Screw Page 8

  He didn’t know. But he had to try, because the alternative was continuing a life of dirty hookups in dark corners with nameless, faceless men he didn’t give a shit about and who didn’t give a shit about him. Because though he’d given into his desire for men many a time, he sure as fuck didn’t plan to settle down or even begin a relationship with one. No matter how bad his cock craved it.

  “I’ve changed in this past year. I’m not the same. My life’s not the same. I live in Tennessee for fuck’s sake,” Jazz said, throwing up her free hand. The other she kept connected to his. “I’m not sure I’m capable of what you want anymore.”

  Their food arrived at that moment and they dug in, quiet for a moment as they each processed what the other had said.

  “How long were you thinking of sticking around?” Jazz asked after about five minutes had passed.

  “Up to you. I’ve got three weeks off from the shop.”

  She rested her fork on her plate. “Three weeks? Wow, Hook must have been feeling generous,” she said speaking of the club brother who managed the garage.

  “Been ages since I’ve taken any time.”

  Jazz picked up her fork, speared a baby potato, then ate it delicately. After chewing slowly and swallowing, she licked her lips. Gumby groaned as that pink tongue swiped over the mouth. The mouth that fucker Screw had feasted on while Gumby still hadn’t had so much as a taste.

  “I think I’d like you to stay.”

  He nearly dropped his coffee mug. Did she say she wanted him to stick around? Her fingers trembled as she reached for her own coffee.

  “I can’t even tell you I’ll try, Gumby. I’m just not in that place. But I’ve missed you. And I’d love to reconnect as your friend. If that’s not enough I underst—”

  “It’s enough,” he said. “It’s everything.” Then he stuck a fork in one of Jazz’s potatoes. She scowled at him, pointing her own utensil in his direction.

  “Watch it, mister.”

  And just like that they fell back into their old groove of teasing, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company. If he’d had known her hatred of sharing her food would be all it took to melt the ice, he’d have swiped from her plate before now.

  On the way out, they held hands again, this time without the thickness of tension and awkward silence. Though Jazz hadn’t done much to explain what had happened to run her off, at least she hadn’t chased him away.

  Friends. He could do friends. It’s what they’d been before.

  What would Screw think of their friendship?

  Instead of opening her door, he backed her against the car and boxed her in with his hands propped on the window on either side of her head. “He’s not your ol’ man, huh?”

  “No, he’s not. And he never will be. That’s not what he wants from me.”

  Too bad she didn’t make eye contact when she said that.

  Gumby resisted the urge to narrow his eyes at the obviously unspoken words. Screw may not want her for an ol’ lady, but he sure wanted to fuck her. Probably would have gotten the chance too, if Gumby hadn’t come to town.

  Well fuck him.

  Gumby’s chance with Jazz had been ripped away by forces he still didn’t fully understand. Nothing would keep him from reconnecting with her—as a friend of course. Not even a jacked and moody enforcer.

  He leaned down, brushing his lips against hers in a barely there kiss. When she sighed a soft sound of wonder and her lips parted, he took her mouth. She fit against him so perfectly, he couldn’t stop himself from nudging his hardening cock against her soft stomach.

  “Good,” he whispered in her ear. “Because I plan to enjoy the next few weeks with you.” Then he kissed her again because now that he’d had a taste of her sweetness, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to stop sampling.

  Eventually, Jazz placed her hands on his chest, giving a gentle push. “F-friends,” she said, eyes shining and chest heaving. “Just friends, Gumby.”

  “Sure,” he said, and she narrowed her eyes at the easy capitulation. “Just friends.”

  There was nothing friendlier than a kiss.

  CHAPTER TEN

  IT’D BEEN A good day. Incredible day, really. As she drove them back to her house, she wasn’t ready for it to end.

  After the awkward, tension filled morning they’d been able to fall into a pattern that was as comfortable as it was exciting. An oxymoron, but somehow it worked. It was as though she was meant to be there, with him, feeling the buzz of happiness and excitement.

