Devil's Kiss: Widowmakers MC Part 5

"Thanks!" I reply, "I did used to be a c.o.c.ktail waitress."

"I don't think I could do that!" she says, sipping her pink drink. "Weren't guys always. .h.i.tting on you?"

"Well, sometimes," I shrug, "But in general the job suits me. I like talking to people, you know?"

"Oh, there's Stick!" she says brightly, "I'll be right back." She leaves to go say hi to my brother at the pool table.

Stacy was right to ask about getting hit on. Sometimes the constant attention as a c.o.c.ktail waitress did get annoying, but I really did handle it okay. Except for with Richard, of course, but that was a whole different story. He'd seemed so normal when we had first met at the bar. Nice, funny. And he was a cop, for christ's sake. I'd thought I was being extra safe by going out with him.

And the first couple months had really been great. He really liked to spoil me, take me to nice restaurants, open doors for me, send me flowers for no reason. And the s.e.x, that had been really great too. A little heavy on the bondage, but hey, I like that now and then. The first warning hadn't come until he showed up after my s.h.i.+ft at the bar, and threatened my boss. I was almost fired.

Then, when I tried to pull away, dial back the intensity a little, that's when it got bad. The s.e.x veered into disturbing territory, the constant phone calls and texts started. I broke up with him in a public place because I thought it would be the safe thing to do. But then he started following me, leaving crazy messages on my phone. He would show up at my bar every night and sit in the corner, staring at me. My boss was too scared to kick him out, so I finally called his partner, Stan. The bar visits stopped, but he'd follow me everywhere else. I couldn't date, I couldn't go anywhere.

A flash of movement at the other end of the bar catches my attention. That tall, hippie-looking guy, Tree, is signaling for me. He's standing with someone who has his back toward me. By the size of that person, it can only be West. I walk over to him and lean forward on the bar.

"Hey, Tree," I say, "What can I get for you?"

"She remembered my name, now isn't that nice," he says with a smile to West.

"Oh, I could never forget you, Tree," I say with a grin. He has such an easygoing way about him.

"Two Coors," Tree says.

I quickly pull two from the tap and slide them over to him. I know Tree and West both drink free.

"So, you spoken for yet?" Tree asks.

"Spoken for?" I say, c.o.c.king my head.

"I know your brother warned off all the Widowmakers," Tree goes on, "But I'm sure a girl like you has other interested parties."

"Maybe I do," I allow. Tree glances over to the pool table.

"Olive, it's been a pleasure," he says, "But your brother has been running his mouth off about how he's going to beat me at pool, and I've gotta set him straight." He ambles over to the pool table where Stacy is standing with Stick.

"So, should I call you Grace while you're here?" West asks, his eyes sparkling over the rim of his gla.s.s as he takes a sip.

Ah. So we're finally going to talk about it, are we?

"That won't be necessary, I think," I say, "As long as you remember who really I am, of course."

"Hey, you can't hold that against me," West says with a smile. "You look like a different person now."

"And you look exactly the same," I reply, "But larger. And with more tattoos."

"So," West says, his voice dropping low in his sculpted chest, "Why'd you give me a fake name?"

I blush and look down at the bar, unable to meet his eyes. It's too embarra.s.sing. I mean, what can I say? "I lied so I could sleep with you?" "I'd been dreaming about what it would be like for years and I finally saw my chance?" No. I would forever lose any power or mystery I might still have with him. And I've been so successfully nonchalant the last couple days.

"Let's just say I wanted to satisfy my curiosity," I say, "And I thought if you knew who I was, that wouldn't happen."

"Huh," is all he says, studying my face. I feel my pulse start to quicken. G.o.d, I wish he didn't have such a strong effect on me. It's like he has a string wrapped around my heart and he's pulling me towards him, bit by bit. "So, you going on another date with that Kyle guy?"

"We'll see," I reply, "He asked me out again for this weekend. He's nice."

"There's that 'nice' word again," West smirks.

"What's wrong with nice?" I laugh.

"Nothing at all, if nice is what you're looking for," he shoots back, "But something tells me it's not. Grace."

I glare at him. Because I know he's right. Honestly, the only reason I kissed Kyle was because I was really trying to make some sparks fly where they didn't exist. I mean, he is nice. And smart and cute...I just don't feel that fire with him. I want to, and I tried to...but I just don't.

"Well, at least nice would give me a ride home in the morning," I retort, and then walk away before he can answer. He gets under my skin so quickly.

