Motorcycle Man (30 page)

That day, Tack called and sent Rush out with a grocery list I prepared so all the fixin’s were available to make dinner for Tack and his kids. This I did to the stylings of Led Zeppelin. No, strike that. This I did with a continual loop of their song “Rock and Roll”. It was a kickass song but the twelfth time, I had to admit, I was over it.

Fortunately, Tack was too and I knew this when he stalked to the open door to the basement and shouted down the stairs, “Either you move to the next track or your fuckin’ stereo is sailing over the deck!”

“Black Dog” immediately came on.

This was such a relief that I smiled at Tabby. She burst out laughing.

And I thought that was nice. Not Tack shouting threats of stereo mutilation but the whole thing. Cooking with Tabby jabbering to me. The comfortable, lived-in house with spectacular views and a fantastic kitchen. The way they had about them that firmly said a family lived there.

Yes. I decided I was liking this roller coaster.

I made spaghetti with my homemade meatballs, garlic bread and Caesar salad with homemade dressing. I followed this with pistachio/chocolate parfaits made in some of Tack’s tumblers with pistachio and chocolate pudding (instant, I didn’t have the time to make homemade and further, I didn’t know how to make homemade pudding) and Cool Whip sprinkled with pistachio nuts. The meal wasn’t as good as Tack’s food but Tack and his kids hoovered through it. It also packed close to the same calorie and fat wallop so I figured I did all right.

We ate all of this in front of Tack’s huge, flat screen TV in the living room where I was treated to a marathon of
Storage Wars
. Seeing as I didn’t watch TV, I’d never heard of this program. But by the second episode I was hooked. I declared that I thought Brandi and Jarrod were “adorable” together which for some reason he didn’t explain made Rush laugh so hard I thought he would bust a gut. Rush might find that funny but I decided I was going to start dressing like Brandi. She always looked the shit. I also shared that Dave was my favorite “character” to which Tabby told me with grave seriousness, “But, Tyra, he’s the bad guy.”

I thought he was the guy who knew what he was doing and I liked his grin but what did I know?

Since the kids stayed up late, Tack and I went to bed before them. This I found uncomfortable and what made it more uncomfortable was Tack doing it like he often took women to bed with his kids around. Not to mention his kids acting like this was nothing out of the ordinary. Further, I found myself in the unusual mood of not being in the mood with Tack.

Kids, I discovered, were a wet blanket.

But when we hit his room, Tack made no moves on me.

He just said, “You get the bathroom first, babe. I gotta tell Rush something.”

He took off and I rooted through my bag. I was wearing a sky blue shelf-bra cami and a pair of mocha, drawstring, pajama short-shorts with sky-blue and grass green swirls on them, sitting cross-legged on his unmade bed when he returned.

It was then I found Tack’s nighttime routine included taking off his clothes and dropping them on the floor. Considering the thick layer of clothes on the floor, this wasn’t a surprise.

It was also then I found, when he climbed into bed with me, turned out the one lamp then tucked me in his side, Tack wasn’t in the mood either.

And last, I found that in his bed, we had different sides. Not that we had sides, as such, since, in our limited experience, we slept cuddled together. But in my bed I was on the right. In his, he positioned me on his left.

I lay cozied up to him in the dark for a while before he spoke.

“Dinner was good, Red.”

“Thanks,” I whispered.

“
And I get you. Dave from
Storage Wars
is the man.”

I smiled into the dark. Tack must have felt my cheek move on his shoulder because his arm gave me a squeeze.

We fell silent.

Then I started, “Um…”

Then I stopped.

“Yeah?”

“Nothing,” I whispered.

“Um… what?”

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“Nothing, Tack.”

“Start it, say it,” he ordered.

I sighed. Then I said it.

“The, uh… kids didn’t seem surprised you and I headed off to bed together.”

“They wouldn’t, seein’ as I called them and told them you were comin’ up to make dinner and you were spendin’ the night. Rush even went to get the food, darlin’.”

This was true.

“Is this a, uh, normal occurrence?”

“It ain’t normal. It also ain’t out of the ordinary.”

Damn.

Honesty was usually good except at times like these.

“Though, none of them made my kids dinner,” Tack continued then concluded, “Or sat around and watched TV with them.”

This was something but it didn’t make me feel a whole lot better.

Tack’s arm tightened and he pulled me on him and up so we were chest to chest and face to face in the dark.

“I ain’t no choirboy,” he said quietly.

“I know that,” I said quietly back.

I knew it but still, I didn’t like this aspect of it.

“Kids were younger, no way. Women up here only when they were at their Mom’s. They got older, way of the world.”

Hmm. I might disagree with that if they were my flesh and blood.

Tack continued, “That said, babe, none of those bitches got here on the back of my bike either.”

“Is this a significant distinction?” I enquired.

“Yep.”

“Do they understand that?”

“Yep.”

“Are you going to explain it to me seeing as I don’t?” I asked.

Tack’s chuckle rumbled all around me and
through
me which sounded and felt nice.

When he stopped chuckling, he explained.

“
Some bikers have a code about who they put on the backs of their bikes and when. Rally, party, road trip, could be whoever you pick up. Your wheels are takin’ you home, for me, for Chaos, only the old lady. A woman comes up here, she has her own ride. That way, I’m done, she can go.
You
gotta wait for me to take you where you need to be. This means, unless I take you, you aren’t goin’ anywhere.”

