Taking The Heat (9 page)

I pulled the door open and peered into the empty dining area. As soon as I saw Sydney, I realized I had totally forgotten to ask her about her brother. I stood and gazed at her admiringly as she told a story to Sarah and Kate. I continued to watch as she talked to the two girls, laughing and waving her arms as they listened intently. She was a beautiful woman and had a fantastic personality. For having very little she was extremely pleased and seemed content with what she did have. In some respects I became envious as I watched her, wishing I too could find the happiness she seemed to naturally possess. As the three girls began laughing at what appeared to be the end of a story Sydney had told, I recalled something my grandfather explained to me as a teenager.

Cambio, we all have a goal in life, an objective. If you surround yourself with people who share your passion and ambition; your desire will soon be at your fingertips. If you surround yourself with those who have different goals, yours will slowly become out of reach. Choose your friends wisely, Capisce?

As I stood and watched the girls continue to laugh, I decided spending more time getting to know Sydney just might be in my best interest.

SYDNEY

The sound of a motorcycle coming down the block caused me to jump from my seat and run to the window. After pulling the blinds slightly to the side and peeking outside, my suspicions and hope converged.

Shit.

I ran to the bathroom, grabbed my compact, and frantically began dabbing powder on my face. After a good dusting, I stood back and looked in the mirror. For a thirty second make-over, I looked pretty damned good. Except for my…

Hair.

Shit.

I pulled the hair tie from my hair and shook my head. A few seconds into teasing my hair with my fingers, and the doorbell rang. Eager to see Toad again after just having seen him three days prior, I took one more glance in the mirror and grinned.

Here goes nothing…

I tossed my compact into my makeup bag and threw it under the sink. After tip-toeing to the door, I turned, tiptoed into the kitchen, opened the cupboard, and rattled a few dishes around. As I began to close the cupboard door, the doorbell rang again.

“Coming,” I shouted.

“Sorry, I was putting up the dishes,” I said as I opened the door.

Expressionless, Toad stood on the porch and stared through the screen door. I leaned forward and pushed it open. As I held the door and slowly shifted my gaze upward, I noticed his cut was covered in blood and he wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath it.

“You alright?” I asked as he stepped inside.

I knew better than to ask too much. His business as a Sinner was his business and the club’s business, it certainly wasn’t mine. Regardless, I was human, and so was he. The woman in me wanted to help him with whatever he needed, but the sensible side of me argued to leave it alone and keep my mouth shut. As always, the woman in me prevailed.

“Your cut’s got a little blood on it. If you want to take it off, I’ll clean it real quickly for you,” I said as he walked to the table and sat down.

Without speaking, he stood, removed the cut, and held it in his hand.

Oh dear fucking God. I really wasn’t ready for this.

His body was that of a male underwear model. Without his cut, and standing shirtless, he looked like an Italian Abercrombie and Fitch model. Easily passing for ten years his junior, he could have told me he was in his early twenties and I sure would have believed him. Although I told myself not to, I couldn’t help but stare at his abs as I reached for his cut. As I stood and gazed his direction, as if to make matters worse, he turned to his left. Revealing the Marine Corps Eagle, Globe, and Anchor tattoo, and several tattoos on his left forearm sealed the deal in the
Toad’s sexy
department. Now gawking at his tattooed left side, his pronounced rip cage, and washboard abs, I knew I better speak or I’d forever look like a fool. As I swallowed heavily, my racing heart confirmed the lack of a male companion in my life, and just how well Toad checked all of the applicable boxes of my mental application for employment.

“Yeah, I uhhm. I’ll just be right here in the kitchen where you can uhhm…”

Oh dear Lord don’t turn away
.

As he faced the window, I turned toward the kitchen and continued.

“…see me, I know you can’t let me take this anywhere. No worries,” I said over my shoulder as I walked into the kitchen.

Did he have a really pronounced chest? Killer pecs?

I quickly glanced in his direction. Now facing me and staring blankly at the table, I felt as if he was inviting me to take another look.

Yep, sure does.

I turned toward the kitchen sink and grinned, “Should just take me a few minutes. If you want to just stand there, I’ll be done in a minute,” I said cheerily as I reached into the cabinet.

