GRIT: A Spartan Riders Novel (3 page)

Mr. Mahone revved the bike one more time, then with a wave of Ash’s little hand, they shot off, leaving Gabby shaking her head and promising herself she wouldn’t get involved.

THREE

That’s it. She was getting involved. Blake Mahone had forced her hand.

              Sitting, once again, at the top of the elementary school steps, Gabby clenched the concrete until her fingertips turned white. Late again. It was the second time that week, and she’d had enough. Was it a biker thing, or did Ash’s father just not care, or was he just that inconsiderate? Did he think she didn’t have a life, responsibilities of her own? Gabby might be single, she might be living in her parents’ basement, but that didn’t mean she had all the time in the world to sit around babysitting his kid until whenever the hell he decided to show up and be a father.

To bide their time, Gabby helped Ash with his homework. As his teacher, she was well aware of the conflict of interest, but she was bored, and clearly the boy wasn’t getting the kind of attention he needed at home. So, she was helping.

“It’s too hard,” Ash complained, his tiny fist balling into his hair as he hung his head in defeat.

“It only seems that way because it’s new. Once you get the hang of it, it’ll be a piece of cake,” she assured, trying to cheer him up. Placing a hand on his arm, she urged him to sit up, then leaned in to take another look at the math problem that had him stumped. “Hmm, five plus four. What do you think the answer is?”

“I don’t know,” he grumbled, “ten?”

“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “Let’s use our fingers again. Start with the biggest number, which is…”

“Five.”

“Right. Start with five and count four more.” While he did as she instructed, Gabby studied his profile. It was no surprise that he resembled his father so strongly, right down to the way he scowled, causing his eyes to turn into slits of consternation that, even for a six-year-old, made him look fierce. A man like Blake Mahone would definitely have strong genes. There was no doubt in her mind that Ash Mahone was going to be a lady killer when he grew up.

Ash’s head popped up, his expression hopeful. “Nine?”

“Yes!” Gabby nearly shouted. “Great job, Ash.”

His smile was so wide and so bright, so full of pride that Gabby’s heart twisted. This moment was precisely why she chose to teach. There was nothing quite like witnessing a child’s personal growth develop and knowing you had a hand in it. She was so glad she’d finally taken the plunge and set her worries on the back burner to pursue her dreams.

She guided him through the rest of the problems and couldn’t resist giving Ash a little side hug when he was finished. “You’ve really gotten the hang of it, and fast too. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” he said, tipping his head to hide the faint blush that stained his cheeks. “My dad says I’m a smart cookie.”

“Well, your dad is right. In fact, you’re so smart, I might just let you teach the class tomorrow.”

“Really?”

Gabby’s reply was on the tip of her tongue when his father’s motorcycle pierced the otherwise quiet neighborhood, sending her stomach into a tailspin of nervous anticipation that she refused to analyze too closely. Ash scrambled to his feet, gathering his homework and shoving everything into his backpack. When Blake’s bike rolled up, Ash raced toward him shouting his good news.

“Daddy! Miss Morgan said I can teach the class tomorrow!”

“Is that right?” Blake’s eyes danced with humor as he helped his son onto the back of the bike. Gabby approached slowly. Her annoyance renewed, she was trying her best to maintain a polite façade in front of Ash, but one look at her, and Blake knew what was up. “Before you say it, I’m sorry I was late. It won’t happen again.”

“That’s what you said last time, Mr. Mahone. Believe it or not, you’re not the only person who has responsibilities outside of the home.”

“It won’t happen again,” he repeated with impatience.

“It’d better not, or…”

One dark brow over eyes that glimmered with warning winged up. “Care to finish that sentence, Miss Morgan?”

Gabby had a lot she wanted to say to him, words she was sure Blake Mahone had never heard directed his way—likely because no one had the guts to say it to his face—otherwise, he wouldn’t have grown up to be so damn inconsiderate of others. How Ash had turned out to be such a sweetheart with a father like that was a mystery to her. But a glance at the small boy sitting behind him, watching their exchange with innocent, knowing eyes, caused her to put a lid on her temper. Huffing, Gabby replied, “We’ll discuss this another time, when little ears aren’t listening.”

