Page 266 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
He chuckles. “S’what you get for riding that underpowered stick.”
Only the owner of an Iron 883 would call my Chieftain underpowered. “Sorry, how many times did you have to stop for gas?”
He laughs, his round belly shaking under an overburdened Iron Maiden T-shirt, as he holds up two fingers. I shake my head at him.
“One was a piss stop,” Bud insists.
Chris chortles. “Piss stop.”
I give him the look that pun warrants. “Didn’t see you out there today.”
Chris hangs his head. “My bike’s in the shop.”
“Sorry to hear that,” I say as Bud cuffs Chris on the back of the head.
“If you’d stop spilling it on every rock and grass verge, it wouldn’t be in the garage.”
Chris grins sheepishly. “I got the food ordered.”
“You’re good for something at least,” Bud grumbles. He lifts his beer to me. “Not drinking? Walt said you were staying another night, so you don’t need to worry about driving. We’ll get someone with a cage to take you to the motel.”
“Not really a big drinker,” I say, which is true, but more to the point, I keep alcohol to a minimum when I’m topping. But I don’t know if I should mention that to Bud. I haven’t seen him in the dungeon the times I’ve been down there, so I’m not sure if he’s in the lifestyle. Many of the bikers are, but they don’t exactlyhave a “D” or even a triskelion tattooed to their foreheads, so I’m only sure of the brothers I’ve seen in the basement. I snort to myself. I should suggest the triskelion as a patch for their leather cuts.
“Ah, but are you a big darts player, Navy?” Bud asks.
“Whup your ass, fly boy.”
“You’re on.” Bud rises and lumbers toward the dart board. I gather Bren’s water bottle before I follow him.
Three games of darts later, in which I resoundingly prove the Navy’s supremacy with all things aerodynamic as well as aquatic, the food arrives. It looks like they’ve bought out the entire restaurant and the top of the forty-foot bar is soon covered with take-out containers. With my arm around my woman and two plates in my free hand, I survey the spread.
“What do you want, girl?” I ask, making sure to tickle her ear with my lips as I speak.
Her voice is breathy as she answers, “The Dan Dan noodles, Hunan beef, Kung Pao chicken, and Crab Rangoon, sir.”
“The Crab Rangoon won’t incinerate your taste buds. You’re slipping.”
“I’m afraid of giving you an inferno blow job later if I don’t have something to cool off. Pretty sure that’ll get me the Delrin.”
I laugh and kiss her temple. “Good thinking. You give me a hot suck without warning, and you’ll be sorry.”
She tips her head up and slants me a look, brown eyes alight. Whatever’s about to come out of her mouth will make me want to get the Delrin, I can tell. “Could we do a scene with hot sauce sometime? When you’re expecting it?”
“You want to suck me off with a mouth full of hot sauce?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Dunnow if I’ve got that much masochist in me, girl.”
“No, sir?”
I nudge her forward as the line moves. “I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?”
Her grin stretches. “How often do you regret a blow job, sir?”
“Could be a first. Grab those, girl.” I tip my chin at a container of spicy noodles. “Gimme some, too.”
Bren scoops our selections onto the plates I hold for her. I pass on the Hunan beef in favor of General Gao’s chicken, but otherwise match my bold girl choice for choice. I might have to add some Pepto Bismol to the list for Walter’s minion to pick up.
