Page 10 of Trip

Trip heard her growl her frustration into the bathroom, and that made him smile. Knowing she was naked and right fucking there had him trying to handle business on his own, but it wasn’t good enough.

Jess waltzed out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, and closed herself in the closet. The woman was all grace and sass. She emerged in a simple tee-shirt dress, nodded, and left. Trip laid there a few more moments while he listened to the sounds of her in the kitchen. Fantasies of what could’ve been assaulted him.

Through alcohol, weed, and women, he’d successfully derailed those thoughts over the years, but sobriety was a bitch and he went there.

Trip imagined they’d have at least a few kids. He’d still be in the military. Jess would be a kick-ass military wife. A house, an SUV, a boat, because why not, this was all a dream, anyway.

Fuck. He scrubbed his good hand down his face and headed to clean up. Untying the makeshift sling she’d made, he flexed his arm. Shit still fucking stung, but he could maneuver it a bit. Trip figured he could hold the bike up well enough to get back to Vegas in a few days. Of course, he’d have to drink a handle when he got there and have Whiskey take a look.

But that would satisfy Meri’s meddling, and he could see her and the kids before he took off. Now his focus was getting through the next few days without blue balls and a black soul.

After he was clean, he headed into the living area.

A stab of pain caught him again when he watched Jess as she served up two plates and set them on the table and doubled back for ginormous coffee mugs.

“Sit,” she ordered as she sat, bringing one leg under her ass and planting the other foot onto the chair, trapping the knee up between herself and the table. It was so cute and so Jess. It was all he could do not to smile. The past came flooding back, the good parts anyway. She didn’t even ask how he liked his coffee, she remembered.

He sat and reached for the jelly toast. Not sure how to make conversation with her. He wanted to know everything she’d done over the years for sure, but he didn’t know how to just casually speak to her. When Trip looked at Jess, he wanted to fuck her and make the past go away.

“So, Trip. Tell me what you’ve been up to?” she asked as she sipped her coffee. Both hands wrapped around the mug like she couldn’t get enough warmth from the cup.

It was hard to talk about himself. He was out of practice. Most women saw the cut and didn’t need more information than that. They wanted to fuck a bad boy and, well; he was anything, if not indulging. If they asked, it was just to have a feel of the conversation. They really didn’t give a shit. Jess looked like she genuinely wanted to know. Not just to satisfy his nosy sister.

“Well, um,” it was more uncomfortable than he thought. “I’m the secretary for Desert Phantoms MC.” For the first time since he left the Army, he cared about what someone else thought of his life.

“And what exactly does that entail? Your club, I mean, not being a secretary? Are they anything like So—”

“Don’t. Don’t say it. Do you see one anywhere on my cut?”

Trip deflected. He denied nothing. They presented an image of a weekend riding club that was maybe a little rough around the edges, who owned some businesses, did some charity, and took care of their own—or at least that was what they tried to project—but that was far from all they were.

Most people were ignorant of MC life outside of what they saw on prime-time dramas or cop shows. The Phantoms were nothing like either of those things, nor were they romance novel heroes. They were unique as far as clubs went. One thing was for sure, they were not saintly dads getting together to ride on weekends, although some average people believed that, and Granite let them. When it came to other clubs, well, they knew a bit more, saw a little more, and knew not to fuck with DPMC.

Granite was a master at presenting whatever image he needed to, depending on the audience. But Trip damn sure wouldn’t cross him.

When Jess didn’t answer, Trip filled the space. “We do a lot for the community. We own some fairly successful businesses, and we live to ride. That’s all anyone needs to know.”

Her next question shocked the fuck out of him. “Are you happy? I mean, really happy? Anyone special in your life who makes you smile when you wake up, and you thank your lucky stars for, when you go to bed?”

Leave it to Jess to blast past all the bullshit of life and cut to the heart of the matter.

“Are you?”

A sad smile crossed her full lips, and Trip wanted to kiss it away. “Do you always answer a question with a question? In my experience, people who do that aren’t comfortable with a genuine answer.”

Fuck it. Trip was ready to lay it all on the line, to an extent. Setting his mug down, he pushed his plate away. Then, popped a joint between his lips, flipped open his lighter and fired it up. He offered it to Jess and surprisingly, she took it.

Coughing up a storm, she handed it back. After a few more passes, he pinched it cold and dropped it in his pocket. When he reached for his lighter, Jess beat him to it. Fuck me.

“You still have this.” She looked so stunned that he’d kept it. “I remember getting that place in the mall to engrave it and thought it was the best gift ever. You still smoke.” It wasn’t a question.

“Nope. Not since basic, except well—” He indicated his pocket. “Of course, I kept it. It was the best gift ever.”

Jess blushed and slid it back across the table. “It was a cheesy gift from a teenage girl who thought she was a poet. Hardly the best gift ever.”

Trip picked it up and stared. It was still warm from her skin. Simple in its message, but powerful as hell. Trip rubbed his thumb across the worn-down engraving as he’d done a million times before.

Feel the heat of my heart and the flame of my desire across the miles and through the years. I am yours.

The script was small and barely legible but it didn’t matter, that Zippo had been his constant companion. He dropped it in his pocket and just stared at the table where his plate had been. Jess had gotten up, collected the dishes and washed them while he’d sat there contemplating the lighter.

Her back was still to him as she stood at the sink. It would be easier without looking at her.

“No.” His voice was raspy.

“What?”

Goddamn it. Trip didn’t know if he could say it again, but he mustered all his courage.

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