Something that resembled shock flashed in his eyes before it was quickly banked. With a nearly infinitesimal shake of his head, he replied curtly, “Sure.” Holding her stare for a moment longer, Blake’s pewter-colored eyes bored into her russet brown ones. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he snapped his visor down and took off.

Once again, Gabby was left staring after him contemplating her next plan of action.

***

“Miss Gabby says I’m smart.”

“That’s because you are.” Shoveling a meatball into his mouth, Blake tried to block out the mental image of the woman. Unsuccessfully. She was like a witch, fucking with his head from the moment he laid eyes on her stuck-up ass. Every time he blinked, he was reminded of those toned legs, thick hips, sweet-as-sin rack, and thick, pin-straight hair that he’d like to wrap around his fist and use as a rein as he took her fine ass from behind.

But most of all, he couldn’t get that perfect mouth out of his mind. Full, pale pink, Cupid’s bow lips that would look damn good wrapped around his cock.

Yeah, he liked that idea. Fill her mouth so she couldn’t run it anymore, because every time those lips got to flapping and she busted his balls, it ruined the moment better than a bucket of ice water.

The worst part of it was that Ash couldn’t shut up about her. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the kid was in love.

Hell, with the way she’d shut down what could have been a full-blown argument, and all for the sake of Ash, he just might join him. In his world, not a lot of women operated the same way.

“Do girls like smart?”

“I hear it’s like catnip,” Blake told him, amused by Ash’s puzzled expression. “They love it,” he clarified. “Why do you ask?”

Shrugging, Ash finished his dinner in silence.

“You find a girl you like or somethin’?”

A small, bashful smile cropped up, and Ash dipped his head, hiding his face.

“She pretty?”

A nod.

“She like you back?”

Shrug.

“You gonna ask her to be your girl?”

Shrug.

“Cat got your tongue?”

That earned him another smile. “I’m gonna marry her.”

“Movin’ a little fast there don’t ya think, bud?”

“How else am I gonna make her mine?”

Blake’s lips parted but no words came out. He never expected his boy to grow up so damn fast. He figured when it came time to talk about girls and relationships, he’d just have to tell him to be safe and wrap it up. Here Ash was, though, thinking long-term. Heavy shit for a kindergartener.

Maybe he’d been spending too much time with the guys. Those assholes could corrupt Mother Teresa given enough hours and alcohol.

Scratching his stubbled jaw, he advised, “How about you take it slow. Get to know her a little first before you go all Beyoncé, okay?”

Staring down at the floor thoughtfully, it took a moment for Ash to respond. “I’m gonna draw her a picture.”

Blake blew out a relieved breath and reached over, patting him on the knee. “Good idea, bud. I’m sure she’ll like that.”

“You should draw a picture for Miss Gabby too.”

Surprised, Blake looked down at his son, noting the drops of spaghetti sauce splattered all over his cheeks and nose. “Now why would I do that?”

“Because you like her. And she likes you too.”

Who was this kid, freaking Sylvia Brown? “We’re just…” Friends wouldn’t be the right word for it. “She’s your teacher.” And… “And if anything, she’d probably like it if you drew her a picture instead. You color better than me.”

Twisting the last bit of noodles into a knot around his fork, Ash nodded as if agreeing with him. “You could give her flowers. Girls like flowers.”

“I’m not giving her flowers.”

“But flowers are a girl’s best friend.”

Blake chuckled. “That’s diamonds, buddy.”

“Then get her those instead.”

Stacking Ash’s empty plate on his own, Blake rose to his feet and carried their dishes to the sink. “I don’t think so, bud.”

“Why not?” Ash asked as he got up and dragged his step stool over, placing it beside Blake’s stocking feet and climbing up so he stood chest-high. Turning on the tap, he waited for Blake to scrub a plate and hand it over, then rinsed it under the cool water.

