Jaded: (Beautiful Biker MC Romance Series), page 10
The bunny could fuckin’ sing.
I had to make myself focus on the road ahead when all I wanted to do was listen to and watch her lips move to the lyrics of the song. Her eyes were still closed, and she was lost in it, snapping her fingers and swaying to the beat as she sang the words as soulfully as Amy.
5
When I pulled up to Archer’s place, the lawn was crawling with people, tables, lawn chairs, and kitchen chairs.
My mother ran for me like she hadn’t seen me in five years. I was here a few weeks back for her birthday weekend.
I got out of the truck and to the hood as she crashed into me. Gianna was being urged out of the passenger seat by Arch, who opened her door. Then he was lifting her out, setting her on her feet while hugging her.
“Ooh, where’d you get this one, Jesse? Nice!”
She laughed.
“She’s not mine,” I corrected, letting go of Ma and moving to shake his hand.
He let Gianna go in order to throw his beefy arms around me and gave me a hug that lifted me an inch off the ground.
“Easy there, Arch,” I grumbled.
He slapped my back and grinned. “Good to see ya, son. Fern’s tickled pink you’re here. Me too.”
Not long back I’d have bristled at being called son, but knowing Archer, it was intended with warmth.
Arch is in his mid-fifties, looks good for his age. Ape-like stature with massive arms and hands, soft around the middle, but still has strength. Ma looks nowhere near her age and doesn’t act it either. She’s in her upper forties, but looks like she’s in her thirties. She’s still got the physique of a stripper, fake rack, almost as much hair as Gia has, though Ma’s is dark. She wears her makeup thick, always has on a whack of jewelry, and dresses like she’s forever twenty-one. As a teen, it sucked, because I knew all my buddies sprang boners for her whenever they came over.
“You a dancer, sweetie?” Ma asked Gianna.
“Nah. Both of these are left.” She gestured to her boots.
“Body, hair, and face like you’ve got, wouldn’t matter,” Arch told her. “I’m not bein’ fresh,” he tacked on, “that’s my professional opinion. Bein’ I’m the owner of an exotic nightclub.”
Ma rolled her eyes. “Buying The Playpen didn’t buy you industry expertise, turkey, but keep on dreaming.”
“That’s why I pay her the big bucks. For industry expertise,” he told Gianna while flashing my mother a grin.
She rolled her eyes and turned her attention to Gianna. “As far as I’m concerned, every girl has an inner exotic dancer. Just not all of them know how to tap into it. What do you do, honey?”
“I work with the elderly in nursing homes, care assistance, but that job just ended, so I’m in the in-between while the…” she dropped her voice, “hostage situation gets dealt with.”
“Ah, well you look like you could work a pole. You ever wanna give it a try and relocate here, after that business is dealt with, let me know. And I mean that as a compliment. I could help you tap into it. Used to dance. I’m Fernanda Garcia, call me Fern. JJ’s ma if you hadn’t already figured that out. Welcome.”
“Hiya Fern. Gianna. Or Gia. JJ’s hostage, though I already know you’ve figured that out.”
Ma laughed.
I rolled my eyes.
Gianna looked around curiously. “And thanks for havin’ me.”
“Our pleasure, darlin’,” Archer put in.
There were half a dozen of their dancers hanging around. Some boyfriends or husbands, I was guessing. Half a dozen kids. Archer’s two brothers and their families, plus a couple older people sitting with Archer’s elderly neighbors at a picnic table between his and the neighbor’s house.
“I’ll get you somethin’ to drink and I’ll do intros. Food’s about two hours out. We’re doin’ a smoked ham and two turkeys. One the traditional way, mine. The other, he’s deep frying.” Ma grimaced exaggeratedly. “Personally, I think that’s sacrilege, but I’m a live and let live type. Wait till you taste my stuffing and my gravy. Best around.”
“Can’t wait,” Gianna beamed. “What’s this rumor about a chocolate fountain?”
“Rumors are true. Let’s go!” Ma linked arms with her.
***
A while later, I was coming out of the garage with Arch, who showed me the old Goldwing he bought to fix up for himself and Ma to go touring.
