Silver Bastard
Page 22
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Later that night I lay back on an old blanket under the stars. We’d settled on the river bar just past the bridge, and a small campfire glowed not far away. Danielle and Blake were off in the bushes laughing and wrestling around, which should’ve been awkward but wasn’t somehow.
Joe was great. Super. Exactly the kind of man I needed.
We’d made out for a while, and while he didn’t gross me out, he didn’t do much for me, either. But when I asked him to stop, he agreed easily enough. Not that he wasn’t interested—I’d felt enough action down below to know he was definitely into me—but I liked the way he respected my boundaries.
“It’s gorgeous out here,” I murmured, one of the greatest understatements of the century. The stars were a million jewels painted across the sky and the burble of the shallow river over the rocks could’ve soothed Charles Manson, it was so ridiculously peaceful.
“I love this place,” Joe said. “Been coming out here since I was a kid.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-two. Born just a couple miles down the valley. I know a lot of people can’t wait to get out of here, but I can’t imagine living anywhere else. What about you?”
God, I hated that question.
“I’m from California,” I said slowly. “Moved up here about five years ago.”
“We didn’t go to high school together,” he said. “I would’ve remembered. You’re kind of a mystery girl, aren’t you?”
I shrugged, not liking the idea of being “mysterious.” I wanted to be normal. Boring. Under the radar . . .
“Not really. Family life wasn’t so good down south, so when I got the chance to leave, I took it. Regina and Earl Murray took me in, helped me get on my feet. Now I wait tables and go to beauty school.”
“Got a feeling that’s not the whole story, but I don’t want to push,” he said. “I had fun tonight. You think you’d be interested in seeing each other again?”
I considered the question.
“Yeah, I might be interested,” I said finally, wondering why I didn’t get the same thrill from Joe that I got from Puck. Mom always went for the dangerous ones, too, and guess who paid the price? Fuck that. I needed to pull my head out of my ass and appreciate the man I was with. “I want to take things nice and slow, though. If that’s a problem, we should probably let it go . . .”
He kissed the top of my head.
“Not a problem,” he said. “Not a problem at all. But I’ve got a question for you.”
“What’s that?” I asked, my stomach sinking. Please don’t let him ask about Puck . . .
“You have history with Puck Redhouse,” he stated. “That’s obvious. That something I should be worrying about?”
Yes! Everyone should worry about Puck—he’s dangerous!
“No. No problem there—Puck and I knew each other for a while, once. That’s all. There’s no history. Nothing that matters now.”
My stomach twisted as I said it, because that was a big fucking lie. Puck definitely mattered. There was Life Before Puck and Life After Puck, and those two lives had nothing in common.
But the first life was firmly in the past and I needed it to stay there. Maybe Joe could be part of the second. Snuggling deeper into his arm, I savored his warmth and for the first time in years considered what it might be like to have a decent man in my life.
This is what we want, my brain said firmly. Now enjoy it.
THREE
PUCK
The sound of the phone woke me. Carlie groaned.
“Make it stop,” she murmured, although I could tell she wasn’t really awake. “Don’t wanna get up.”
Rolling to the side of the bed, I sat up and reached for the handset, wondering for the thousandth time when we’d finally get some fucking cell towers here in the north valley. Should’ve stayed at her house. Wouldn’t have been able to track me down there.
“Puck, it’s Boonie,” my president said. Scratch that—he’d have found me at her place, too. Carlie was good people, and she knew how things were with the club. More than one church meeting had happened in her living room over the past couple of years. I kept thinking Deep would claim her, but she didn’t seem quite ready to settle down with one man. For now, she drifted through different beds, which seemed to work for her.
Worked for me, too.
I’d been horny as fuck last night, no pun intended. It’d been six months since I’d seen Becca—the woman was more beautiful now than she’d ever been. She’d turned twenty-one three months ago . . . Three months I’d spent reminding myself of all the reasons I should stay away from her—the same reasons that’d kept me away the last five years. She’d been abused by bikers. In her eyes I was probably the best of the lot, which was a fucking shameful thought to tolerate. She was terrified of motorcycle clubs and me and just about everything, and whenever I tried to talk to her, she flinched. Oh, and she was too goddamn young.
Except she wasn’t too young anymore.
That’s what really messed with my head. If I wanted her, I could take her. Nobody would stop me—not even Becca. She was hot for it, which was painfully obvious despite her best efforts to stay distant.
I’d be flattered if her response wasn’t to pretend I didn’t exist.
So instead of opening my window, walking over, and staking a claim to what my dick asserted (strongly) was my rightful property, I’d fucked Carlie instead. She wasn’t the one I wanted but the woman was a yoga teacher. What kind of dumbass turns that down?
