Random & Rare Page 8

  “I’ll make up for it tonight. I’m good with details, aren’t I?” I said through ragged breaths. “Always make good on my debts, don’t I, babe?”

  My fingers dug into her thigh as I rolled my hips, pumping into her fast. “Good morning, Wildflower.”

  “Shut up already!” she gasped, pressing her head back against me.

  I sucked on her earlobe, and she shivered in my tight grip.

  Thrust.

  “You like that?”

  Thrust.

  “Yes.”

  Thrust.

  “Oh, Dig, dammit…”

  She forgot about making it fast. It was all in the details.

  “YOU WANNA DANCE WITH ME?”

  “Nope.”

  “Ah, c’mon, Dig.” Lissa’s lips twisted into a pout, her hips jutted to the right, and she stamped her feet together.

  Brat.

  The lead singer of a country-hits cover band was crooning on the small stage at Pete’s, wishing he were Tim McGraw, and I could barely hear what Lissa was saying, not that it mattered. It wasn’t as if I didn’t know what she was after.

  “I don’t dance. You go on. I’ll watch.”

  She laughed. Her eyes were pinned on me as she leaned in closer. “You do that, baby. I’ll be dancing just for you.” She planted a kiss on my lips, her black roots glaring at me in the spotlight over my table. She sprang off me and hopped down toward the dance floor, grabbing one of her girlfriends as she went.

  I nabbed my pack of cigarettes from the table. A lighter flicked open for me as two long legs stretched out next to mine. I grinned at Miller as I took in a long drag.

  “Thought you had an old lady,” he said, bringing the lighter to his own cigarette.

  I eased back in my chair and grinned at Lissa while she swiveled her hips and shook her incredibly round ass at me on the dance floor in those fuck-me platform shoes. “Yeah?”

  He took a long drag off his cigarette. “Where is she?”

  I trained my eyes on him. “Why?”

  Miller shrugged, holding my eyes, waiting for a reprimand or a laugh. I wasn’t sure which.

  “It’d be a first, is all. Seeing you with an old lady. Wanted to meet her. Wreck’s told me about her.” He ran a hand over his closely cropped hair. “You know, I think I knew her in high school.”

  I eyed him as I expelled the smoke from my lungs.

  “Not like that, man. I mean, I knew who she was from far away. Very far away.” He shook his head at me, his hand sliding down his abs, as he laughed.

  “She was in Denver, visiting her sister. Now she’s on her way down to Florida with Jump’s old lady to get some sun.”

  He made a face. “Fuck. You sure that was a good idea?”

  “I set Alicia straight before they took off. Anyway, we’ll be heading on down ourselves next week. This snow ain’t letting up anytime soon.”

  “Neither is she.” Miller gestured toward Lissa showing off for me on the dance floor, kicking up her legs, shaking her loose platinum-blonde curls.

  I shifted in my chair. Miller’s gaze settled on me as he took a swig from his beer bottle and then let out a laugh.

  “Yeah, you know the way this shit goes,” I muttered.

  “It’s a story as ancient as time. Just make sure you don’t bring any STDs down to Florida with you.”

  I swiped a hand across my mouth. “I don’t plan on fucking her. She’s just another fucking groupie, man. You like her? Take a stab.”

  “Nah. Not my type.”

  “Who gives a shit about type? A willing female, young man, is a willing female.”

  He snickered. “Old habits die hard, eh?”

  “I’m not stepping out on my old lady, Miller. It’s definitely a discipline not to. But when there’s purpose behind it, it’s all good.”

  “Purpose?”

  “Yeah.”

  A slight grin warmed his face as he raised his beer bottle at me. “Well then, I look forward to meeting your old lady when I get back.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah, I’m fascinated to meet Dig Quillen’s great purpose in life.”

  We laughed.

  I tapped the ash off my cigarette and glanced at Lissa dancing, shaking those curvy hips. “Sometimes though, you’re in the candy store, you want to smell the flavors, check out the colors, so you crack open the packaging just for a peek, a whiff, and then you pop it back on the shelf. No calorie intake. No harm done to the waistline.”

  “Ah, but the shopkeeper’s gonna be after you to pay for that candy, if you opened the package.”