He also showed me the little bare bones zero-frills pop-up camper he got to hitch to it, just big enough for the two of them to sleep in. And I found this fuckin’ funny because Fernanda Garcia was not one to camp. He said he'd buy a top-rated mattress for it and let her loose with her bejeweling gun so she could call it glamping.
Coming out, I saw Gianna and another girl also wearing leather pants, this one with dark hair, not as long as Gianna’s, sitting on the back step together. The girl passed G her phone.
I straightened and watched for signs she was about to make a call. Or signs she’d check to see if I was watching. But she just looked at the screen and smiled, then passed the phone back.
My mother then breezed past them and came right to me, zeroing in with a serious glare.
I knew that glare, so I braced.
“What’s the story there?” she demanded, urgently.
“Why? Something wrong?”
Ma shook her head. “I fucking love her, that’s what’s wrong. You’re not with her? Why aren’t you with her? Look at her!” She slapped my ass. “She’s like a real-life Pussycat Doll. If I got her on our stage and she could dance, we could retire in five years instead of workin’ ‘til we drop.”
I snickered, taking a mouthful of beer.
“Spill the tea, baby boy,” Ma urged.
I swallowed, shrugging. “She’s a biker bunny that hangs around the mother charter. Provided some intel about the enemy so she’s got protection.”
“A snitch?”
“No. Lifesaving information. Wyld Jackals had plans to off three women.”
“Oh. Those ass wipes. Doesn’t count as snitching if it’s against them, I say.”
“Agreed. That’s on the deep downlow. Her life’d be in danger if it gets out.”
“She’s under your protection?” Archer asked from behind me.
“I’m assigned as her handler. Prez thinks she’s all above board but I’m watching closely in case she ain’t.”
“You’re not doin’ her?” Ma asked.
My eyes rolled as I took another gulp of my beer. Fernanda Garcia never had any qualms about asking personal questions.
“Why not? You got somebody? Things heating up with Chantelle? Word is Chantelle’s real sweet on you.”
“Nothin’ serious with anyone.”
“Then I repeat, why not? She’s sweet. And hot,” she added. “How long you been watching her?”
“A couple days.”
“How much longer you gonna be doin’ it?”
“Not sure. At least a week.”
Ma smiled like she had a secret.
“What?”
“Then it’s just a matter of time and good to know there’s plenty of time.”
“Just cuz I’m lookin’ after her doesn’t mean I’ve also gotta be fuckin’ her.”
“Maybe you should,” Ma tried.
“Jesus,” I muttered.
“I’m ready for grandbabies, JJ. I don’t look like I am, but I am very ready.”
“Too bad you put all your grandkid eggs in this basket then, isn’t it?” I fired back.
She pouted.
“Maybe my girls’ll give us some,” Archer put in, throwing his arm around her.
Archer has three daughters ranging from seven to eleven.
“That’ll be nice. But it means I gotta wait, since they’re too young yet.” She pouted harder, bottom lip out so far, it’d be comical if it wasn’t something she did so often I no longer found it funny.
“Patience, babe.” He kissed her cheekbone.
“Maybe I’ll just have to have another baby,” she pondered.
Archer smiled wide.
I scoffed. “At your age?”
“Oy! Go fuck yourself,” Ma snapped, slapping my arm. “I’m only in my late thirties.”
“Plus about ten,” I grumbled.
“Shush, you. Or no dessert.”
Laughter caught my attention. I looked over my shoulder and saw Gianna was now with three girls, and they were all laughing on the porch.
And fuck me, but she looked pretty doing it. No stress or pain on her face. Eyes alight. Fuck. Gorgeous.
“Not doin’ her, eh?” Ma tried. “Not yet, I say. I know that look in your eyes. That’s the look you got when you wanted that trick bike and decided to hustle to get enough cash to buy it.”
“You’re high,” I muttered.
“Mark these words, JJ. I predict it’ll happen. And I say she’ll be more than a roll in the hay.” She poked me in the arm. “You know I’ve got a little gypsy blood in me, and I’ve got the gift. I predict that’s who’s gonna give me grandbabies.”