Later that night I lay back on an old blanket under the stars. We’d settled on the river bar just past the bridge, and a small campfire glowed not far away. Danielle and Blake were off in the bushes laughing and wrestling around, which should’ve been awkward but wasn’t somehow.
Joe was great. Super. Exactly the kind of man I needed.
We’d made out for a while, and while he didn’t gross me out, he didn’t do much for me, either. But when I asked him to stop, he agreed easily enough. Not that he wasn’t interested—I’d felt enough action down below to know he was definitely into me—but I liked the way he respected my boundaries.
“It’s gorgeous out here,” I murmured, one of the greatest understatements of the century. The stars were a million jewels painted across the sky and the burble of the shallow river over the rocks could’ve soothed Charles Manson, it was so ridiculously peaceful.
“I love this place,” Joe said. “Been coming out here since I was a kid.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-two. Born just a couple miles down the valley. I know a lot of people can’t wait to get out of here, but I can’t imagine living anywhere else. What about you?”
God, I hated that question.
“I’m from California,” I said slowly. “Moved up here about five years ago.”
“We didn’t go to high school together,” he said. “I would’ve remembered. You’re kind of a mystery girl, aren’t you?”
I shrugged, not liking the idea of being “mysterious.” I wanted to be normal. Boring. Under the radar . . .
“Not really. Family life wasn’t so good down south, so when I got the chance to leave, I took it. Regina and Earl Murray took me in, helped me get on my feet. Now I wait tables and go to beauty school.”
“Got a feeling that’s not the whole story, but I don’t want to push,” he said. “I had fun tonight. You think you’d be interested in seeing each other again?”
I considered the question.
“Yeah, I might be interested,” I said finally, wondering why I didn’t get the same thrill from Joe that I got from Puck. Mom always went for the dangerous ones, too, and guess who paid the price? Fuck that. I needed to pull my head out of my ass and appreciate the man I was with. “I want to take things nice and slow, though. If that’s a problem, we should probably let it go . . .”
He kissed the top of my head.
“Not a problem,” he said. “Not a problem at all. But I’ve got a question for you.”
“What’s that?” I asked, my stomach sinking. Please don’t let him ask about Puck . . .
“You have history with Puck Redhouse,” he stated. “That’s obvious. That something I should be worrying about?”
Yes! Everyone should worry about Puck—he’s dangerous!
“No. No problem there—Puck and I knew each other for a while, once. That’s all. There’s no history. Nothing that matters now.”
My stomach twisted as I said it, because that was a big fucking lie. Puck definitely mattered. There was Life Before Puck and Life After Puck, and those two lives had nothing in common.
But the first life was firmly in the past and I needed it to stay there. Maybe Joe could be part of the second. Snuggling deeper into his arm, I savored his warmth and for the first time in years considered what it might be like to have a decent man in my life.
This is what we want, my brain said firmly. Now enjoy it.
THREE
PUCK
The sound of the phone woke me. Carlie groaned.
“Make it stop,” she murmured, although I could tell she wasn’t really awake. “Don’t wanna get up.”
Rolling to the side of the bed, I sat up and reached for the handset, wondering for the thousandth time when we’d finally get some fucking cell towers here in the north valley. Should’ve stayed at her house. Wouldn’t have been able to track me down there.
“Puck, it’s Boonie,” my president said. Scratch that—he’d have found me at her place, too. Carlie was good people, and she knew how things were with the club. More than one church meeting had happened in her living room over the past couple of years. I kept thinking Deep would claim her, but she didn’t seem quite ready to settle down with one man. For now, she drifted through different beds, which seemed to work for her.
Worked for me, too.
I’d been horny as fuck last night, no pun intended. It’d been six months since I’d seen Becca—the woman was more beautiful now than she’d ever been. She’d turned twenty-one three months ago . . . Three months I’d spent reminding myself of all the reasons I should stay away from her—the same reasons that’d kept me away the last five years. She’d been abused by bikers. In her eyes I was probably the best of the lot, which was a fucking shameful thought to tolerate. She was terrified of motorcycle clubs and me and just about everything, and whenever I tried to talk to her, she flinched. Oh, and she was too goddamn young.
Except she wasn’t too young anymore.
That’s what really messed with my head. If I wanted her, I could take her. Nobody would stop me—not even Becca. She was hot for it, which was painfully obvious despite her best efforts to stay distant.
I’d be flattered if her response wasn’t to pretend I didn’t exist.
So instead of opening my window, walking over, and staking a claim to what my dick asserted (strongly) was my rightful property, I’d fucked Carlie instead. She wasn’t the one I wanted but the woman was a yoga teacher. What kind of dumbass turns that down?