“Son,” Blake said, picking up the conversation again, “I know you like Miss Gabby, but we don’t know her.”

“I do. She’s nice and she’s pretty and she helps everybody.”

“Okay,
I
don’t know her,” he clarified.

“Then you should talk to her, silly.”

Good Lord
…Blake shut off the water and toweled his hands dry, unsure how to respond. He couldn’t very well tell him that he had talked to her and, aside from making his dick twitch, he thought she had a stick shoved up her ass so far it must be the reason her nose practically touched the clouds. Judgment and ridicule was practically tattooed across her forehead; it was so plainly written on her face. So did he want to get to know her? No. No, he didn’t.

But he kind of did.

He could sense where Ash was going with this, though. Choosing to ignore it, Blake scooped him under his arms, lifted him, and set him back on his feet on the floor. “Time for a bath.”

“Awwww, but I just took one last night,” Ash whined.

“Try two nights ago,” Blake corrected him.

“But—”

“No buts. Have you even looked at yourself today?” Blake motioned to his dirt encrusted, food-stained clothes that promised to become his own personal nightmare come laundry day. “You look like you took a roll in a pig trough.”

Tilting his head, Ash asked, “What’s a pig trough?”

Shaking his head, Blake grabbed the top of his son’s head in one large hand and turned him toward the hallway. “From the looks of it, it’s your bedroom. How do you expect to get that girl to marry you if you smell like a monkey’s butt?”

Ash’s peals of laughter lit his heart. “You’re silly, Daddy.”

“I’m also right.”

Pursing his lips, Ash finally relented. “Okay. But then can I ask Marybeth to marry me?”

Hell, who was he to stand in the way of true love? Blake chuckled to himself. “Sure, buddy, why not. Carpe diem.”

“Carpe what?”

“It means seize the day, but right now, I want you to seize a bath. Now go pick out some clean pajamas, and I’ll meet you in the bathroom.”

Giving him a swift swat on the butt with the hand towel, he sent him on his way. Man, kids. Blake had only been going it alone for a few months, and already he was wondering if he’d be able to make it through the next thirteen years. Ash was a handful and a half. Between work, the club, and the kid, he was running on fumes and there was no gas station in sight. Now he finally understood why the old ladies sat around bitching so damned much about their men. Shit, it almost made him want to sit down at their table and air a few grievances of his own, but if the brothers caught wind of that, he’d never hear the end of it.

After wiping down the dining table and turning out all the lights, Blake spent an hour drawing pictures on the bathroom tiles with soap crayons, and another hour reading bedtime stories before finally crawling into bed himself. The moment his head hit the pillow, he was out.

FOUR

Grocery shopping with parents, particularly her mother, was sheer torture. It was akin to a root canal. Actually, that would have been preferable to spending the last hour and a half in a place she’d normally be in and out of in a quarter the time.

Despite being a woman and the general consensus dictating that women were born shoppers, Gabby, in fact, hated it. Every last minute, which was why she did the bulk of her shopping online. It eliminated the hassle and freed up a ton of time.

This moment just solidified her distaste for it even more.

“Mom, please, just pick one.”

“Don’t rush me, Gabriella,” her mother said in her eternally calm voice. “Your father is very particular about his toothpaste.”

Gabby glanced at the shelving, noting the dozens upon dozens of boxes in all varying shapes, sizes, and designs, and groaned. They were going to die in this aisle. She could already feel the gray hairs sprouting.

“Didn’t you bring a list?” 

Tapping her snow white, poodle perm hair with one arthritic finger, her mother replied, “The only list I need is right here.”

Which was why they’d circled the store from front to back three times already. There had to be a way to speed this snail race along. Stepping away from the cart, Gabby went to her mother’s side. “What are we looking for?”

“I can’t remember the name, but I’ll know it when I see it.”

Which would happen around the end of never. “Describe it to me.”