“If she’s a sweet butt,” Archer put in. “most brothers don’t make them their old ladies.”
My mother’s back straightened. “Oh, kinda like dancers?” Ma’s hands settled on her hips as she leaned toward him aggressively.
Archer winced, throwing me a look of alarm. “Fuck. Really put my foot in my mouth didn’t I?”
Ma kept going. “What’s wrong with girls who play the field? That’s no different than a guy doin’ the same.” She poked him in the chest. “Play the field until you find the right one. Why can men do it, but we can’t?”
“Course you can. That’s what you did until you found me, right?”
“You sayin’ I’m a slut?”
“Christ, woman, you know what I mean,” Archer muttered. “It’s a biker thing.”
“A sexist thing. A fuckin’ hypocritical thing. Sounds like you think certain girls aren’t worthy of a man’s affection beyond a quick romp. Would that include exotic dancers? What are we doin’ here, then, babe?”
“Fuck me,” he muttered.
“Maybe Marmalade’ll let you share her bed tonight,” I razzed, gesturing to the doghouse in the back yard that was set up for Lady Marmalade, their Great Dane.
My ma continued glaring at him with her hands on her hips.
“My baby boy doesn’t have double standards like that. If he loves someone, he loves them regardless of their past. What matters most is who they are now along with who they’ll be in the future.”
“Sounds like a pep talk,” Archer muttered, gesturing to me.
“Does, doesn’t it?” I replied, lighting a smoke.
“It workin’?” Ma asked.
I didn’t answer.
Gianna giggled again from her spot on the porch. Marmalade had wandered over and Gianna was scratching her behind the ears with a look on her face that said she loved dogs.
She looked relaxed. These girls were probably more her speed than the girlfriends at the clubhouse. Likely these dancers were like the club bunnies, not stressing that every other bitch around was out to take their man or the spotlight. Girls like Sara and Marlena looked down their noses at the sweet butts, probably mostly out of insecurity, worry their man would stray.
Ma leaned closer to me. “She can have the room you used to sleep in. The other bedroom’s full of Arch’s junk that I hid for the day since we had company comin’. He needs to clean it out before next weekend when we have the girls again, so how about you crash on the couch?”
“I need to keep an eye on her, Ma. We’ll both sleep in there.”
Archer nudged my side with his elbow while a smile split across my mother’s face.
“Mm hm,” came from Arch.
“With that couch in the room, too, plenty of room for you both,” she said, “But the couch isn’t great for an adult so maybe you should share the bed.”
“The couch’ll suffice,” I said.
Ma snickered.
***
“How is it?” Ma asked her eagerly.
“It’s so good!” Gianna exclaimed around a mouthful of food, hand covering her mouth.
“Which one’s better? The deep-fried turkey or the roasted?” Archer asked.
The four of us were at one of the five tables in the yard.
Gianna lifted a finger while she finished what was in her mouth, then spoke, “I like ‘em both. Different but both really good.”
“My stuffing the best you’ve ever tasted or what?” Ma asked.
“For real,” Gianna said, eyes going big as she rubbed her stomach.
Ma shimmied her shoulders with pride. “After dinner there’s a pie-off,” she advised. “We’ll see which gets the most votes. Between Eliza’s apple pie and Summer’s.”
A kid sitting on the deck stairs wailed after his dinner toppled down the steps onto the lawn, so Ma dashed over to save the day.
One of the neighbors at the next table pulled Archer into a conversation.
Gianna took a sip of her beer and then forked up a bite of stuffing. She chewed, swallowed, and then made a sound… a sound dangerously close to the sound a woman makes when I bottom out inside her pussy. In that husky voice of hers it was potent. And then she licked her fork. Slowly. Like she was starring in a Whitesnake video.
Our eyes met. My cock twitched.
And then something dawned. “Didn’t you say you were allergic to bread?” I leaned in to ask.
“Shh,” Gianna whispered. “It’s okay.”
