NUTS (Biker MC Romance Book 5) Read online

  Hiding behind the shelter of the window coverings, I waited for him to walk inside. He pulled off his helmet, scratched his flattened hair with the tips of his fingers, and lifted his leg over the seat. As he walked toward the porch, his right hip pivoted mechanically with each step.

  Fascinated by his bravado gait, I watched as he sauntered all the way to the porch. After he disappeared through the doorway, I let out a sigh, released the blinds, and walked to the bathroom.

  To the unknowing, I could easily be perceived as being a creep or the weird neighbor girl who was stricken with an odd obsession. Neither would be accurate, though. What drew me to him was equal parts admiration and fascination, friendship, and nothing more.

  He was the epitome of a free spirit, and I admired that about him. I wished I could be as carefree, as simple, and as content with life as he was.

  But I wasn’t.

  Very few people were.

  His unique outlook on life that drew me to him. Okay, that’s not totally true. His handsome looks sucked me in like an industrial vacuum.

  I knew being with him – or anyone for that matter – was wishful thinking, but setting my sights high kept me striving to better myself.

  And, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with a common girl believing that one day she just might become a princess.

  Chapter Six

  P-Nut

  As I was a long-time member of the Filthy Fucker Motorcycle Club, one might expect that I would be close to all the members of the club. The truth of the matter was this: although I viewed each of them as brothers – and would do anything to protect any of them from harm – I was close to very few of them.

  Smokey stood as one exception to the rule. He was a member of the MC, as good of a man as life would ever offer, and I viewed him as much more than a friend. Over the years, he’d become one of my life’s necessities, and often kept my wandering mind on the right track.

  As he and I prepared for the beginning of yet another typical Filthy Fucker weekend, we stood in my driveway and admired the most recent modification to my beloved Harley.

  “Looks good as fuck,” he said. “Funny what a few inches can do.”

  I shifted my eyes from the bike to him. “Few inches one way or another can change everything. Just ask a guy with a four-inch cock. Few inches the wrong direction would put an end to it all.”

  He chuckled. “Well, a few inches fixed this motherfucker, that’s for sure. Having that fender down on that rear tire will make it handle better, too.”

  I nodded. “Feels more stable in the corners, that’s for sure.”

  “When did you do it?”

  “Couple days ago.”

  “Have any problems getting the old one off?”

  “Funny you ask. Fucked with it for 45 minutes and was just about to give up. God damn bolt was stuck, even after I loosened it. Luckily, Smudge came over and helped me. She had to sit on the fucker to relieve the pressure on the shock.”

  “Haven’t seen her in a while.” He shifted his eyes toward her house. “How old is she now?”

  I had no idea how old she was. I knew at some point she had graduated high school, because I heard she was working at the Harley dealer during the day. I shrugged. “Fuck, I don’t know. She didn’t have to be a specific age to sit on the fucking thing. She was going to get a cup of coffee, and I called her over. Shit, she probably knows more about fixing Harleys than you do.”

  “She’s working at the dealer in San Marcos now.”

  “That’s what I heard.”

  “I was in there the other day, getting new risers. Jesus, she’s--” He raised his eyebrows. “Different.”

  I took a drag off my cigarette and held the smoke deep in my lungs. “Different than what?”

  “Different than she used to be.”

  “How so?”

  “You haven’t been in there and seen her yet?”

  “Why the fuck would I go in there and see her, when all I’ve got to do is look next door?”

  “She looks…” He inhaled a shallow breath, exhaled, and then looked at me. “She doesn’t wear that frumpy shit she always wears in the dealer. She wears one of those black Harley shirts, and it hugs her like a second skin. She’s uhhm. She’s built like a brick shithouse.”

  I wrinkled my nose and stared. “Smudge?”

  He raised both eyebrows. “When Pee Bee and I went in a couple weeks ago, fuck, I didn’t even recognize her. Hell, seeing her around here, I always figured she was lesbian or something.”

