Page 25 of Burning Ember
The red-haired biker raises an eyebrow. “You full, sweetheart? ‘Cause if not, I could get Rigor to round ya up some more. I’m Griz, by the way.” He holds out his hand to me and I shake it.
I’m feeling overly stuffed. My stomach’s shrunk in the last month. It’s down to the size of a tennis ball. “Thanks, but I don’t think I can eat another bite.”
He smiles and his smile even reaches his soft hazel eyes. “Us gingers gotta stick together. You need anything, darlin’, you let me know.” He picks up my hand and kisses it, which earns him some hooting and hollering from the peanut gallery around us, before he drops my hand and walks away.
Dozer turns to me. “See, we’re not all assholes.”
“I see that. Thanks for giving me a chance.” And I mean it. It’s nice to have someone on my side. Makes me feel like I’m not an inch small anymore.
“You’re welcome.”
“You know, you’re built like an ox, but I’m starting to think maybe you’re a big ol’ softy.”
Two seats down from me, Goose spits beer out all over the bar. Then I realize what I said and how it could be misconstrued.
Laughter rings out around us again.Jeezus . . .did I really just say that?
Dozer flashes a flirtatious smile. He yanks my chair closer. “Softy, huh? I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before. Tell you what . . . in thirteen days, I’ll make sure to introduce you to some of my harder parts.”
“Oh, God, I didn’t—I’m sorry.”
He chucks my chin. “No really, it would be my pleasure.” He focuses on my lips. His hand rests on my thigh. He leans over and murmurs close to my ear, so only I can hear. “You’re gonna have the whole club house lined up to taste you by then. But, you can bet, I’ll be the first in line.”
I bite my bottom lip and look up at him. He’s flirting with me and now is the time I have to start playing the part of the girl who wants to be here. With him. With a bunch of bikers.
His steely eyes flare as they watch my mouth. “Yeah, you’re gonna be trouble.”
I arch a brow. “And you’re not a fan of trouble?”
His hand slides up my leg until his fingers breach the hem of my shorts. “Not usually, but I think I could get addicted to your kind of trouble.”
We flirt for a few minutes. But eventually he groans and removes his hands from me. “Shit, you’re gettin’ me all worked up, babe. Not gonna end well for me.” He stands, laughs, and winks as he adjusts himself. Then he says, “Better get this part over with.” Spinning me around on my stool, he has me facing the room. He again places his big hands on my shoulders. He yells to be heard over the music. “HOCs listen up. Pumpkin, here, is Edge’s welcome home gift.” Cheers ring out. “She’s hands off until after the party.” Boo’s follow that statement. “Any of you fuckers so much as touch her, and you’ll be smacked with a thousand dollar fine. And a beat down from the entire club.”
“You’re touchin’ her,” the cute blond with a nice smile shouts. I believe his name is Bodie.
“That’s because I’m gonna be her protection from you sick fucks for the next twelve days.”
Lily puts her hand in mine, and I startle a little until I realize it’s her. With her, it’s harder to hide my anxiety. It’s almost as if she knows exactly what I’m feeling.
“Come on. Let me show you around, and you can shower and get cleaned up. I’ll find you some clean clothes, too.” I suddenly feel drained, but I give her a weak smile.
“Hold up.”
We turn back to Dozer.
He reaches into his pocket and produces a key. Hands it to Lily. “She’ll be stayin’ in my room. She can shower in there.”
Before taking the key, she eyes him for a moment. “You sure?” she asks him and gets a terse nod in response.
She tangles her arm with mine and leads me out of the main room.
I get the impression that his gesture means something significant. But what, I have no idea.
It feels like it’s been days since I’d left the shelter. And although I took a shower earlier, I can’t pass up the opportunity for another, especially a shower with hot water, non-generic shampoo, and a sense of privacy I haven’t had in weeks.
When I finish, I wipe the mirror of steam and stare at myself.
No matter how much I try to forget my mother, I see her in my reflection every day. Almost as if I see her before I see myself in the mirror, and I have to analyze my features over and over again to identify the differences that make me . . . me. Like how my hair’s always been a few shades darker than hers, and is even more so now from my failed attempt to dye my red hair brown. Also my eyes aren’t quite the same color, because where hers were only blue, mine have a burst of green. And lastly, my freckles. Something she had but only across the bridge of her nose. Which makes me think that maybe mine were a gift from my sperm donor of a father.