I looked at her plate. She’d eaten stuffing. Ma heaped a pile of it on her plate. And she’d taken a bite of a dinner roll. Plus the whole plate was swimming with gravy and I knew Ma’s secret gravy thickener was biscuit mix. No way was it the gluten-free kind.
“Huh? Are you fuckin' kidding me, woman?”
“Shh.” Gianna squeezed my thigh. “It’s okay.”
“Are you or aren’t you allergic to gluten?”
“I am.”
“G…”
She waved her hand and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “It’s okay.”
“What happens if you eat bread?”
She took a bite of turkey smothered in gravy. I grabbed her plastic fork. "Stop eating that and answer me."
She sighed dramatically.
“Talk,” I ordered.
“Stomachache. Bloating. Kinda flu-like. Brain fog. Some stuff that's… too TMI to talk about.” She grimaced.
“Go to the can and make yourself puke.” I pointed at the house.
She looked at me with surprise.
“Hurry. Don’t go makin’ yourself sick to spare my mother’s feelings. Fuck sakes.” I threw the fork down.
She stared at me instead of getting up and doing what she was told.
“Go on. Go.”
“I can’t do that."
“Can’t do what?” I clipped.
“Make myself puke.”
"It won't hurt Ma's feelings if you can't eat the food, G. You're allergic, not a fuckin' fussy eater."
"I can't make myself puke, Jesse."
“Just stick your fingers down your throat.”
She shook her head. “Won’t work. Got no gag reflex.”
I heard Archer choking on his beer. I shot him a dirty look. His eyes got bigger, and he stared at me, innuendo all over his face.
I turned my attention back to her, urging, “Go try.”
She stared at me blankly.
“Try, G. You don’t wanna be sick.”
She got up and headed inside.
Archer leaned over. “No gag reflex?”
“Shut it,” I said.
“Put a fuckin’ ring on it, son.”
***
“Ma, she’s got Celiac. She’s allergic to gluten. She can’t eat these pieces of pie.”
“I’ll just eat the filling,” Gianna said. “Gimme that back.” She snatched the paper plate I’d confiscated.
“You’re allergic to gluten?” Ma gasped. “You ate my stuffing and Sharla’s homemade dinner rolls!”
“I let myself have a treat every once in a while,” Gianna shrugged. “It’s a holiday.”
“Bullshit. She didn’t wanna hurt your feelings,” I advised.
Gianna’s eyes narrowed on me for ratting her out. And fuck, it’d be cute if I wasn’t ticked at her.
“Snitches, stitches, and ditches, Jesse,” Gianna warned, shaking her fist at me.
“Shake that fist at me, G and I’ll type A hostage you,” I warned.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” she volleyed.
Yeah, she caught my drift and was suggesting me binding and gagging her would be a good time despite that we both knew how she felt about confinement. Before I had a chance to respond, Summer called over, “There’s probably gluten in that beer you’re drinking, too.”
Gianna’s face went pink. And I could tell she knew that already. But Ma put a beer in her hand earlier, and instead of asking for something else, she’d been nursing it all day.
I took the can and checked. It was still nearly full.
“My pie filling has flour in it, too. I mix flour in with my apples,” Summer piped up again from the next table over.
“Does yours?” Archer asked the girl I assumed made the other pie. The dark-haired one that G had sat with on the stairs. She must be new; I didn’t know her.
“I don’t know,” she answered with a shrug.
“How do you not know?” Tiffany, Ma’s assistant manager, inquired.
“Didn’t read the side of the can.” The girl shrugged again.
Summer gasped. “Canned? Canned? Sacrilegious!”
A couple of other people laughed.
“Nah man,” she corrected, “A shortcut for a busy gal who was attached to a pole until one o’clock in the morning last night. Don’t send me to the gallows but it’s a frozen pre-made pie crust, too.”
“I think I should win by default,” Summer declared.
“It’s not really a victory if it’s by default,” the other girl reasoned.
“Don’t poison yourself on our account, girlfriend. Fuck sakes,” Ma said. “Do you need somethin’ for your stomach? You okay?”
“Need an epi-pen?” an older male neighbor called over, “I think Joan four doors over has one.”
