Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 90721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
My eyes took a few minutes to adjust, but when they did, I didn’t have any problem making out Baylee’s tight ass warming a bar stool, nor the three men in uniform talking to her.
Sighing, I made my way to her, staring at her ass the entire way.
The men that I passed made room for me as I crossed the wooden floor, either noticing my face that was set in stone or The Dixie Wardens MC cut that was covering my back. Either way, they moved, and I was grateful.
Baylee looked over her shoulder, saw me coming, and stood, smiling.
The ass that I’d been watching showed the faint outline of her panties, and I remembered when she’d slipped them on over her ass that morning.
The little slips of fabric were bright green with lighter green polka dots interspersed throughout the miniscule amount of fabric. At first, they looked non-threatening, but then she’d turned around, and I was treated to half her ass hanging out.
I never would’ve thought I’d be turned on by a pair of panties, but I damn sure was. When she’d come closer, digging in her bag next to mine for the tight pair of jeans, I ran my finger along the fine lace that partially covered one ass cheek.
And, even now, knowing what was under those skin tight jeans, I was hard and ready for her. Regardless of our previous night’s activities.
She left her fan club and walked into my arms when I was a little over six feet away. The glares I received over her shoulder were totally worth it when she slapped my hand away from her ass and threatened to withhold her goods from me for the rest of the weekend.
“How’s Johnny?” She asked, leading me to a table in the far back corner.
I told her what happened, and it made my heart warm to see the concern for my boy on her face.
“I hear boys are terrible about accidents. Lord knows I’ve seen enough broken arms, and noses for a lifetime.” She said, taking a seat on one side of the leather booth.
“Yeah, we’ve already had stitches twice now. The first time he cut his chin while trying to climb the chain link fence in the backyard. The second time was when he tried to jump off the dock, but didn’t jump far enough and caught his backside on the dock’s edge.” I explained.
Both of those times had absolutely freaked me the fuck out. I could deal with blood, guts, gore, fire, and dismemberment all day long with anyone that wasn’t my son. That time, though, I’d nearly passed out over a minuscule amount of blood.
The waiter arrived taking our drink orders, as well as our food orders, and we spent the minutes waiting for our drinks to arrive in a companionable silence.
Baylee’s next statement surprised me. Not that I hadn’t been expecting it, more so that I wasn’t quite sure what to tell her, even after weeks of contemplating this very scenario.
“Will you tell me about your MC?” She asked, eyeing my cut.
My hands steepled out in front of me, and I regarded her before answering.
“The Dixie Wardens MC was founded in 1970. My father entered the MC at its lowest point. There was infighting, drugs, and all kinds of illegal shit going on when I first prospected. After my father became president of the MC, he stopped the illegal shit cold turkey. The other chapters had already turned their shit around, but our chapter was the founding chapter, and the last one with founding members. Once dad took over, all of our money came through hard work, and nothing that was illegal.”
Baylee looked enraptured throughout my explanation, leaning forward more and more, listening intently as I explained.
“So you’re the VP?” She asked, pointing towards the patch under my club name.
“Yeah, not because my pop is the president either. Because I busted my balls to get where I am.” I muttered, taking a sip of my beer when the waiter set it down in front of me.
The brew was perfect. Dark, cold and bitter, just like I liked it.
“What does Shiva mean?” She asked, pointing to my name patch.
I smiled, remembering when I’d gotten the name. “My brothers, JR, Hell, and Deuce went through boot camp and then firefighter school with me. We were in the training program, and I was the only one without a nickname by the end of it. Anyway, the whole fucking unit somehow found out my middle name, and I got shit about that for the last month of the school.”
Taking another sip of beer, I continued.
“Anyway, I’m not really sure what the hell happened, but I just lost it one night, tired of catching shit from everyone. We were out at a bar on a rare night off, and a couple of Flyboys came in looking for a fight, and me being the perpetual state of annoyed, decided to give them one. Never heard another word about my middle name, and earned myself a nickname. Shiva. They said I was a God of Destruction. JR was a mythological nut, and decided I needed to be named that.”
I could see the wheels turning in her head, and I wondered how long it’d take her to ask what my middle name was.
It didn’t take long.
“What’s your middle name?” She asked about two seconds later.
I smiled. “Sue.”
“I’d heard you being called that at the party, but I honestly thought that it was a joke.” She said.
I was being 100% serious, unfortunately.
Then she blinked rapidly, and promptly burst out laughing. “Why?”
I shrugged. “My pops has a man crush on Johnny Cash.”
Baylee snickered. “Seems you do too, naming your son Johnny.” She observed.
I shrugged again. “Had to carry on the tradition and all.”
“Well isn’t this sweet. Not to interrupt or anything, but you forgot this earlier.” A spiteful voice said from the edge of out booth.
I looked up and nearly groaned. Damn, how had I missed her walking up to me? Fuck, I must be getting soft.