Chapter 2
Two
Welp. I’m alive.
The cabin is still standing, and it could probably survive a zombie apocalypse after it handled last night’s storm like a pro.
I trekked back to my van this morning through wet, knee-high snow, with my duffle over my shoulder, and now I’m parked outside the local gym I’ve been to a million times when I’m in town.
They have massage chairs, a steam sauna, and endless hot showers.
It’s places like this that make the life of a nomad a whole lot easier. I can usually find one in any town I visit.
I could use some lifting and cardio to start my day right.
And coffee.
A truck bed full of coffee.
I’ll lie down on the ground so it can pour straight into my mouth.
I’d die a happy man, drowning in God’s nectar as long as it has caramel.
Always caramel. Hot or iced, it pairs perfectly either way.
I know, I know, that’s not what you expected.
Men are supposed to drink black coffee. Yeah.
If I wanted to drink something that tasted like bitter piss, I’d take it black.
I’m too damn old, and my give-a-fuck busted a long goddamn time ago.
If I want to drink my coffee with caramel and cream, I’m gonna.
If I wanna drink it blended up with ice like a milkshake, I will.
I’m grown. No motherfucker is stopping me.
This is your sign to drink whatever the fuck you want.
Sugar. No sugar. Vanilla. That disgusting matcha stuff that tastes like grass.
It doesn’t account for taste, but that’s none of my damn business.
Shouldering my bag from the passenger seat, I haul my ass into the gym, scan in with my phone, head to the locker room, and change into a pair of black gym pants and a cut-off Harley shirt that shows off my lean muscles that I’ve worked hard to achieve.
Popping earbuds in, I select my favorite hardcore heavy metal playlist and head for the free weights, not paying attention to those around me.
Some people come here to pick up their next fuck.
Not me. I’m here to work out. Not that I would mind gettin’ laid.
It’s been a while. A long while. But that’s fine.
Most partners don’t appeal to me, anyhow.
They’re too boring—too vanilla. A hole isn’t just a hole anymore, like it was in my twenties.
I care where my dick goes. Quality always beats quantity.
I take my time through my sets, gettin’ a solid pump in. Wiping the sweat from my face with my shirt, I clean up my area and finish with a relaxing two-mile walk on the treadmill before heading to the sauna—the best routine finisher.
Throwing my soaked shirt into my locker, I step into the men’s steam bath, and the heat fills my lungs. With my elbows on my knees, I bob my head to music as every muscle in my body eases.
The cool air rushes in as another person enters, but I don’t look up.
There’s a light tap on my shoulder.
Grumbling to myself, I remove an earbud and peek up to find a sight for sore eyes.
“I thought that was you,” Jace says, smiling huge as he drops on the bench beside me. A cat has got my tongue as I stare at him. He’s gotten massive since the last time I saw him. We’re about the same height, a little over six feet, and we were both lean the last time we ran into each other.
Not anymore.
Christ.
“You got big,” I comment, taking in his bulging chest and biceps. “What did you eat? An entire fuckin’ horse?”
Redness blooms across Jace’s cheeks. I dunno if it’s from my words or the heat, but it doesn’t matter. He looks fuckin’ sick.
“Jesus,” I hiss and turn to get a better look.
Pride swells in my chest at the roundness of his shoulders and the taper at his waist. He’s wearing shorts, and the definition of his hairy thighs is incredible.
I’ve known this kid for years. We ran into each other when he was just outta college and started working out. We hit it off fast and worked out together all the damn time whenever I was around. I showed him the ropes, as I’ve been lifting for decades.
Shrugging all innocent, Jace pushes a strand of damp black hair off his forehead and combs it back. “I got a trainer.”
I whistle, impressed. “It shows.”
“Thanks, man.”
I clap him on his massive shoulder. “I’m fuckin’ proud of you, kid. You look amazing. Glad you came in when you saw me.”
He nods. “I haven’t seen you around since, what… last summer?”
