Page 8 of Kodiak

“So he’s a manwhore, but you’re not?” As Luna asks me this, her eyebrows raise into her hairline. Called out. It seems my little Moon has a backbone and isn’t afraid to ask the hard questions.

“Depends on the day,” I say, trying to deflect her question. “I’m no saint, Luna. And I’m far from virginal. I live a rough and rowdy life and there are times when I need to release the stress before it explodes.”

“I get it,” she murmurs, but I know that for women like her, what I’ve admitted to is a turn off. She needs to be looking for greener pastures because my shit is dead and brown.

When I think of somebody like Luna, all I can imagine is that she's looking for a man who can give her the whole nine yards—white picket fence, two kids puttering around the house and a dog barking in the background. I know I’ll never be that man and should end things here and now before it gets complicated. But I’m a sonofabitch who feels a tug toward her and when something appeals to me on the level that she does, I snatch that shit up and use it until I’ve lost interest.

Does this make me a motherfucker? I’m sure it does, but that doesn’t mean I’ll change my ways. I won’t apologize for who I’ve become, my belligerent anger is ingrained in my DNA. Abandoned by my parents, then being raised by grandparents who weren’t interested in investing their time into two emotionally damaged boys, and friends who only used us for what we could do for them has filled me with a simmering rage. Meaning, those friends used us for our protection seeing as we hit a growth spurt before any of our classmates and were intimidating to those smaller than us.

By definition, we were bullies, ones made by our peers. I won’t say we succumbed to pressure the way most teens do, but we gota high off being bigger and badder than those around us. Hell, our reputations were such that we seldom had to do anything more than glare. Our fists were rarely used, although from time to time, we did what we had to in order to prove a point.

“Ready to throw me away yet, Luna?”

“Why? Because you have a past, Marcum? That’d make me a hypocrite, wouldn’t it?” she poses the question. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of, things I’m sure would be a reason for you to bail on me before getting to know me.”

“Like what?” I ask, wanting to dig deep into her psyche and bury myself in it until I know her better than she knows herself.

“Buy me a few drinks and I’ll tell you all about it,” she proposes, smiling at me as she hands over our entrance tickets to the ladies manning the door.

“After you,” I say, swiping my arm toward the door.

“I’ll grab us our free drinks, Marcum. Why don’t you find us a table?”

I nod my head without giving her my drink order. Curious about what she’ll bring back for me and hoping it’s a cold beer and not some fruity chick drink with an umbrella as its garnish.

I walk toward a table while she heads to the bar.

CHAPTER FIVE

LUNA

My bravery beginsto waver as I stand in line.

What the hell was I thinking laying my life’s woes at his feet the way I did?

Who am I?

I’m somebody different with him than with anybody else and I’d love to know why that is. I don’t usually throw all of my dirty laundry at people and expect them to fold it for me. Especially when it’s a stranger I’ve just met and want to impress. Word vomiting isn’t my best attribute which is why I always think over what I want to say before expressing my thoughts out loud.

What is it about him that makes me so comfortable and confident?

Without overanalyzing myself and my instant reaction to him, I decide to just go with the flow as I order our drinks off the menu. If nothing more than a night of tantalizing conversation is meant to be, it’s okay. I didn’t come to this signing expecting to find theman of my dreams. I was here to connect with those who love the written word full of angst and romance as much as I do—not salivate over Marcum and fill my head with whimsical fairytales.

Without cognitive thought, my feet eat up the distance between us as I spot him in a dark corner with his back against the wall. As I take all of him in, the cut laid over his shoulders catches my eye. Could it be that he’s my fantasy come to life? How I didn’t notice the leather before now is a mystery, but now I find myself more intrigued with him than I was before.

“I got you a beer,” I tell him, dangling it in front of him. “I watched as they filled a Jack and coke order and it seemed watered down and I didn’t think you’d appreciate that.”

“Beer’s good,” he says as he reaches out and plucks the bottle from my hands. “Look at that, they even removed the cap.”

“Yeah. But I watched it the entire time,” I swear. “Nothing was slipped inside of it. You’d have known if there was.”

“Oh yeah? Tell me how I would’ve known that, Luna?”

“Ever seen a cat fight before, Marcum?’

“A time or two,” he says around a chuckle. “Would you have thrown fists for me, Luna Moon?”

“If the bartender or a patron was dumb enough to try something as ignorant as that, damn straight I would have,” I respond with an emphatic nod of my head.

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