  Gumby was the perfect combination of gentleman and rogue. An alpha, take-charge man, and an outlaw biker who had another side. An intellectual, caring, compassionate side that spoke to her.

  Unlike Screw, who may have more layers to him, but fuck if he’d let anyone uncover them.

  Heat shot through her as the memory of Screw’s kiss charged to the surface. Dammit, all it took was the mention, the thought of his name to have her recalling their chemistry. A physical connection like that wasn’t something one found every day. Maybe she could have given into it. It wasn’t as though she had to take all her clothes off to have sex. She could get hers and leave a good majority of herself covered. Even knowing physical was all it’d be, she could get behind it, if Screw respected it. But he didn’t. He’d be out the door and onto the next conquest before the aftershocks finished rolling through her.

  And there would be aftershocks. Probably multiple orgasms, too. Hell, maybe he could even break her record of three in one night…

  Shit! Why was she thinking about this? Gumby should have all her thoughts. Gumby had traveled across the country after searching for her for a year. Gumby was kind, patient, sexy as hell, and wanted her for more than a quick romp. Gumby was the kind of man she should be interested in. He was the only man who should be on her mind.

  Even though she’d put him in the friend zone.

  But goddamn Screw had wormed his fucking way into her psyche. Wormed, hell, he’d bulldozed through her goddamn skull.

  Jazz dropped her head in her hands. What was she doing? She had nothing to offer either man. Even sex. Especially sex.

  Suddenly, the walls of the car seemed to shrink around her, nearly crushing her with their confinement. She threw open the door and stumbled out, sucking in large gulps of air.

  Gumby startled, looking across the top of the SUV at her. “You all right?” he asked, turning away from the gas pump.

  “Uh, yeah,” Jazz straightened before glancing over her shoulder. “Just feeling drowsy. Must have been the wine at dinner.” She started walking backward, thumbing in the direction of the gas station market. “I’m just gonna run in and grab a coffee. You want anything?”

  He flashed her a grin that had her knees weakening. Something about those Clark Kent glasses combined with his leather jacket and mussed blonde hair was damn potent.

  “Yeah, babe, coffee sounds perfect.” He winked then rested his arms on the top of the SUV. “Don’t mind me, I’m just gonna stare at your ass as you walk away.”

  With a roll of her eyes and a chuckle, Jazz turned. What ass? She’d always wished she had more of one. More of everything really. Hips, ass, tits…everything was just slightly…flat. A quick peek over her shoulder revealed Gumby didn’t seem to have a problem with her backside. As advertised, his gaze was riveted to it.

  So sue her if she didn’t stick it out a bit and try to exaggerate her strut.

  “Good evening,” a bored sounding attendant said as he sat behind the counter, flipping through a car magazine. The guy didn’t so much as flick a glance in her direction when the bell jangled, indicating her arrival.

  “Good evening.” The warmth of the market heated her skin instantly, making her almost too hot with her thick winter jacket. Jazz headed to the center of the store where an island held multiple coffee machines and options to doctor it up anyway she’d like.

  For herself, she added some sugar and too much vanilla creamer, and for Gumby, plain black coffee as
he’d taken it during breakfast that morning.

  She popped the lid on the second coffee as the doorbell rang. A smile curled her lips. Probably Gumby, considering they’d been the only car filling up. Still smiling she turned just as the attendant said, “Good eveni—” then cleared his throat.

  Jazz sucked in a breath.

  The attendant seemed to have a similar reaction to the newcomers. He sucked in a breath and straightened; magazine forgotten.

  “C-can I h-help you?” he asked. Poor kid couldn’t have been much more than nineteen. With trembling hands and the way he gnawed his lip and stuttered, he looked seconds away from pissing himself.

  Jazz could relate.

  Spreading throughout the market were six men, mostly large, mostly bearded, mostly grim faced. They grabbed some forties of shit beer, bags of chips, and a few sodas, remaining largely quiet. Nothing out of the ordinary for a late-night gas station run, except for one very significant factor.