“Yeah. I’ve been workin’ down south mostly. I was only here maybe a week earlier this year.” When I needed to fill in for a brother, but he didn’t need to know that.
“What brings you back now? Work?”
Bobbing my head, I hum. “Yeah.”
Jace pulls a face. “Over the holidays?”
“I’m on standby,” I explain.
“For the club?”
“Yep. For the club. Like always.”
“How long you stayin’ this time?”
I wipe sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. “As long as they want me to. Probably ‘til after the new year.”
“Sweet. You should have dinner with us sometime. Gracie would love to finally meet ‘The Wolf.’” He air quotes, grinning. “I’ve told her about you.”
“Gracie’s your old lady?”
“Sure is.” He flashes me the simple gold band on his finger. “High school sweethearts. Goin’ on twelve years together. Married five.”
I rear back, impressed. “Damn… and no kids yet?”
“No. Maybe someday. We’ve got time.”
With a nod, we lapse into a short chat about anything and everything. It feels nice catching up. I don’t have many friends. Brothers, yes. But friends, not so much. Moving around as much as I do, Jace is the only man I’ve spent any time around outside of the club brothers.
Hell, I didn’t even know Gracie was his old lady’s name.
I knew he was married. We’d talked about it once, a few years back. But most of our interactions have been about fitness.
“I’m done with my workout for the day. You wanna grab lunch or coffee or somethin’?” he offers, hitching his thumb toward the sauna door.
Loving the chance to catch up more, I nod. “Coffee. All the damn coffee.”
Jace chuckles, deep and warm as he stands. He pushes the sauna door open and sweeps his hand toward it. “Let’s do it.”
Following him out, we change in the locker room. I can’t help but spare a few glances at the man. A black and gray backpiece spans the entire width of his backside. Damn. That must’ve taken hours. Peeking over his shoulder at me, he grins when he notices me checking it out.
“You got inked,” I comment, so he doesn’t think I’m checking out more than the tattoo. There’s locker room etiquette, and watchin’ another guy dress is usually code for other things. That’s not what this is.
Jace tugs a t-shirt over his head and turns around to talk to me as he drops his shorts to his ankles, and instead of a pair of boxers, there’s a bright blue jockstrap hugging his junk.
I keep my eyes forward and away from anything considered indecent as he says something I don’t even fuckin’ hear because…
he’s wearing a jockstrap, and it’s blue.
I don’t know why that strikes me as odd, but it does.
I think about it the entire way out to my van, where I drop my duffle, and over to the coffee shop a few doors down from the gym.
I think Jace says something about his ink, but I can’t be sure.
I’m too focused elsewhere to pay attention to his friendly banter.
I throw out a handful of grunts and hums along the way, but the jockstrap is seared into my brain.
He’s gotten big, tattooed, and big. When I met him, he was still a kid.
Sure, he still is, considering I’m damn near old enough to be his old man, but still… he’s grown up.
Once we enter the coffee shop, he nods for me to sit.
I’m half-hard as I slide into the furthest booth.
Somehow, Jace remembers my order when he returns with an iced caramel coffee, the biggest size, and a blueberry muffin.
He sets a napkin to the side and slips across from me with his hot drink and a donut.
Needing to focus on something besides… whatever the fuck is happening to me, I inhale my iced coffee, which turns out to be cold brew, which is even better. I sigh with pleasure as the caffeine fills my belly, and Jace smirks.
“You’re an addict,” he teases, sipping his drink like a normal human.
“Sure am.” I grin, puffing up my chest like an idiot.
Smiling, Jace rolls his blue eyes.
“The cabin I’m stayin’ in doesn’t have electricity, much less coffee. I should pick up instant powder from the store today when I load up,” I explain.
He rips off a piece of donut and pops it into his mouth. “You’re still stayin’ in that secret cabin in this weather?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“You do know tonight’s ice storm is gonna be a bitch.”
I shrug. “It’s fine.” The cabin held up last night.
