The Possibility of Trey (6 page)

"Yeah to the promotion part," Trey replied before finishing his own drink. It was the breathed, "we'll see about the rest," which had Dare almost choking on his tequila.

"C'mon, let's go see if we can make numb-nuts piss himself," Trey offered.

"Right behind you, Prez," Dare said with a smile.

He had a feeling things were going to get pretty interesting around the yard over the next six months.

.
.
.
.*

In the course of a given day, I didn't get a whole lot of 'me' time that wasn't spent with my eyes closed, but I'd carved out thirty minutes of each and every workday before the beginning of my shift just for that.

It was a time to think, to sort the 'needed to be done' from the 'should be done' crap. To reacquaint myself with the week's various appointments or to comprise a list of groceries that needed to be fetched before I'd take my tired ass home.

It was a chance to fucking breathe.

All accompanied by the driving beats of old-school 70's rock, a genre I'd stumbled on when I'd been fourteen. A smart-ass punk of a girl who'd gotten caught dead to rights mouthing off to her mother by her hard-assed dad. The punishment? Clean out the garage. Which was where I'd found boxes of old vinyl albums that had belonged to my grandfather. But it wasn't until I'd uncovered the old console stereo and put one on that I'd found my outlet—music that spoke to my heart in such a way that made the spirit trapped inside me want to soar as high and as free as it possibly could.

And even though I'd never had a chance to let that spirit out, the music stayed providing the hope that maybe
someday
I'd get the chance.

I eased myself out of the cab at 5.25 a.m. and pulled my tool belt on, adjusting its weight as it sat low on my hips. Between the clinking of my wallet's chain and the clunking of the various tools, my entry into the main HC building was never a quiet one. After punching in, I made my way past the different office doors and over where the rest of the crew were but before I got there I heard a sharp whistle.

"Sheridan! Office now!" Came the bark. Mr. Kettering wanted to see me and I hadn't a clue why.

"Sir?" I asked from the doorway, my hands moving to the tools to still their swaying. When I first started, I had bruises all around my waist from the heaviness of wearing the belt. But I'd grown a bit and my skin had obviously toughened up because unless I fell or bumped up against something hard, my hips remained without mark.

"Cop a squat," my boss instructed from across his desk as he pulled out some papers from a folder. Now
his
desk looked like a desk should, covered in all sorts of shit.

I took a seat across from him and waited.

"You've been promoted, Sheridan. You're now the lead of your crew, which is still working the Caldwell development. Your increase in pay will be on your next check, retroactive to today. At your level, you are expected to attend bi-monthly staff meetings and submit weekly status reports every Friday. You'll be expected to be a part of performance evaluations as well as all hiring and firing decisions for your nine-man group." His voice was machine-gun fast and my mind was racing to catch up to his words.

But all comprehension had basically left after the word 'promoted'.

"What?" I whispered.

A scowl dropped over Mr. Kettering's face at my one word question. "Did I stutter?"

"No, sir. But you
were
talking kind of quick," I replied on a swallow. For whatever reason, my mind chose that moment to remember that Mr. Jackson had called him by another name. 'Silo' I think he'd said. Which totally fit him since he was so tall and sported a completely smooth head. I didn't know if the chrome-dome was natural or done with a razor. He also had a Hellion's vest hanging off the back of his office chair. A fact I'd never noticed before.

The sigh that came out of his mouth gave evidence that his patience was already used up even at 5.30 in the morning.

"I'll try again since you and those of your persuasion tend to listen at a different speed." Oh yeah, the patience was gone and by his tone, he was starting to lean into the pissed off arena. "You. Promoted. More responsibilities and duties. More pay. I'll have Rita get the specifics to you. Questions?"

I shook my head. I wasn't going to be the one to set him off that day.

"Fine. Congrats and all that. Now getcha ass out there," he bellowed as he reached for his phone.

"Yes, sir. And, ah, thank you," I mumbled, clanking my way out of his office and over to the truck to where the boys were waiting.

I slowly walked the thirty to forty yards to where our truck was waiting, my mind going a million miles an hour. To say I was shocked at being promoted went without saying. I knew I was good, better than most of the guys on my crew. I'd always figured my gender would hold me back. But I also knew I had the respect of my crew, men that had come to see me not as a girl but as a co-worker willing to work her own fair share of the daily workload.

"So, did he want to fuck it or chew it?" Danny asked with a laugh as I pulled my hard hat out of one of the trucks side compartments.

"What?"

"Your ass. Did he want to fuck it or chew it?"

"Neither." I was used to the rough talk of the guys. I'd grown up around it since my dad had been a sailor and still cussed like one. In most instances, I didn't take offense and gave as good as I got. Unless the shit got a little too personal or a little too one-on-one then I shut it down.

It wasn't until both trucks were loaded and the crew had strapped themselves in that I told them. "They gave me lead."

"Shit, Sheridan…"

"A fucking lady boss. Goddamn, it's not bad enough I've gotta hand my balls to the bitch at home?"

"Last break'll probably be called afternoon tea or some shit…"

I knew I'd catch this kind of crap for the next few days so I let the remarks fly. But I also knew the guys I worked with were, for the most part, good men who worked hard. I'd give them a couple of days to settle into it, let them see that nothing had changed. And then use one of my size sevens to stomp out any remaining shit. I had their respect as a crew member and didn't think it would change much going forward as the one that would sign off on their timesheets, approve their vacations and get up in their face if they didn't give 110% to their work.

Settling myself into my seat of the truck, I latched in before realizing we weren't moving. I looked around and saw every face in the crew was turned in my direction. It took me a couple of beats before I realized what the delay was.

