuffing her face with popcorn. “I’ll only be five minutes,” I tell her as I dash to my bedroom.
“Whatever,” she calls back. “That’ll be the day.”
Yeah, and that would usually be right. I’m a primper. I take forever to get ready. I dry my hair, curl it, brush it, curl it again. Then the makeup. I luuurve makeup. Like bad.
Then the clothes. I love clothes. I have my typical outfits. Tight low-scoop-neck t-shirts with the Sick Boyz logo on them. I wear those a lot with jeans. So much, in fact, it’s like my uniform. They’re comfortable and pretty.
I’m an eighties girl when it comes to fashion. I like big hair, tight leggings, stiletto heels, red lips, and tank tops under short jackets. And my big Betsey purse.
But today, I’m not about fashion, I’m about purpose. My last-ditch attempt to grab Spencer’s attention. I sigh as I fetch a pair of jeans from my dresser. They are old and ripped in the knees. I slip them on and notice they are a lot looser than the last time I wore them. I like my jeans tight, so I almost take them off, but really, I’m in the mood for loose today. I grab a Shrike Bikes t-shirt. This one used to be red, but has faded to an almost grayish-pink color. It has a vintage pinup girl riding a WWII-style bomb. Over the girl it says Spencer Shrike, but the words below are what I love about it. It says Bombshell Bikes.
He made a bunch of different bombshell shirts specially for me back when he was trying out all his different logos. Now he uses the ravens and a few other things.
But this bombshell piece was like an arrow through my heart. It’s like carving Spencer and Ronnie sitting in a tree on the picnic table in my back yard. Which I did the very first week we met.
I smile a little at this as I fasten my lacy pink bra and tug the shirt over my head. I slip on my old black Frye Harness boots and grab the leather jacket off the sturdy hanger.
I sigh as I look at it. And then I giggle. I stole this from him last year. Back when I could tell he was getting ready to leave me behind just as his business and body-painting careers were taking off. It scared the shit out of me and I wanted something more than a t-shirt that would keep me connected to him. Spencer never gave me a motorcycle jacket all painted up like he did Rook. And I do admit, I’m insanely jealous of that jacket she has.
But this jacket that I swear to f**king God I can still smell his musky scent on makes up for all that sadness and what I’m about to do today. Well, it’s a defining moment for me.
I slip my arms into the smooth sleeves of the leather and put my hair up in a ponytail. The contents of my purse are exchanged into a backpack and then I walk out of the room.
Spencer thinks he can just boss me around, leave me hanging after getting himself off, and there’s not gonna be consequences?
Yeah, right, buddy.
“Shit, Ronnie, took you long—” Rook stops talking as she takes in my outfit. I’m a girl who dresses for the occasion and Rook knows this. “No,” she says. “You said you wanted me to help you haul it back to town on the truck, Veronica.”
I tilt my head up and smile. “I know what I said. But I lied. Else you’d say no. But you already sold me the bike, Rook. It’s mine. All I need is a ride out to the farm to pick it up.”
My phone buzzes in my backpack and I grab it, hoping it’s Spencer calling to apologize or maybe stop by after lunch to finish me off…
No such luck. “Carson,” I say into the phone after I accept the call. “I’ve been thinking about that dinner invitation you gave me last week…”
“No, Veronica,” he cuts me off. “That’s not why I’m calling. I know you were looking for a car, so I lined up a friend of mine to show you some nice prospects tonight.”