After a bit of complaining, she finally managed to drag out a few key details and plucked a package of Aquafresh from the shelf, dropping it in the cart. “Is that it? Are we ready to head out?”

Casting her eyes to the ceiling, her mother scraped her brain for the “only list she needed” before telling her, “Ice cream. I promised your father I’d make peach cobbler for dessert tonight.”

Okay, well, she couldn’t really complain about that. Her mother made a mean cobbler and what was cobbler without a little—or a lot—of ice cream.

Ten minutes later, Gabby blew her warm breath into her hands in a vain attempt to ward off frostbite from handling too many cartons of frozen milk product that weren’t the “right” one. She was ready to tear her hair out, strand by strand, when she heard a familiar voice call her name.

“Miss Gabby!”

Turning on her heel, Gabby spotted Ash charging toward her, his head of dark hair just barely peeking over the cart’s handlebar as he maneuvered it with practiced ease. Her gaze traveled just beyond his shoulders to Blake, who followed along, his expression blank.

When Gabby met his frosty stare, something inside her shivered as if there were more lurking behind it than simple animosity. Which was ridiculous, considering the only interaction they’d had to date was chock-full of the stuff.

For the second time that week, she couldn’t ignore the fuzzy feeling in her belly, nor could she pretend that she didn’t find him somewhat intriguing, if not a lot handsome. There was just something about Blake Mahone that sparked something in her, which was troublesome, considering the man was the epitome of irresponsible and had bad news written all over every inch of his solid form. What was he, six-two? Six-three? Removed from his bike, wearing a pair of snug-fitting, well-worn jeans in place of his leathers, and a basic white cotton t-shirt, he was somehow even more forbidding than the picture he presented roaring down the road on his bike.

Either way, he warranted a second look.

Or a third.

The man was positively mouth-watering.

“…wanna come?”

Ash’s voice came at her as if from a distance, followed up by a tug of her shirt sleeve, drawing her attention down to the little boy who now stood directly in front of her, looking up through hopeful gray eyes.

Crouching down to his level, Gabby summoned a shaky smile. “What was that, sweetie? Come where?”

Blake’s cocky chuckle, though held under his breath, shot through her like a plague of bullets through flimsy tissue paper, renewing her irritation. She kept her attention focused on Ash, blatantly ignoring his father as if he weren’t even there.

“The party,” Ash said. “Everyone’s gonna be there, and Daddy said I can bring a friend. So will you come?”

Gabby blinked, her mouth gaping open. She was at a loss for words. “Well…I…uh.” She glanced up at Blake, unsure how to respond to such a sweet but entirely unexpected offer. But her unspoken plea was met with a wall of silence. “What kind of party is it?”

“A barbeque. So are you comin’?”

A barbeque. The mental picture Gabby got when she thought of a typical barbeque was one made up of close friends and family. And when she pictured one that involved the likes of Blake Mahone, she thought of leather, burly, uncouth men with rap sheets a mile long, and women with fake boobs and flexible legs. It wasn’t a place she imagined herself being comfortable at. Not by a long shot.

“That’s very nice of you to invite me, Ash, but I think your dad meant for you to invite one of your friends,” she said, attempting to let him down gently.

Ash’s expression dropped, the corners of his mouth turning down. “But you are my friend.”

Gabby’s heart clenched, and she was fairly certain it might have cracked just a bit. Her gaze cut to Blake, unsure how to handle the situation.

Stepping forward, Blake took his son by the shoulder and drew him back until he was once again standing at the head of the cart. “Miss Morgan is right, buddy. I meant one of your friends from school.”

“But she
is
from school,” he bemoaned, which was a total dichotomy to her initial, old soul impression of him.

“Someone more your age,” Blake clarified.

“But you always say age is just a number, and I like her. And besides, I don’t have any friends.”

Shoot.
Gabby rose to her feet, feeling ten shades of crappy for letting the boy down, but she was already dancing the line when it came to Ash, and the less involved she was in his personal life, the better it would be for everyone involved.