  I found it funny he’d mentioned it. I had given it some thought, but doubted anyone else would do so. My mind often wandered, and it seemed I considered things most other men didn’t. I wasn’t a paranoid man, but I typically considered all possibilities before making decisions about anything.

  I took another drag off my cigarette, and then snuffed it with the toe of my boot. “I’ve wondered if she was. The hoodies, the baggy-assed jeans, and hell, she’s never got a guy with her.”

  “Bet she is,” he said.

  “Might be.”

  “Ever seen her on a date?”

  I shook my head. “Nope.”

  “Bet she is, and she’s afraid to tell her dad.”

  “She’s got big soft titties. So, if she is, her girlfriend’s in for a fucking treat.”

  His brow wrinkled and he shot me a glare. “You played with her tits?”

  “No, I didn’t play with her fucking tits,” I snarled. “We took the sled for a ride when we were done, and she smashed the big fuckers against my back. Then, when we got back, she gave me a hug. It was fucking weird. I had to turn around real quick to keep my cock from banging against her thigh. Surprised the shit outta me. Fucking cock went stiff from the little neighbor girl.”

  “If you grind your cock on her thigh.” He coughed out a laugh. “Her dad’ll come over here and snap your fucking neck.”

  “I wasn’t grinding my cock on her. And, her dad ain’t about to do shit. I’d wad that prick up in a ball and toss his big ass in the street. It’s her stepdad, anyway.”

  “You know about that fucker, don’t you?”

  “What? That he’s some war hero? Yeah, I’m well aware. But I ain’t about to let the fact that he’s got a medal on his chest make me feel like I’m somehow beneath him.”

  “I wasn’t saying that, I was just--”

  “Let me tell you something, Smoke. I didn’t fight in that war. They wouldn’t let me. Because of my foot. Believe me, I tried. The fact that he killed some platoon of angry Iraqis doesn’t make him any better, any tougher, or any more of a man than me.”

  He nodded. “Agreed.”

  “If you agree, stop talking shit.”

  “I was just saying if you rammed your cock against his daughter’s thigh that he might--”

  Smudge was nice, had a perfect attitude, and her personality was her most attractive feature. But, she was young, and I was pretty damned sure she was a lesbian.

  “If I decide to play with his daughter’s tits, I’ll play with his daughter’s tits. If I want to rub my stiff dick on her thigh, I’ll rub my stiff dick on her thigh. And there ain’t a fucking thing he – or anyone else – will be able to do to stop me. Not like I’ll have to worry about it, she’s too god damned young for me to be fucking with and she’s probably a queer.”

  “You need to go to the dealership and see her,” he said with a laugh. “And shit, I bet you’re not ten years older than she is.”

  “Ten years is a long time. If it is ten, when she was in kindergarten I was a sophomore in high school. When I think about that, it makes me itch. Never fucked with the younger chicks, you know that.”

  “Eleven years between Sandy and me.”

  “You’re a fucking weirdo, though.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “A weirdo?”

  “Maybe not a weirdo, but you do weird shit.”

  His other eyebrow raised. “Like what?”

  I pulled a cigarette from my pack
and clenched it between my teeth. “Where do you want me to start?”

  “Start wherever you want,” he said with a laugh. “If there’s one of us that’s weird, it sure as fuck isn’t me.”

  I lit the cigarette, took a drag, and then shot him a glare. “So, you’re saying I’m a weirdo?”

  “Weirder than me, that’s for sure.”

  “How the fuck you figure?”

  He extended a finger as he made each point. “You don’t trust anyone. Nobody can tell you what to do. If it isn’t you’re idea, it’s wrong. If it is your idea, everyone else is wrong. You walk into a room and start counting shit, and you can’t have one fucking thing out of place in your house, or it freaks you out. Want me to go on?”

  I exhaled a cloud of smoke and shook my head. “So, because I’m a neat-freak realist who sees things clearer than most simple-minded fuckers, I’m a weirdo?”