After laying the cut flat on the counter, I realized most of the blood was on the lower left side. I poured vinegar over the bloodstain and allowed it to become soaked. Dabbing it with a clean kitchen towel removed the majority of the blood immediately. A second application removed all of the
red
stains I could see, but left discoloration on the leather. More than likely, this was as good as it was going to get. Somewhat distracted by my desire to clean the cut, I forgot he might still be standing beside the table behind me. I nonchalantly peered over my right shoulder.

Yep. Still there, still shirtless, and still looks ahhhmazing.

“Pretty tough stain, I may need to treat it with cornstarch. We’ll have to wait for it to dry,” I shrugged.

“I don’t have to be anywhere, just wanted to hang out for a while,” he mumbled.

After mixing cornstarch with water and making a cornstarch paste, I smeared it over the entire left lower side of the cut and carefully carried it to the table. Now standing with his arms crossed in front of his chest, he watched as I placed it flat on the table.

“After it dries, we can wipe that off of there. I think it’ll be just fine. Happened a few times with my brother and some of his friends,” I said as pulled a chair away from the table.

“You can sit,” I said as I sat down.

He uncrossed his arms and sighed. The “V” shape in his lower abdomen that every man wants but select few ever obtain drew my eyes to it like a moth to a flame. I stared with my chin in my lap as it slowly disappeared below the table.

Or you could stand back up.

“I’d offer you a shirt if I had one that’d fit,” I said, glad that everything I owned was much smaller than he possibly could wear.

“Normally keep some clean ones on the bike, but not today,” he said flatly.

“So, you want something to drink?” I asked.

“I’m alright,” he responded.

“So, you don’t have an Ol’ Lady?” as the words escaped my lips, I realized what I had said and wished I had worded it differently.

“Nope,” he responded.

I nodded my head.

He turned to face me and rested his elbows on the table. After studying me for a long moment, he rested his chin in his hand and grinned.

“And you’re single?” he breathed.

“Sure am,” I said with a smile.

“How can that be? You’re gorgeous, cool as fuck, and…” he paused and pressed his forearms onto the table as he leaned forward.

Officially melted.

As his gaze met mine, he grinned, “Well, you’re just fun to be around.”

Oh dear God.

“Well, I’ve been in a few shitty relationships. You know, guys beating on me and that type stuff. I told myself I’d never be in another relationship that wasn’t what
I
wanted,” I responded. 

“What do you want?” he asked as he relaxed into the back of his chair.

As much as I wanted to tell him what I suspected he wanted to hear, I refused to do so. The complications of my past relationships needed to stay where they were, in my past. In my future, I needed to make sure whatever I decided to do, and whoever I decided to do it with was for all of the right reasons and with all of the best of expectations.

“Me? Well, I want a man who will treat me properly. I don’t want flowers and some romantic courtship, but I want to be as close to an equal as I can be. I know I’m a woman, but I’m human, not a dog. And I want a guy I can be friends with, that’s really important. And I guess especially after what I’ve been through, I don’t want any rough stuff. I love sex more than most women, but I don’t like being slapped around, beaten, choked, or having some asshole try and see how far he can shove his cock down my throat. I just want a conventional relationship with an unconventional man. If I can’t get that, I’ll settle for nothing,” I stopped talking and waited for a reaction.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. As he lowered his chin into his hand, he smiled a soft smile, “You’ll get it. You’re too damned perfect to have to settle for anything less.”

I stared blankly at his face, absorbing what he had said. An immeasurable amount of time passed. I may or may not have drooled on my hand and immediately came back down to earth to wipe it off.

“I hope so,” I sighed.

He glanced over each shoulder, and began looking around the room. As his eyes became fixed on me, he began to speak again.

“Listen, I’m feeling pretty exhausted. I just, well I don’t want to go home right now. You know? I uhhm…I was wanting to know if I could just hang out here…kind of relax. You mind if I uhhm…if I rest here for a bit?” he stammered.

I nervously glanced around the room, “Uhhm, no. Not at all. I don’t have a couch or anything yet, but you can lie down on my bed if you want.”

“You sure?’ he asked as he stood.

I gazed up at his shirtless body and nodded my head, “Quite.”

“Just for a bit,” he sighed.

“As long as you need,” I smiled as I began walking toward my bedroom.

After following me into the bedroom, he removed his boots and sat down on the bed. A quick survey of the room later, and he turned to me and smiled, “I like what you’ve done with this room. The paint looks great.”