Looking over her shoulder, she caught her mother’s assessing gaze just before she turned back to the carton of Breyer’s in her hand that she was pretending to read.

The look reminded her that he was the kind of man she’d been raised to stay far away from. The kind
she’d
promised herself she’d steer clear of.

              “You can make friends at the party,” Blake assured him.

“But they’re all babies.”

“Jonah’s not a baby. You can hang out with him.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because Jonah’s got a girlfriend now and he says
I’m
a baby. I don’t even wear diapers anymore.”

Gabby observed their exchange with interest while simultaneously wondering what the chances were that she could quietly back away unnoticed. Would that be rude? It’d probably hurt Ash’s feelings if he turned around to find her gone, especially since revealing that she was his only friend. Man, talk about tugging at the heartstrings.

With his hands on his hips, his expression drawn, Blake wore the look of defeat as he stared down at his son. For a moment, in the absence of his hard mask, Gabby saw the look of a man who wasn’t so much impervious as he was weary. Tired. She got to wondering what his story was. Whether he was the man he presented—a tough, rugged, devil-may-care biker—or someone else entirely.

With a heavy sigh, Blake’s head tipped back and he gazed up at the ceiling muttering something that sounded like, “I’m going to regret this.” With a stony expression he directed his clipped words to Gabby. “Miss Morgan, would you like to come to the barbeque tomorrow?”

He couldn’t look any more pained than if he was suffering a heart attack. Gabby almost laughed out loud but just managed to hold it back. She wouldn’t want to be in his shoes, so she was choosing to be polite. “Oh, no, Mr. Mahone. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

The relief that washed over him was short-lived. All it took was one round-eyed, innocent look from Ash, and Blake was done for. Which was actually quite surprising. And endearing. Gabby hadn’t pegged him for the sensitive type, but he certainly melted for his son, which was actually pretty attractive. She gave him a once-over, cataloging every detail of his honed form with fresh eyes.

Running a heavy hand over his face, the corners of Blake’s eyes pinched, and his full lips thinned as if he’d tasted something sour. “I insist,” he told Gabby through clenched teeth. “It’ll give Ash here a chance to show you some of his best work, and,” he tacked on, his tone holding a bitter edge, “maybe it’ll show you that I’m not the piece of trash biker you take me as.”

Gabby’s eyes widened, her nostrils flaring as she sucked in air. “I didn’t—I mean I don’t—I never said—”

Blake’s gaze flicked toward her mother standing just beyond her shoulder, and then back to her. “Didn’t need to be said to be understood. Look, come to the barbeque, have a plate. Maybe it’ll change your perspective. Maybe it won’t.” He shrugged as if it made no difference to him one way or the other.

Giving her no time to object, he rattled off the address—a place she was, thankfully, familiar with, because he didn’t seem inclined to write it down—and time. Without another word, Blake ushered Ash away, and Gabby was left contemplating what her next move would be.

“Well, he seemed…”

“Nice?” Gabby offered, thinking that Blake Mahone, even in an intense state of irritation, had actually seemed more civil than she’d known him to be during their previous encounters.

“I was going to say rough, but he didn’t kill us so…”

“I highly doubt he’s a killer, Mom.” Doubts crept in as soon as the words left her mouth.

“You aren’t thinking of taking him up on his offer, are you?”

Gabby stared down the aisle in the direction Blake and Ash had gone. Was she considering it? Maybe a cookout wouldn’t be so bad. It was just food and talking. Blake hinted that she had the wrong idea about him. What if she did? A part of her wanted to see for herself if he was right. The other part of her was mildly aware that she was making up excuses to go.

“You are considering it, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know.” Gabby felt a margin of shame wash over her when she looked back at her mother, expecting a verbal tongue lashing for going against what her parents had taught her.

Instead, her mother just shrugged. “Whatever you decide, just don’t mention it to your father.” Then she dropped a pint of store brand ice cream into the cart. “Ready when you are.”