  “Shut up.”

  Miller raised a thick eyebrow. “There will be plenty of man-candy for your old lady to check out on a Florida beach this time of year. That’s for sure.”

  I glared at him. “You aiming to piss me off tonight?”

  “What’s the point of candy if you’ve got a full dinner waiting for you on the table at home?” He smirked at me and guzzled more beer.

  “What is it? Go on, say it.”

  He eyed me, wiping the side of his mouth. “You’re full of shit. How’s that? What did you teach me once? There’s shit that’s random and shit you can control. It’s up to you to choose what you’ll react to and how to make your mark. What do you choose to control?” Miller’s black eyes bore down on mine.

  He never would have talked back like that to me before. He used to squirm in his seat when he had something to say, that blunt jaw clenched, his gaze intense, heavy. Being a soldier had stiffened his spine. Our boy had grown up.

  “You weigh in and control the important shit, young Skywalker.”

  He raised his chin. “I figure, if you finally got yourself an old lady, a woman who’s worth calling your own, then what’s the point of this…willing female?”

  Our eyes slid to Lissa and her girlfriend gyrating on the dance floor with their tits bouncing in their fuzzy tight cropped sweaters, bumping into other men, and laughing uproariously.

  Miller let out a small huff of air. “She’s as fuckin’ random as a pinball whizzing by.”

  I rubbed at the side of my head with my thumb, trying to relieve the sudden wave of pounding. “How much longer do I have to put up with your ass?” I asked before taking another drag on my cigarette.

  “I just got into town, man. Isn’t that why we came out tonight?”

  “Yeah, but you’re already ruining my mojo.”

  Miller let out a hearty laugh. “Forgive me my transgressions, master.”

  “I’ll think about it. Why don’t we go shooting tomorrow? You can show me what Uncle Sam’s taught you.”

  “Sounds good. Not much else to do in all this snow anyway.”

  Lissa bounced into my lap. The weight of her body was like a load of bricks. A sweaty arm slid around my shoulders, her heavy breaths hitting my face. The odor of stale cotton candy rose between us.

  Holding my gaze, Miller blew out a stream of smoke. “I stand corrected.” He gestured at Lissa’s back with his cigarette. “There’s another snow-time activity for you.”

  “Huh?” Lissa grinned at me, her face shiny. “Did you like that, babe?”

  “Yeah, fucking fantastic,” I replied.

  “Love it when you watch me like that.”

  Miller chuckled, and I shot him a glare.

  “Why don’t you go put that soldier-boy charm to good use and find some tail?”

  “Ah, there’s an idea. Why didn’t I think of that?” His dark eyes stayed pinned on me as he rubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray between us on the table. Grabbing his beer bottle, he strode toward the crowded bar.

  Lissa giggled as she wiggled her ass in my lap, running her fingers up my arms. My dick responded, but my erection rush was not the usual invitation to roar. It was an annoyance, making me uncomfortable. I pushed her off me, dumping her in the chair the kid had just vacated. I drained my beer bottle and banged it back on the table. Lissa stared at me as she flicked strands of her dried-out hair a
way from her flushed face. I stood up, shoving my near-empty pack of smokes in my jacket pocket.

  She licked at her lips. “You gettin’ me a drink?” Her voice was on the edge of shrill.

  “Uh, no.” I stalked toward Wreck, Boner, Miller, Dready, and Clip at the bar.

  “Dig! Di—” The blare of music drowned out Lissa’s shriek.

  “A bacon cheeseburger, two chili dogs, two fries.”

  “That it?” asked the waitress, still scribbling on her pad, straining to hear over the roar of the long lines of bikes motoring in around us in the huge parking lot of Dead Ringer’s Roadhouse.

  “That’s it, hon,” Jump replied.

  The waitress nodded and took off, weaving in between the endless rows of motorcycles.

  “Is that for both of us or just you?” asked Alicia, her hands on her hips.

  “Have no fear, babe. You’ll get what you need,” Jump replied.

  Grace snorted. Alicia narrowed her eyes at her old man as she wrapped a hand around his bulging bicep, pressing herself into his side.