“Thank you,” I grinned.

He lowered himself onto the bed and covered his eyes with his forearm. Although it wasn’t much past mid-afternoon, within a matter of seconds, he was asleep.

In gazing down at him as he lay on the bed, I didn’t see a biker or a shirtless Italian model. I saw a man who desperately needed rest, comfort, and no one to judge him for what he may have been involved in. I turned to the door and pulled it closed behind me.

After a few hours, I dusted the cornstarch from his cut. A light brushing and it looked as good as a ten year old leather cut ever could. Quietly, I tiptoed to the room and opened the door. Still asleep on the bed, it was apparent he was exhausted.

I softly placed the cut beside him, closed the door and cooked dinner. After opening the door and wafting the smell of my pasta primavera and baked chicken into the room for several minutes - to no avail - I decided he needed to continue sleeping.

After almost three hours had passed, I tiptoed to the room and opened the door. His light snoring confirmed what I had expected.

Two hours later, after putting up the dishes and cleaning everything in the house at least twice, I needed some rest myself. I tiptoed to the room, opened the door, and walked to the edge of the bed. After kicking my flats off to the side, I raised my legs onto the bed carefully, scooted in beside him, and relaxed. The warmth of his body and the light buzzing of his breathing provided a level of comfort I had forgotten even existed.

When I woke the next morning, he was gone.

I walked to into the living room, and immediately noticed a folded sheet of my stationary on the table. I reached down, picked it up and unfolded it. As I stared down at the perfect penmanship, I smiled and read what he had written.

Sydney,

Thanks for everything. And don’t worry about finding your man, one day he’ll find you. 

Cambio

I folded the paper, hesitated, and unfolded it again. After re-reading it, I folded it and placed it on the table.

I hope you’re right, Cambio.

And I hope he’s just like you.

.

TOAD

Otis took a drink from the bottle of beer, extended his arm, and stared at the label, “You know he doesn’t act like it’s a big deal, but I can see a huge difference in him. What the fuck is this shit, anyway?”

“I don’t know, waitress recommended it while you were pissing. How much of it do you think is her, and how much is just that he’s getting laid?” I shrugged as I studied the label on my beer bottle.

Otis tipped up the beer and took a long drink. As he lowered the bottle, he scrunched his nose and shook his head, “Don’t order any more of these if I live long enough to piss again.”

He stared at the bottle again, “Says
Founders Breakfast Stout
. I feel like I’m drinking mashed potatoes and fucking gravy. This is the thickest fucker I’ve ever tried to drink. Why’d you order this nasty shit?”

I choked down a swallow of the dark beer and shook my head at the taste, “Waitress recommended it.”

Otis tipped up his bottle and finished the beer. As he slid the empty bottle to the end of the table, he rolled his eyes, “I swear, men do some dumb shit sometimes to impress women.”

“I didn’t do it to impress her,” I said as I sniffed the mouth of the bottle.

“Smells like it tastes, doesn’t it?  Like shit. So tell me, would you have agreed on a bottle of black beer that said
breakfast
on it if some dude would have recommended it?” he asked as he waved in the waitress’ direction.

I shrugged my shoulders, “I don’t know.”

“Well,
you
might not, but I sure as fuck do. You’d have told him to fuck off and ordered a couple of Budweiser’s. Some chick asked you if you wanted to try it, or better yet,” he paused and leaned his forearms onto the edge of the table.

“I’m going to guess it went something like this. She walks up and says,
What can I get you?
You don’t want to sound like a basic biker so you respond,
Oh, hell I don’t know. What have you got?
She names fifty different types of beer. You look up at her with a confused look. Not because you’re trying to look cute, but because you ain’t so much as heard of half the shit she names off. So you say
, what do you recommend?
How am I doing so far?”

“I’d say pretty good,” I said as I slid my half full beer to the edge of the table.

“She responds,
I like the
…” he grabbed the empty bottle and turned the label to face him.

“
I like the Founders Stout.
And you respond,
Sounds good, bring us a couple
. Now she didn’t tell you to try ‘em because they’re a crowd favorite or even that they taste good. She either did it because they’re ten bucks a bottle and she wants to rack up a high tab, or because they only have two of them fuckers left in the cooler and they’re getting rotten because no one will drink those nasty fuckers. Now let me ask you something, Toad. You ever had a bad Budweiser?” he leaned away from the table and slid to the end of the booth, waiting on my answer.