“It’s not. From what you told me, that place is a shack. You can’t stay there in this weather. The summer is one thing. What if you get stuck and can’t call out, ‘cause you ain’t got cell service? You could end up with fuckin’ frostbite, or worse, dead.”
Picking up my muffin, I wave off his concern. “It’s fine. I’ve stayed in worse.”
Ignoring me, Jace pulls his cell from his pocket and makes a call.
“Hey, babe…”
“No. Everything’s fine. You won’t believe who I ran into…”
He laughs. “Yes. Wolf. He’s in town…”
“Yes. I already invited him over for dinner. But how do you feel about him staying with us ‘til the storm passes?”
“Sweet. Okay. Thanks, babe...”
“Yep. Love you too. See you in a few hours.”
Disconnecting the call, Jace turns to find me scowling at him, jaw clenched.
I don’t need his charity. The cabin is fine.
If I was worried all that much about where I was stayin’, I could easily afford a hotel, but I don’t want one.
Sleeping on beds that hundreds of others have slept on doesn’t sit right with me.
I avoid them at all costs. Down south, I usually sleep in a tent when I’m livin’ on my bike.
It’s easier. If I’ve got the van, I blow up a mattress in the back.
Jace kicks my foot under the table. “Don’t look at me like that, asshole. You’re staying with us. At least until the storm moves through. It’s safer that way. We’ve got a spare room. Gracie loves guests.”
I grunt and sip my coffee, still glaring at the kid.
A cocky grin splits his full lips, knowing damn well I won’t turn him down. Jace is right. If the storm front is genuinely gonna be that bad, it will be safer at his place. But I don’t like charity. Nothing in life is free. That includes a warm place to rest my head.
“I’ll pay you,” I offer.
Rolling his eyes, he waves me off. “No, you fuckin’ won’t.”
Grumbling at his stubbornness, I cross my arms and sit back in the booth.
Jace huffs a laugh. “You’re lucky you’re even hotter when you’re surly,” he jokes, and his cheeks turn pink while I’m still stuck on the hotter when… I’m what?
He said I’m hotter.
Wait.
What the hell does that mean?
“Stop overthinking, asshole,” he teases, somehow knowing my internal crisis.
That’s easy for him to say.
Stop overthinking.
Ha. Nope. That’s not happening.
I couldn’t tell you the last time anyone called me hot, let alone a man doing it. A man who’s more than a decade younger than me, who looks like him. His wife must be a smokeshow. I’m guessing blonde, blue-eyed, lean, with slight curves, and a cute, round ass. Not my type, but it would suit him.
We finish our coffee and food without saying much. When we’re done, we throw away our trash and zip our hoodies before we brave the frigid outdoors. He follows me over to my van again and puts his hand out as the wind beats the shit out of us. “Give me your phone.”
Pulling it from my pocket, I hand it over, and he uses my face to unlock the screen before typing in his number and texting himself. He returns my phone just as flecks of ice begin to spit from the sky. We both curse and laugh as he taps something on his screen, and mine buzzes in my hand.
“You have my address. Come by whenever. I’m home today,” Jace says. Then he turns and jogs across the parking lot, where I watch him climb into a green pickup truck, as I get into the van.
After I turn over the engine, I check his text.
Kid.
I snicker at the name he put himself under.
Kid: Don’t be a pussy. We’ll see you soon. You’re not a burden. We got the room.
Attached is his address.
Fine.
Throwing my phone on the passenger seat, I grip the steering wheel and sigh. I suppose spending a few days with Jace and his wife isn’t such a bad idea. It is the holiday season. Perhaps she has some decorations that need to be put up. I could do that as I wait for the next drop-off for the club.
Another gust of wind rocks the van as I pull out of the parking lot and turn right.
Before Jace’s, I need to drop by the store. I can’t show up empty-handed. Only assholes do that, and while I might like assholes, I’m not one.
At least not most of the time.