  There was nothing like Bike Night at the Roadhouse, over an hour northwest of Rapid, to break up our week. With warmer weather in full swing, the hunger to get back on our bikes and eat the road had finally been satisfied. The parking lot was a sea of colored shiny metal, jammed full of long, long rows of bikes.

  After our arrival, we had spent the first hour checking out the brand-new Harleys the yuppie posers were showing off, them eyeing us, us smirking at them and admiring quite a few beautiful hogs and plenty of women along the way. Other clubs had shown up with their choppers, which inspired our respect for their inventiveness and audacity.

  I handed Grace a big plastic cup of draft beer from the passing waitress.

  “Thanks, baby,” she murmured.

  “Pizza?” asked another waitress, bearing a platter of Sicilian squares in her hands, nudging it in my face.

  I flinched at the stench.

  “No, thanks! He’s allergic to the oregano.” Grace pulled me away. “Geez, I guess Biff is spiffing up the menu.”

  “Great.” I swallowed down the acid at the back of my throat, clenching my jaw.

  “Honey, Cruel Fate is setting up. I’m going to go over and say hi to Eric, okay?”

  A frown escaped my control at the name of the band and its lead guitarist rolling off her lips.

  She scowled at me. “Dig, I want them to play at Pete’s. Better in person than over the phone. I need to make a good impression.”

  “Yeah, you’ll make an impression all right.”

  She rolled her eyes and stood on her toes, sticking her tongue in my mouth.

  I squeezed her ass in return. “You’re evil,” I whispered. “Who’s gonna protect me from the fucking pizza?”

  “Geez, you and your sensitive allergy. Relax, I’ll be back in a bit. Oh, no, wait.”

  “What?” I gulped at my cold beer, enjoying its icy slide down the back of my tense throat.

  “I’ll be back after I register for the wet T-shirt contest.” She tugged at her black T-shirt with the One-Eyed Jacks skull under her denim property vest, her tits popping up over the V-neck.

  I gave her the full-on threatening frown.

  “What? I’m wearing my club T-shirt. This is good promo for the club—especially since last week’s fundraiser for Cheryl Devere’s chemo, thanks to moi, and then the club replacing those old windows on Mrs. Chibbet’s house. You got in big with the Rotary Club there. Don’t forget that. You do want the club to stay in people’s minds, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, baby. The club, not my old lady’s tits.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “My tits wouldn’t do the club proud?”

  “Your tits do me proud. Nobody else. Are we clear?” I readjusted her shirt. “Hate to disappoint you, but I don’t think any members of the Rotary Club are here tonight anyway.”

  “Bet their horny teenage kids are though.” She gave me another kiss and slid her arms around my middle, pulling me close, as she grinned. “Oh, for God’s sake, I’m just teasing you! Alicia said they canceled it tonight anyway. It got too crazy last time.” She shook me. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Just a little wound up.”

  “What is it?”

  “Nothin’!”

  “Quillen, we came to have fun tonight. I don’t see any enemies around.”

  I wiped strands of her hair from her eyes and exhaled. She still wanted to believe in the good in everyone. Would she always stay this positive, eager, and generous after years with me? I didn’t want Grace to be naive, yet I also didn’t want her to transform into the dog-eared, gnawed-on soul too many of us were, especially the women.

  “They’re always around, babe.”

  “Right. Well, get unwound. And I’ll help you get even more unwound later on. How about that?”

  I swatted her ass, and she grinned at me. She strode toward the small stage in the center of the lot. I rubbed a hand across my jaw as I watched her walk away from me.

  She called out to a tall guy with a ponytail, holding a guitar. He turned and smiled huge at her.

  Motherfucker.

  She stretched out her hand, and they shook, but then he leaned over further and pulled her up onstage. She laughed, and he kept grinning at her as she talked on, her face beaming, her free hand gesturing in the air.

  I shoved Boner in her direction with my shoulder. “Go hover, would you?”

  “Uh, yeah, sure, bro.” He grabbed another large plastic cup of beer and headed toward the makeshift stage.

  “The Blades are here, huh?” Butler asked at my side.

  “Yeah, saw Zed the minute I got off my bike. What’s up with that? He hasn’t been up here in a while. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

  “Nope, nothing wrong with that.” Butler folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against a table. “Always nice to have visitors from Nebraska. I have a feeling though. This whole relaxed and easy approach is bullshit.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I flicked on my lighter and lit my cigarette.