I’m done, she can go.

There was a lot there to get angry about so I decided to avoid it.

All of it.

“I’m thinking, handsome, it might be good to end the biker lesson now seeing as this particular one might piss me off.”

“Not surprised, babe, but we had a good run.”

“Pardon?”

“Took you to work, brought you to my house, you cooked, we ate, we watched TV, all good. No fights. No backtalk. All day. But all good things come to an end.”

It was at this point I was
glaring
at him through the dark.

“
I’m thinking now, handsome, it might be good for you to stop talking
altogether
seeing as everything you’re saying might piss me off.”

“Sound of it, babe, no ‘might’ about you getting pissed. You just are.”

At that, my glare became a stare because not only did he sound like he was amused, I could see the white flash of his smile in the dark.

But to confirm, I asked, “Are you amused?”

“Fuck yeah.

I sought further confirmation. “You’re amused that I’m pissed.”

His other arm stole around me and he gave me a squeeze on his repeated, “Fuck yeah.”

It was then, light dawned.

“You like it,” I said softly.

“Definitely.”

“You like me pissed off?”

“No. I like not knowin’ what to expect. I like that even though you say I scare you, you are not scared of me. The way you face off against me, you’re not scared. Not one fuckin’ bit. I like that you don’t hesitate to speak your mind. I like that you don’t hide your emotions. I like that when you get pissed, you just do and let it all hang out. You don’t store up that shit and let it explode all over the fuckin’ place when I least expect it. So, yeah. I like it. Definitely.”

How did he do that? Answer questions that had no good answers with a good answer.

“You’re still pissed,” Tack observed, clearly feeling my vibe.

“Well, yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because you have good answers to questions that have no good answers and that’s annoying.”

“Why is that annoying?”

“Because I’m a woman. We get annoyed at all sorts of things that make no sense.”

“Now who has a good answer to a question that doesn’t have a good answer?”

Argh!

Sharp as a freaking tack!

“
Now you’re annoying because you’re too clever for
my
own good,” I informed him then I found myself on my back with Tack on top of me, his face so close to mine I could feel his goatee tickling my chin.

“She’s gettin’ it,” he muttered.

“Getting what?”

“Why we work.”

I felt my breath start to get heavy so I had to force out my, “And why’s that?”

“Because I ain’t stupid and you aren’t stupid either. Because I’m wild and, you let loose from that green tea, salad and no TV shit, so are you. Because people are scared of me but you aren’t. We’re on equal footing, Red. No one has the upper hand.” His lips moved so they were touching mine when he finished, “’Cept you’re a damn sight prettier than me.”

Oh God, he was making me melt at the same time he was turning me on.

“You’re hot,” I told him, my hands sliding up the sleek skin and hard muscle of his back.

“Pleased you think so,” he replied, his hand sliding up the skin of my side.

“No, everyone would think so. Even a nun. She’d pray for your immortal soul but, if pressed, she would have to admit you’re good-looking because it’s a sin to lie.”

His hand stopped at my side and his thumb swept out, grazing the curve of my breast causing a delectable shiver to glide over my skin when he ordered, “Stop bein’ cute, baby. You’re makin’ me hard and I can’t fuck you when the kids are awake.”

My hands slid back down his back, down,
down
until my fingers curved in his hard ass as I breathed, “You can’t?”

“Fuck no. You’re a moaner.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. Loud.”

Oh God.

“Really?”

“It’s good. Really fuckin’ good when my mouth is on you or my dick’s inside you. When it ain’t good is when Tabby and Rush are down the hall.”

“I can see this,” I whispered, sliding my hands back up, fingers and palms flat, taking in all I could get, my touch light.

“And it’d be good, you stop touchin’ me.”

“I like touching you,” I said softly.

“I like it too, baby, but it ain’t helpin’ my fight to stop gettin’ hard.”

My hands stopped and I advised, “Then you might want to stop whispering against my lips, Tack, because that’s turning me on.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm hmm.”

“Doesn’t take much for you, does it, darlin’?”

With the others, it did.

But not with him.

I didn’t share that.

Instead I said, “It’s the goatee.”

“Bullshit, it’s me.”

He totally had me figured out.

“
Well, it is
your
goatee.”

That was when I felt his lips smile against my mouth.

Then, alas, he lifted his lips from mine and stated, “Right, been a good night, Red. I learned somethin’ gets up your ass, you don’t delay and with only a little coaxing, you ask me about it. I learned you think I’m hot. I learned you can be cute when you’re turned on. And it’s a definite that I’m never shavin’ off this goatee.” I grinned at him through the dark but he concluded with, “Not that I was goin’ to anyway.”

“Well I’m glad you’ve declared that as a definite,” I told him with humor vibrating in my voice. “Brings me relief.”

“Babe, you’re still bein’ cute.”

“Oh. Right. I’ll stop doing that right away.”

“Christ, still fuckin’ cute,” he muttered and his thumb did another sweep and grazed the curve of my breast causing another shiver at the same time my nipples got hard.

Time for a subject change.

“When something gets up my ass, I don’t delay in asking you about it?”

“Nope.”

“What was up my ass?”

“You cottoned onto the fact the kids didn’t blink I had a woman in my house. That crawled up your ass. You sat on it for about fifteen minutes. Only a little pressure from me, you put it out there.”

“Oh.”