I shook my head, “I guess not.”

“You guess not,” he chuckled.

“Well, that’s what we do for women, we drink beer that tastes like it came out of the ass of an elephant. It’s instinctual behavior for a man to try and impress them. Drinking the shitty beer is the result.”

I leaned back in the booth and stared down at my boots. As I shifted my gaze upward, I attempted to salvage my manhood, “I wasn’t trying to impress her. I just agreed to try the beer.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” he chuckled.

“Where were we earlier?” he asked.

“Axton and Avery,” I muttered as I turned toward the approaching waitress and grinned.

“Oh, yeah. How much of it’s because of her and how much is because he’s getting laid. I’d say part of it’s her and part of it’s the fact he’s happy for the first time in his life. None of it’s because he’s getting laid. Slice don’t give half a fuck about sex. Avery’s a good damned woman. As far as Ol’ Ladies go, she’s as good as it gets,” he paused and turned to face the waitress.

She smiled and cocked her head to the side, “Hey. You want two more Founders?”

Otis smiled and shook his head as he slid the two bottles to the edge of the table, “It was all I could do to choke the first one down and my buddy couldn’t even finish his. How about a couple Bud’s?”

“Bottle or draft?” she asked.

“Bottle,” Otis nodded.

“Be right back,” she smiled.

Otis shifted his gaze to meet mine and raised one eyebrow, “See?”

“What?” I asked.

“Well, I told her mine tasted like shit, and you couldn’t finish yours. She didn’t respond with
oh, wow I can’t believe that, everyone loves them
, or
that’s hard to believe
. She didn’t say shit, because she knew they were nasty fuckers. Now, let’s get back to what we were talking about, women. We all want a woman. I don’t give a shit who you are. A man wants a woman in his life. Some of us don’t want to admit it, and others keep ‘em at bay like they’re trying to preserve their feelings or keep from hurting ‘em. Deep down inside we want one that suits us, Slice included. Hell, he’d been ten or fifteen years without a woman, and I ain’t so sure, but I think he’d gone the same amount of time without even getting any pussy. That motherfucker
hated
women. Look at him now,” he paused as the waitress walked up with the two bottles of beer.

“Here you go,” she smiled as she placed the beers on the table.

“Appreciate it,” Otis nodded.

As he slid a beer across the table he grinned, “Answer this. Don’t look at her or turn around, just look at me and answer. What color is the waitress’ fingernail polish?”

I shrugged, “Fuck I don’t know.”

“
Grey.
Eye color?” he asked.

“Got no idea,” I responded as I grabbed the beer.

“
Green with brown specs
. I bet without turning around you don’t even know her hair color,” he said.

“Blonde,” I responded.

“Good guess.
It’s dark brown
. You know for a motherfucker who pays attention to everything around him, you sure as fuck aren’t paying attention to her. Want to know why?” he asked as he raised the bottle of beer to his lips.

“Sure,” I nodded as I took a drink.

“Right now
she
doesn’t interest you beyond the normal instinct you have to try and impress her. Right now, you’ve got that cute little bitch, Sydney, on your mind,” he chuckled.

“Bullshit,” I sighed.

Otis slid to the back of his seat, “You’re full of shit. For the first half hour we were here, you mentioned her four times.”

“For fucks sake, I mentioned her once,” I snapped.

Otis shook his head, released the bottle of beer from his grasp, and raised his fist in the air. As he spoke, he extended his index finger, “We no more than sat down and you said she made the best tea you’ve ever tasted.”

He extended his middle finger, “Later, after we’d talked for fifteen minutes about whether or not beating a man’s ass was a sin, you said she was a runner and asked if I thought she had a good body.”

He extended his ring finger, “Then, right after we finished the first beer, that fucking apple cider bullshit you made me drink, you told me about Junior’s rib, taking her to the bar, and that she had a great personality and was always happy. Then you started asking about Avery and Axton, and right before I went to piss…”

He extended his pinkie, “You said she was a natural on the back of your bike, and bragged on how well she rode back from Wichita and how well she rode to the restaurant.”

“That was one long conversation not four separate ones,” I shrugged.

“Again, tell yourself whatever you want to, brother. You know,” he paused and situated himself in the back of the booth, against the wall.