  Each man sported a worn leather cut, boasting Chrome Disciples rockers. None wore jackets, just cuts and dirty T-shirts or wife beaters as though it wasn’t currently thirty-eight degrees. If it hadn’t been for the quiet when their cars pulled up, she’d have guessed they’d rode in on their bikes too.

  Such tough guys.

  Not that it mattered, the problem was their presence. They’d popped up a few weeks ago, riding into town with their one-percenter cuts in a territory already claimed by an outlaw MC.

  A blatant show of disrespect and a giant fuck-you to the Hell’s Handlers. Worse, they’d bragged about settling in the area and made it clear the Handlers were to either join them in their arms dealing endeavor or they’d be fast enemies. In the week or so they’d been in town, they’d caused an immense amount of drama for the Handlers. Crank, their enforcer, had shown up at the diner, stalked Chloe one afternoon, and even went so far as to lure Toni and Shell into a trap. One that nearly ended in death for her friends, and had got Zach shot in the process.

  After it all went down, the club up and disappeared. No one thought the reprieve was permanent, but it at least gave the Handlers some time to figure out what their next move was.

  What the hell was she supposed to do now? Leave the coffee and slink out the front door? Waltz up to the counter and pay the terrified attendant?

  Instead of either of those options, Jazz held her breath as though that would somehow make her invisible to the bikers.

  “Well, well, well, who do we have here?”

  So much for that.

  Jazz stood, rooted to the floor, a sixteen-ounce coffee to go in each hand as a man with a crooked nose and cauliflower ears sauntered up to her. His hair, wavy and dark, nearly reached his shoulders. Across the left side of his chest a patch read Crank, with another stating Enforcer right below it.

  Shit.

  “Excuse me,” she said, finally finding her voice and ungluing her feet. She took one step only to have her path cut off by Crank.

  “Now, where ya running off to?”

  Did he know her? How she was connected to the Handlers?

  She swallowed as she lifted the coffees. “Excuse me, I need to pay for these.”

  He cocked his head and studied her with surprisingly shrewd eyes. She could practically see the wheels turning in his mind as he figured out how to work this situation to his advantage.

  But the main question remained. Did he know she spent her free time hanging with the Handlers? Did he know she considered the ol’ ladies her honorary sisters?

  “You’re a pretty little thing, ain’t ya?” Crank asked as though she hadn’t spoken.

  Jazz shifted under his perusal but didn’t respond.

  “Ain’t she pretty?” Crank called to a much larger man with a beer gut and straggly blonde beard.

  “Ehh, she’s a’ight. Little scrawny. Ain’t got a lot of hair. What the fuck you gonna hold on to while she’s sucking you off?”

  And that was her cue to get the fuck out of there.

  His words served as fuel, firing her blood and kicking her ass in gear.

  “Get out of my way,” she said, shoulders straight, head high.

  “You don’t want to suck his cock?” Crank asked, laughter in his voice. “Hey, Ollie, don’t think she wants your meat, man?”

  He snorted. “Fuck if I care what she wants.”

  Jazz’s gaze caught that of the wide-eyed attendant. The poor kid now stood holding his phone as though trying to decide whether he needed to call in some help.

  She probably had about two seconds before Gumby came in to see what the hell was taking her so long. That would only fan the smoldering flames.

  “Get the fuck out of my way,” she said through gritted teeth this time.

  Crank’s head fell back on his shoulders and he let out a loud laugh, but he stepped to the side.

  Jazz didn’t waste any time getting the hell out of there, but as she passed him by, he stopped her with a hand on her chest.

  Could he feel the erratic drumming of her heart? Fucker probably fed on her fear. Staring straight ahead at the attendant, she tried to control her breathing. His hand was way too close to her breasts and she swore it felt like a sticky slug, even through her many layers.

  He leaned in, so close his hot breath wafted across her ear. It took everything in her to resist the urge to shudder.

  Her gaze locked with the attendant’s. The kid lifted the phone as if to ask whether he needed to call the police.