  “Weirdo was your term, not mine. I might be weird, but you’re fucking nuts.”

  “The fact I don’t fuck kindergartners doesn’t make me nuts.”

  “She’s not in kindergarten now.”

  “She was.”

  “So were you.”

  “If we were in kindergarten together, I’d probably be banging that shit right now just for practice. I dig older chicks. Chicks with more experience.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” he said.

  “Then shut the fuck up about it.”

  He gazed down at the toes of his boots. After a moment’s pause, he looked up. “Heard anything about that ATF agent?”

  Posing as a former Marine and a biker, an undercover ATF agent had infiltrated our club and was accepted as a prospect. Midway through his investigation, he’d been exposed as being a government agent, and all but immediately went missing. I may have known something about it, but in matters such as that, keeping my actions and ideas a secret was paramount to my – and the club’s – success. I had little desire to lie to Smokey, but protecting him was more important than sharing secrets.

  I opted to answer his question with a question, which was the mark of a guilty man. If presented in the proper manner, however, it might not be detected by my trusting friend.

  I took a drag off my cigarette, blew the smoke to the side, and then met his gaze with a glare. “What in the fuck makes you think I know anything about that fucking ATF agent?”

  He shrugged. “Just asking.”

  “Ask somebody else.”

  “The whole deal makes me nervous.” He gazed down at the driveway and shook his head. “The fucker was prospecting for us one day, and then he just disappeared.”

  “Doesn’t make me nervous. At least he’s not fucking with us anymore.”

  He looked up. “True.”

  “Talking about it pisses me off. You ready to get some road time?”

  He gave a slight nod and turned toward his motorcycle. “I’m ready if you’re ready.”

  I lifted my leg over the seat, pulled on my helmet, and started the bike. After the engine reached operating temperature, I revved it a few times just to make sure the neighbors knew I was still alive.

  Movement on my right caught my attention, and I looked in that direction. Wearing her typical oversized hoodie, loose fitting jeans, and a pair of sneakers, Smudge paused on the way to her car and waved.

  I waved in return and gave a nod.

  I watched out of the corner of my eye as she proceeded to walk toward her car. Try as I might, I couldn’t see her as anything other than what she was. I couldn’t fathom that a Harley shirt would transform her into anything other than an attractive lesbian.

  Even if her Harley gear somehow turned her into a heterosexual goddess, it wouldn’t matter. I knew a little bit about everything, and what I knew about little girls was that little girls always had big expectations.

  Expectations I couldn’t meet.

  Chapter Seven

  Joey

  He was twenty-something, tall and attractive. His mannerisms made it apparent he knew it, though. He was an arrogant pretty boy, and although I really didn’t want to help him, I needed the commission from the parts he wanted to convert his Harley to a show bike.

  He raked his fingers through his hair, and then looked at my tits. “I think they call it a tombstone taillight.”

  I wished my shirt wasn’t as revealing as it was, and dismissed his stares as being juvenile.

  “They do.” I clicked through a few pages, chose a motorcycle that had the taillight he referenced, and selected the part on the monitor. “Like this?”

  I turned the screen to face him.

  “That’s it,” he said. “But I want it without the turn signals. They look like shit.”

  “California law requires them on anything built after 1973.”

  “I don’t care. They look like shit.”

  “They might look like shit, but they could also keep you from being rear-ended and killed.”

  “Jesus,” he whined. “Are you a cop?”

  “One taillight with no turn signals,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t sound as sarcastic as I felt it might have. “No problem.”

  He motioned toward the monitor. “What’s that one fit?”

  “This one is off a Softail Deuce, but it will fit any Softail fender,” I said. “It’s similar to the tombstone light they’ve used for years. You said your rear fender was custom. Did you fabricate it using the factory fender, or did you buy it?”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “It could make all the difference in the world,” I said. “If it’s an aftermarket stretched fender, the light might not fit.”