“Here in the last week or so, something with you changed. I ain’t trying to say it’s Sydney, because it might not be. Maybe it was that trashy assed Sloan, I don’t know. But
something
happened. Slice and I were talking about it yesterday. You know I asked you to come in here to have a few beers. I did it because I wanted to talk to you about this. As soon as we sat down, you started asking about Slice and his Ol’ Lady. How he’d changed and seemed happy…”

“Hold on, motherfucker,” I grumbled.

Otis held his hand in the air, “
You
hold on. Let me finish what I’m trying to say.”

I shifted my body lengthwise in the seat of the booth, facing the bar instead of facing Otis. As I stared blankly at the bar, I lifted my boots into the seat in front of me and leaned against the back of the booth.

“Whatever. Go ahead,” I said as I grabbed my beer and relaxed into the seat.

“You know Toad,
normally
you’d be a hard motherfucker for someone to figure out. You fill your day with dumb shit to do. You don’t really have anything you
have
to do, but you’re all over the fucking place. Going here. Going there. You stay busy doing
nothing
. With the fellas you laugh and joke and you’re an all-around good motherfucker to be around. But you have these mood swings. Slice and I always figured it was the war. When you get mad, you get
mad
. I’ve seen you beat a motherfucker’s ass a damned sight more than it needed beat on more than one occasion. I’m the biggest motherfucker in the club, but who’s been in the most fights in the last five years that you’ve been around?”

I looked over my left shoulder and raised my eyebrows as I tipped up my beer and took a sip. I knew he would tell me, but I lacked a little interest in hearing where the conversation was headed.

“
You
. Without a fucking doubt. You’ve probably been in ten or twelve fights in five years. Actual
fights
. Not bullshit or shoving a motherfucker, but fighting. Closest motherfucker to you, short of Slice, has probably been in one or two. I ain’t callin’ you out, I’m just saying you’ve normally got a lot of anger inside of you, brother.
Something
. And whatever it is, you
normally
run from it. Hell, even the women you fuck with, you don’t just fuck ‘em. You choke ‘em and slap ‘em and tie ‘em up. I know you ain’t raping these bitches, but you’re like a fucking sadist or something. I mean
really
brother, who wraps a bitches head in Saran Wrap and fucks her? I’m guessing it’s a short fucking list,” he paused and shook his head lightly.

He lifted his beer, took a long drink, and continued, “So again,
normally
you fight with yourself. You know; the entire good and evil thing. You always want to do what’s right, what’s justified, and what’s good in the eyes of God in
your
opinion. Somehow, you justify your actions. And I guess what I’m saying is that here recently, something’s changed, or it’s damned sure
changing
. It’s not that you’re getting soft, but you’re acting
different
. You gave Sydney the house. You said you bought Junior a truck, trailer, and lawn equipment. And as far as I know, you ain’t fucked anyone since you took Sloan to Corn Dog’s place; or at least you ain’t said anything about it if you have,” he hesitated and shrugged his shoulders slightly.

I shook my head and shifted my gaze to my boots. As I studied the laces, I began to feel uneasy. I took another sip of my beer. My eyes began to feel itchy. I blinked a few times and took another sip of beer. I didn’t realize anyone could see a difference in me, but if they could, maybe it was…

I stared down at my boot laces, realizing I was roughly one breath away from snapping.

“I’ll take that as a
no
. It just confirms what I was thinking and why I wanted to come here and talk. So anyway, the week or so you’ve been a little more concerned with what you’re doing. You’re being more of a do-gooder, asking questions about what people think, even arguing with Slice about a woman’s place in a man’s heart. So, did something happen? Is the war gettin’ to you? Brother, if you need to take some time and go to the VA for therapy, or whatever it is, you know you can talk to me, Toad. It’ll stay here,” he motioned toward me with his hand and then pointed to himself.

I looked over my shoulder, shifted my gaze to meet his, and opened my mouth. As much as I wanted to speak, I knew if I did, I’d lose my composure. The entire thing just seemed childish. To talk to one of the fellas about it would make me seem weak, incapable, and unable to effectively act as their Sergeant at Arms and protect them.

I glanced down at my boots.

After a long moment of staring at my boots, I looked up and nodded my head once. I felt as if I needed to say
something
, but my throat told me otherwise. I swallowed heavily as I felt my eyes well with tears. I shifted my gaze slightly to the left.