  “Tell the ginger I’ll be seeing him,” he whispered.

  A cold chill ran down her spine.

  He knew who she was.

  Jazz pushed forward, keeping her gaze fixed ahead. Crank didn’t move his hand. Instead he let it slide from her body and had she not been wearing a sweater and bulky coat, he’d have copped a good feel. As she walked past the checkout counter, the kid said, “On the house.”

  Only then did Jazz look down at the coffee still in her hands. She’d completely forgotten. Stirring it hadn’t been necessary as her trembling hands shook it all up.

  “Thank you,” she mumbled as she hurried to the exit. One of the men opened the door for her, a leering grin on his face.

  “Be seeing ya, sweetheart,” he said, slapping her on the ass as she walked by.

  Jazz yelped, and one of the coffees flew out of her hand, landing with a steamy splatter across the sidewalk.

  Gumby, who was halfway between the pumps and the market frowned and began to jog toward her. “Hey, what the fuck was that?” he yelled to the biker who’d hit her.

  Chaos was seconds from ensuing.

  Fuck the coffee.

  Jazz dropped the remaining cup in the parking lot, jumping sideways to avoid the splatter. She ran toward Gumby, hooking her arm in his as she reached him.

  “What the fuck was that?” he said as he tried to pull free. “He just hit your ass? You know him? That wasn’t a Handlers cut.”

  “I know,” she said, tugging him with all her might. “We need to go. Now.”

  “Wait, I can’t let that shit slide, babe,” he practically growled.

  “Yes, you can. I’ll explain everything, but we need to get the fuck out of here, now.”

  Finally, he relented and let her tow him to the car.

  “Remember how to find the clubhouse?” she asked.

  “Yeah…”

  “Good.” She tossed him the keys, shaking too hard on the inside and outside to focus on the road. “We need to go straight there.” She fumbled through her purse as she spoke.

  Gumby started the car and drove away from the gas station but pulled over on the side of the road only seconds later. “Jazz,” he said in a commanding tone she’d never heard from him.

  Phone in hand, Jazz stared at him, mouth open.

  “I need to know what the fuck is going on. We up shit’s creek here?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered, no longer looking into the eyes of the guy who wanted her, but the dangerous biker he hid well beneath t
he often sweet exterior. “I promise to tell you everything that’s going on,” she said. “But I need to tell them first.”

  Jaw ticking, Gumby nodded once then hit the gas, hard. He may not like it, but he got it and knew she wouldn’t betray the MC by spilling their business to anyone, even him. His hand curled around hers, tapping a nervous rhythm on her thigh.

  Not only would he understand, he probably respected her for it.

  Though she could tell by the hardening of his jaw and the severe frown that he hated the fuck out of it.

  Jazz lifted her phone to her ear. “Shell?” she said when her friend answered.

  “Hey, Jazzy! Where the hell have you been all day. We miss you.”

  “I—” She cleared her throat. “I need to talk to Copper.”

  Immediately, Shell went on full alert. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I just need to talk to Copper.”

  “I can put him on the phone if you need him right this second, otherwise, we’re all at the clubhouse.”

  Shit. She didn’t want to do this in front of the whole club. Not with Gumby in tow. Too many questions she didn’t want to and couldn’t answer. But it looked like she had little choice. Gumby sure as hell wouldn’t wait out in the car.

  “I’ll see you in ten.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “THE FUCK IS wrong with you, brother?” LJ asked as he watched Screw with a raised eyebrow.

  Shit.

  Fuck.

  “Huh? What? Nothing. What do you mean?”

  “Seriously, Screw, you’re all…agitated,” Holly said swiping her hand through the air in the direction of the pile of scraps he’d peeled off his bottle and left on the bar.

  Agitated didn’t begin to describe it. Felt like his insides were trying to claw their way out of his body.

  “My dick is agitated,” he said reaching between his legs. “You wanna help settle him down?”

  “Ugh, Screw!” Holly covered her eyes with her forearm making him laugh. “Can you be serious for one second? You’re all jittery and weird.”