  “We gonna go say hello, or wait for him to make a move?”

  I turned to my right. Jump, Clip, Dready, and Judge were delving into their food like they hadn’t eaten all day. Our president, Mick, and his old lady were checking out bikes. Creeper was plodding along at his side with some older woman in tow who was dressed like a twenty-something.

  “We wait.”

  “Hey, guys. How you doing?” a babyish girl’s voice chirped at our side. A sexy tall redhead in a tank top advertising a bike repair shop chain that had an outlet in Rapid dangled key chains in front of us. “How would you like a key chain from our store? We offer a full range of services you might need.” She smiled, one hand on her hip and the other holding up a key chain with a photo of a guy doing a wheelie on a scooter.

  “Oh, yeah? What kinda services?” asked Butler, his blue eyes soaking in her, a finger rubbing across his chin, a dirty smile curling his lips. “’Course you can fully service me anytime. I always need that.”

  She only laughed and tucked the key chain into the front of his jeans, planted a kiss on the side of his face and sauntered off. He smirked and pulled out the key chain, stuffing it in his jacket. “Let’s get some food, bro. I’m fuckin’ starvin’.”

  “Let’s check out the rice burners first. I need a good laugh.”

  “Aw, did you see that mess of Hondas and Yamahas pulling in ahead of us?”

  I nodded, and my eyes darted across the lot to the stage where Boner had an arm slung around Grace’s shoulders while she kept talking to that guitarist fuck. The band’s drummer had taken an interest, too. He hung over her, his eyes on her chest. His sticks were at his side, tapping out a rhythm against his leg. He laughed at something Grace had said and leaned into her, filling her ear with some sort of bullshit. Even though my woman wore my patch on that denim vest and had Boner glued to her side, it still didn’t make any sort of difference to those two as
sholes.

  Fuck, men are dogs.

  “You comin’ or what?” Butler nabbed a cigarette from the pack in my front pocket and tapped at my chest.

  I swiped his hand away. “Yeah, let’s hit it.”

  An hour later, we had checked out the flashy bikes, both American and Japanese, brought by the yuppies who only took out their fancy name-brand machines on nights like this and then popped them right back in their garages or trailers.

  Shit, I wouldn’t trade my custom-built 1967 Panhead for the world.

  Wreck and I had built that bike around a new motor that I had bought off a guy in Ohio who had once worked at a Harley store. Months later, it was built, and I’d taken it through the Badlands on its first long run, roaring through that desolate stone terrain, the blast of the pipes and my humming pulse weaving together, centering me. I’d never felt such a rush, such a fucking high. It was a clear high, glorious and humbling all at once.

  Cruel fucking Fate was playing a blaring cover of “Devil Woman.”

  God help us all.

  Where the hell was Grace?

  If she were in the front row, dancing and singing along, I was going to bust a gasket. The migraine surged in on both sides of my skull.

  “Dig, long time no see, man. Hey, Butler. What’s up?”

  A beefy inked arm clapped me on the shoulder, and my eyes shot up.

  Ronny, who had a choice tattoo parlor in Deadwood, let out a belly laugh. His long silver chains, hung with oversized crosses and skulls, clattered together with the rolling movement of his big body. “Haven’t seen you in a while, pal. How you been?”

  “Good. Good to see you. I’ve been meaning to come by. I’ve—”

  “What do you boys think of Lissa’s new rose?”

  Fuck.

  Lissa stood in between me and Ronny, wearing a pink cutout one-piece bathing suit, which only really covered her nipples and pussy at best. Big gold rings attached all the strips of fabric. High heels topped off the getup. A ‘70s wet dream. She chewed on gum and trained her gaze on me, one bleached blonde eyebrow arched higher than the other. Ronny’s thick index finger traced a trail from the edge of her left tit where the red flower tattoo was in full bloom down her side, running along the tattooed stem dotted with smaller roses, complete with thorns and drops of blood. Butler let out a heavy exhale as Ronny’s finger circled over a tiny rose low on her hip just near the swell of her round ass. Ripe fruit, plump and juicy for the picking.