  He gripped the edge of the counter with both hands, flexed his biceps, and grinned. “Explain that to me. How it would make a difference.”

  I looked off to the side, and then met his gaze. “If the fender is stretched like most of them are, it follows the contour of the tire, and then, somewhere along the back of the fender, it flares outward. The back side of the taillight has the typical contour of the factory fender built into it. If you try to mount it near or on the flare, it won’t fit. The radius is going the wrong direction.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

  Why am I not surprised?

  I let out a sigh, grabbed a piece of paper, and drew a symbol that resembled a question mark and a backward ‘s’ combined. Then, I drew an arrow to center of the upper curve.

  “The taillight is supposed to mount here. And, it has that contour of that surface built into it. If you mount it here.” I drew an arrow to the lower leg of the symbol, where it curved inward. “It won’t fit. The contour is reversed.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “My fender looks like that.”

  “You’ll have to mount the light high on the fender.” I shrugged. “Might look dumb.”

  “I really want that look. Anything else will look dumber.”

  I looked at the monitor, and then at him. “$239.20 with all the hardware to mount it.”

  “Add it to the list. If it doesn’t fit, I’ll just bring it back.”

  “If it doesn’t fit, you can either build a bracket, or sell it on Craigslist,” I said. “No returns on special orders.”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. Again. “Add it to the list. Fuck, I’m going to have a hundred grand in the fucker if I’m not careful.”

  If he was building the bike himself, there was no way he’d have a hundred thousand dollars in it. Thirty would be more like it, and that was if he was a complete dip-shit.

  “Is that the last part?” I asked.

  “That’s it.”

  I started adding the cost of his parts. Without looking up, I decided to entertain him. “Hundred grand, huh?”

  “At least.”

  “Sounds like a nice one.”

  “Maybe I’ll give you a ride on it when I’m done.”

  I puked in my mouth a little bit. While I reached a total, I swallowed heavily and tried to disguise my disgust.


  I looked up. “Sorry, my boyfriend wouldn’t like that.”

  He interlocked his fingers behind his head and flexed his biceps. “I’m sure I’ll be back in here from time to time. If something changes, let me know.”

  “The total is $1,740.56.” I forced a smile. “And, I’ll be sure and do that.”

  He pulled his chain-mounted wallet from the back pocket of his Rock and Republic jeans, and after fumbling to unsnap the stiff leather, handed me a credit card. “Sounds good.”

  Heck yes!

  His spending spree would put me at my goal for the month, and it was only the 13th. For the rest of the month I would receive a percentage of my sales as a bonus.

  I rang up his purchase, disguising my excitement during the process. After he signed the receipt, I handed him his credit card. “Check back in three days, we should have it all.”

  He grabbed the piece of paper I’d drawn the sketch on and scribbled on it. “That’s my cell. Call me when they’re all in. Number might come in handy sometime anyway.”

  I picked up the paper and gave a nod. “I’ll give you a call when they come in.”

  Asshole.

  He shot me a smile, looked at Blane, and then turned toward the door.

  “That guy was a dick,” Blane whispered.

  “It was funny watching him play with his hair.”

  He nodded toward the door. “This dude looks like a hardcore motherfucker.”

  I looked up. P-Nut was coming toward the parts counter, unsnapping his vest as he walked.

  I fumbled to conceal my boobs, but seemed to only be making matters worse.

  Crap.

  “I gotta pee. Take him, will you?”

  “Sure.”

  P-Nut was halfway between the front door and the parts counter. I dipped out the back of the parts department and went to the restroom.

  I’d talked to him on countless occasions, and assisted – or at least observed – while he made dozens of repairs on his motorcycle. Having him see me with my boobs boiling out of my shirt, however, wasn’t something I really wanted to do.

  One thing would possibly lead to another. If it did, I’d be without the only male friend I’d ever had. Dreaming about being with him was one thing. Taking the chance, and then losing him altogether wasn’t a risk I was willing to take.