"Let's roll, boys," I said feeling the grin, the same grin that was echoed on each man's mug, lift both my lips and my spirits. "We've got work to do."

It was, after all, the crew leader's job to get the ball rolling each morning.

Why'd you say you'd bring a movie?
Trey thought wildly, standing in front of the automated DVD rental booth. The old man couldn't fucking see for Christ's sake and who knew what the sick wife would prefer in the way of flicks.

He heard someone clear their throat behind him as a polite reminder to get the lead out of his ass and just fucking choose. Pressured now by both his thoughts and the crowd that seemed to be growing behind him, Trey punched at the touch screen and grabbed the movie from the dispenser. He just hoped it was appropriate but had no fear that Dallas would let him know if it wasn't.

Dallas, huh?

She'd crept in and around his thoughts for the last few days as he'd started noticing her existence when she was on compound grounds. Her big ass F-150 for one. She was tiny but that damn truck wasn't. And he couldn't help but note that she liked old rock-and-roll played really loud when her ass was in it.

Silo said she hadn't seemed overly thrilled by the promo but, knowing Si, he'd probably barked it towards her at warp speed only giving enough info to say he'd done it before he turned it all over to Rita.

Trey had tried to make a point of catching up with her at the end of her shift to discuss her shithead brother, but that girl was up and gone as soon as her timecard was stamped. He knew she had a lot of responsibility at home so he couldn't begrudge her hauling her ass home as soon as possible. But how was a guy supposed to get his foot in the door with her if she didn't give him a chance?

Maybe tonight's date would help clear the way.

Wait…shit. What?

Foot in the door? A date?

What. The. Fuck.

He whipped his bike into the local drugstore's parking lot and shut off the engine.
You just need a moment to think
, he told himself.
Get yourself clear on tonight's program before you show up at the front door like some randy, pimply-faced teenager.

Trey didn't date. Didn't have a need to. When he needed a little something-something, he picked from what was available in whatever place he was at the moment. And there was always something pretty to pick from, chosen with nothing but a smile. He liked them wet, wanton and with just enough whore inside to know that a fuck did not equal any sort of a relationship. Very rarely did he go back for seconds, especially with civilians. Those women, the non-Honeys, got one shot with him at the compound with no exchange of numbers and no promises to call.

But that shit had gotten old about two years ago, and Trey had found himself not offering the smile very often as well as hustling their sweet asses out almost before the condom was flushed. It just all seemed so fucking…pointless. Sometimes, when he was in a mood, he'd call one of the other members to see about a three-way for some uncomplicated fun.

The black curls and nickel colored eyes of his little plumber obviously had him thinking differently. She was a beauty, one of the natural kind that didn't slap on the war paint or wiggle that tight, full heart-shaped ass in order to snag her a man. Her amazing mouth with its puffy lips didn't spew the standard one-liners, the double entendres whispered to gain the attention of whatever a dude had behind his zipper.

Maybe it was the fact that she
was
so goddamn different that'd captured then held his interest. That had him thinking about going out, just the two of them, to share a few beers and maybe a few laughs. Although she didn't look like she laughed much.

With her home life, Trey didn't think she got much of an opportunity.

Or maybe it was because it was dinner and a movie, even if it would include her parents. Dinner and a movie was the kind of stuff you did on a date, right? So it would only be normal for his brain to equate that to them seeing each other socially. A date kind of thing even though it wasn't.

Okay, so he was attracted to her because she was different than the girls that usually crawled all over him and his brain was turning it into a date because it contained dinner and a movie.

Whew! He felt like he'd just dodged some kind of bullet although he couldn't have said how or why.

All Trey knew was that he was a lot more settled on the last few blocks to her house than he had been all day.

Even though he couldn't help but remember how soft her skin had looked from the glow of the bathroom light as they'd stood in the hallway outside her brother's door.

How her eyes had been vulnerable and shimmering or how her moist lips had parted when his eyes had dropped to them.

.
.
.
.*

I was just slipping into a clean pink t-shirt after helping my mom get ready when I heard the knock at the front door.

"I'll get it," dad yelled down the hall and even through my closed bedroom door I could make out but a few words between the two men as Mr. Jackson once again entered our space. My mom's knock brought my attention back to myself.

"I'm coming," I advised, slipping my feet into a pair of thongs that had a tiny thin strip of sparkles.

Was I trying too hard?

She was all primped and pretty in one of her pink flowered shirts and had even added a touch of lipstick. Back in the day you wouldn't have found my mom without some color on her lips no matter what chore she was performing. It was nice to have that side of her back if even for only a couple of hours.

"I kind of liked having my bath earlier, Lally. Made me feel like tonight is a special occasion!" she cooed, linking arms with me as we stepped down the hall.

"There's my girls," dad said as I handed mom off to him and slid into the kitchen.

"Can I take your jacket, Mr. Jacks…erm, I mean, Trey?" I asked, trying for casual—like him bringing dinner was something he did every Friday night.

"Yeah, thanks. The cut, too," he murmured shrugging out of the leather bomber jacket that had been overlaid by his Hellions motorcycle vest. I glanced at it as I went to loop it on one of the hooks by the back door noticing one of his patches read, 'President'.

Okay, then. I was going to be having dinner and sharing a movie with the latest king of the royal bad-ass bikers in our neck of the woods.

To know that I was crushing on a man,
any
man with all I had going on in my life, was surprising. The fact that Trey was hot
and
a biker already spiked my pulse into a dangerous range.