I grab some beers for a couple more customers and then see Stick and Stacy waving me over from where they're standing with West.

"Another Cosmo?" I ask Stacy, as I walk up to them.

"Honestly, the Cosmo was delicious, but I'm just not that into vodka," Stacy admits. "How about a Coors?"

I laugh and pour three more beers for them.

"Hey, can you take Olive home tonight?" Stick asks West.

"Oh, come on, are we really going to do that?" I protest.

"Yes! You agreed!" Stick responds with a smile. "Besides, I specifically gave you a ride here so you wouldn't be able to leave without one of us."

"You are such a creep, you know that?" I sigh, "If I weren't at work right now, and a total professional, I would punch you so hard-"

"It's my fault," Stacy interjects. "He's taking me home early because I've got this client who always has to come in early before she goes to work."

"It's not your fault-" I start, but West interrupts me.

"I can take her. It's no problem," he says with a smile, "We're going to the same place anyway, right?"

"See? All settled," Stick says. "I'll be over at Stacy's tonight. See you two later." He and Stacy down their beers and head out, pawing each other.

"So, what were you doing for those eight years in New Hamps.h.i.+re?" West asks. He's making this whole disinterested thing I'm doing very difficult.

"Well, I graduated high school," I begin, "Did a few semesters of college. Wasn't for me. Took odd jobs here and there, trying to figure out what I was good at."

"Did you find it?" he asks.

"Not really, no. I mean, I guess I'm good at this," I say, sweeping my arm across the bar. "I like meeting people, managing my own time. But I don't think I could be a bartender for the rest of my life. What about you? Cars are your pa.s.sion?"

West pauses, wiping a bead of sweat from his gla.s.s. "Cars. I just feel a certain quiet when I'm working on them. Time goes by quickly, and I feel this...flow. I guess that means it's my pa.s.sion. But pa.s.sion, I usually think of that as something wild. And with my cars, all I feel is peace."

He's speaking slowly, carefully, studying my eyes as he talks to make sure I understand him. Then, in an instant, the look in his eye changes. "I guess I just look for pa.s.sion in other places."

I forget to breathe for a moment. Thankfully, Franchise calls me over to explain something about the finicky register. Saved. The rest of the night, I'm drawn back to West whenever I'm not with a customer. He's more thoughtful than I remember, often pausing to think about what he's going to say before he says it. I watch as several women come over to him, leaning on him or pulling the next stool over closely. He dips his head to talk with them, but they always leave after a few minutes. I wish I could hear their conversations, but it's tough when I don't want to look like I'm listening.

The last few patrons filter out at one or so. It is a Tuesday, after all. It's just me, West, and Franchise, who's showing me how to close up. The house lights are on and the music's off.

"I'll give you keys this weekend so you won't need me around to open and close," Franchise promises. "You okay to get home?"

"West is taking me," I reply.

His eyes flick back and forth between us for a moment, then he nods. "Well, see you Thursday," he says.

I gather my purse from where I've stashed it behind the bar and West slides off the stool he's been occupying all night. He holds the door open for me and behind us, Franchise shuts off the lights. We walk in silence to West's bike, and I see Stick has left my helmet on it for me. I pull it onto my head and West starts his bike. My stomach flips a little as I wrap my arms around his torso, acutely aware of every inch of my body that presses against his.

We snake through the streets, darting along like a single shadow. I remember to lean into the curves as we speed up, and also use them as an excuse to wrap my arms more tightly around West. I warn myself to remember that West and I would never work out, but I find myself relaxing against him all the same. I close my eyes as the combination of his warmth and the bike's vibrations ease the tensions of my body, tired from my long s.h.i.+ft.

Too quickly, or maybe just in time, we're pulling up to the house. I know something has pa.s.sed in the silence as our bodies were pressed against each other, some kind of connection. I hurriedly take off my helmet and walk ahead of him to the front door, fumbling to get my keys out of my purse. I don't trust myself around him right now. I finally get my keys in the lock and turn the doork.n.o.b. But as I'm pus.h.i.+ng the door open, I hear quick footsteps behind me. I turn just in time to see West a couple feet away from me, approaching fast. In a heartbeat, his arms are around me, and his mouth is on mine.

I leave the keys in the lock and wrap my arms around his shoulders. I dig my hands into his hair, desperately pulling him against me. His hands are on my a.s.s, pulling me against his hard c.o.c.k, and his tongue is filling my mouth. All I want is for him to f.u.c.k me right here, against the door frame. I want to feel his naked body pressed against mine, every inch of him. He reaches one hand up the front of my s.h.i.+rt, grasping for my breast, past the point of being gentle. I feel his thumb brush against my nipple- A dog barks in the distance and my eyes fly open. I can't do this. I promised myself I wouldn't do this. I take a step back and bring my hands down to his chest, pus.h.i.+ng him away.

"This is a bad idea," I say hoa.r.s.ely.

"Do you want me or not?" he asks, out of breath, his dark eyes flas.h.i.+ng.

"That's not the point," I snap. "You and me...it wouldn't work. I don't want to be the girl you ask to leave in the morning. I mean, you can't ask me to leave-we already live together. And not to mention my brother...I'm sorry. But you know I'm right."

I grab my keys out of the door before I can second-guess myself and rush off to the bathroom. I take a deep breath as I tear off all my clothes. I need a cold shower.

Chapter Eight.

Olive I sit on the couch finis.h.i.+ng up my dinner. I've successfully avoided West for the last week or so, but I have tonight off from work. I'm doing well at the Black Rock opening and closing by myself. I've also discovered that Franchise doesn't have much of an inventory system, so I've been going in early to try to organize everything for him.

But right now, it just feels good to relax in my sweatpants. I've got a gla.s.s of red wine, a big plate of spaghetti, and an old episode of s.e.x and the City on the tube. I pull the chenille throw over my legs a little more and take a bite of spaghetti.

Just when I'm wondering when Stick and West will be back from "church," which is what they call the meetings at their clubhouse, I hear their bikes coming down the road. I force myself to not shake my hair down from the messy bun I've got on top of my head-I don't want or need to look good for West.

The bikes go silent and the front door opens. Stick walks in, moving quickly. I put my plate down on the coffee table, sensing that something's wrong.

"What? What's going on?" I ask, standing up. West just glances at Stick, waiting for him to speak.

Stick hurries down the hallway to his bedroom. I follow him as he talks. "Sorry, I've gotta go away for a little while," he says. "Club business."

"Club business? What does that mean?" I ask.

He pulls a duffle out of his closet and starts throwing clothes into it. "I can't give you specifics," he says, "There's just this other club, the Devils, that's acting up, and we have to take care of it."

"Well, why do you have to go?" I ask, unease clenching my stomach.

"Because I'm part of the club," he says firmly, "Because we all have to do our part, Olive."

"Is it dangerous?" I ask quietly. He finally stops moving and looks at me.

"I'll be careful," he promises.

"So it is dangerous?"

Stick sighs. "Just check in on Stacy, will you? She gets worried when I'm out of town." He zips up his bag and slings it over his shoulder as he heads back down the hallway. I hustle to keep up with him.

"Yeah, of course," I mutter.

"And West is staying here, so you'll be safe," he adds.

"So I'll be safe? You're the one who's got a handgun tucked into the back of his jeans. Don't think I didn't notice that!" I protest. Stick turns to face me, one hand on the doorway. West leans on the back of the couch, watching us.

"Olive, I have to go," Stick says, "They're waiting for me back at the clubhouse. We have to move quick. We can talk about it when I get back," he says, opening the door.

"And when will that be?" I ask, fear causing my throat to close up.

"I don't know, maybe a couple weeks," he says. "Don't worry, everything will be fine." And with that, he shuts the door. I hear his bike start up and drive away, then I turn slowly to face West. I'm just able to keep my eyes from overflowing with tears.

West walks around to the other side of the couch and then nods to the seat next to him. I eye him warily, and he moves one seat farther away. I smile weakly and walk over to join him, sinking down onto the old sofa.

"He really will be OK," West says softly.

"You were always the one who protected him," I reply.

"If you haven't noticed, your brother's gotten a little bigger and stronger since we were kids," West says. "It's nice, the way you two care about each other."

"I guess," I reply grumpily.

West just shrugs with a smile, then turns to eye the TV. He watches it for a moment, then turns to face me again.

"You're being such a Samantha right now," he says.

It's absolutely the last thing I expected to hear come out of his mouth. I throw my head back and lose myself in laughter.

"West, what?!" I exclaim, "I mean, that's not even accurate! How the h.e.l.l am I being a Samantha?"

"I don't know," he grins sheepishly. "It's just something I hear women say to each other in bars a lot." I throw a pillow at his head and he catches it easily. "So this spaghetti you're eating...Is there any more of it?" he asks, eyebrows raised hopefully.

"Yes, you vulture," I say, "There's plenty on the stove."