11. Gigi
11
GIGI
O ver the next few days, I do my best to adjust to my new living situation on the MC compound while taking time off from parking and working. Financially, it’s not the best decision, but I’m too rattled by losing almost everything I own to have a steady head and hand right now.
Living in the middle of an outlaw motorcycle club as a woman is a pretty surreal experience. Thankfully I’m used to a lot of these guys. Plus, they know better than to mess with me since I’m Fury’s little sister. I spend a lot of time downloading ebooks and reading in bed with Tedward. Out in the main part of the clubhouse, I hang out and shoot the shit with Little Big Mama, the club’s main bartender. She is the only woman that lives in the clubhouse full-time. I’ve always liked her, with her crazy mess of reddish-blond curls and take-no-shit attitude. She keeps the men in line, and keeps the club bunnies from copping an attitude. She’s a welcome antidote to the overflowing testosterone that pervades the atmosphere here.
I see both more and less of Mack. Less, because now that I’m living here, he doesn’t have to be my constant bodyguard. But more, because when I do see him, he’s not “on duty” and therefore less of an uptight ass. Around his club brothers on his own turf, he’s more relaxed and easy-going, in a way I haven’t really seen him be since we were kids. It’s more attractive than I want to admit. I find myself seeking him out with my eyes whenever we’re in the same room. I’m constantly aware of his presence, almost like he’s emitting an electrical current on a frequency that my body is specially tuned to. It makes me feel like the silly, childish girl I used to be, back when I had a secret, mortifying crush on my older brother’s best friend. I hate feeling this way, and do everything in my power to hide it from him and everybody else.
My landlord, Mr. Ruiz, gets in touch and tells me the fire department still hasn’t determined the cause of the fire. He tells me they’ve cleared the house as structurally safe to go into to get any possessions I can salvage. Mack takes me in his truck to go through my stuff, which is a blessing because Ruiz is pretty agitated when I get there. He doesn’t say it, but it definitely feels like he blames me for the fire. He even tries to bring up me footing the bill for the repairs. But one look at the huge, tattooed biker standing next to me, and he never mentions it again.
Inside the house, I try to ignore the water and fire damage to my furniture. I got most of it from garage sales and dumpster dives, anyway. Instead, I focus on getting enough clothes and other stuff to live at the MC clubhouse for the foreseeable future. The fire didn’t have time to reach the tiny back room I use as a home office, so my laptop and the file cabinet I use for important papers is undamaged. I scoop up some folders and miscellaneous papers with personal info that I don’t want lying around while strangers are here. Dumping them in a paper ream box on top of Ted’s food and water dishes and his cat food, I bring the whole thing out into the living room where Mack is.
“Here,” I say, handing him the box. “You can take this out to the truck. I’m going to go grab some toiletries and stuff. I’ll be out in about five more minutes.”
“Take your time, G. I got nowhere else I need to be.”
In the end, Mack hauls two more suitcases of my clothes and toiletries out to the back seat of his cab. He doesn’t utter a word of complaint, but I still have to push down the urge to keep apologizing to him for the inconvenience. When I’ve locked the house back up and we’re back in the front seat of his truck, he turns to me and says, “Now that that’s done, you wanna go grab some lunch somewhere?”
I pull out my phone and check the time. It’s after one. And now that Mack mentions it, I’m actually kind of starving. “Yeah, that would be great.”
“What are you in the mood for?”
“Burger’d be nice.”
“Burger and a beer?”
“Day drinking? Count me in. Maybe a Jucy Lucy, or… Oh!” I do a little jump-skip of excitement. “A Paul Molitor burger from Shamrock’s! Or is it too far to go all the way over to Saint Paul just for a burger?”
Mack smirks. “Shamrock’s is only about fifteen minutes away from here. Besides, a good burger is worth drivin’ for. Let’s do it.”
Soon, we’re sitting across from each other at Shamrock’s Pub across the river in Saint Paul’s West Seventh neighborhood. In front of me is a pint of Guinness and a Paul Molitor burger, a perfectly-cooked patty with melted pepper jack cheese on the inside, named after the baseball Hall of Famer who played for the Minnesota Twins. I start on my fries first, to give the molten cheese a chance to cool down before eating it. Once you make the rookie mistake of biting into a Jucy Lucy-style burger before the cheese has cooled, you never do it again.
Across from me, Mack nurses his own pint of beer. “So,” he says, leaning back in the booth. “I didn’t know your first name was Brigitte.”
“What?” I say, startled. “How did you find that out?”
“Sorry, I saw it on some of the paperwork on the top of the pile in that box you had me bring out. How is it I’ve known you as long as I have and never knew your real first name?”
I stuff a fry in my mouth, to give myself a little time to compose my answer. “Apparently, my mom was obsessed with Brigitte Bardot growing up. She named me after her.”
“The French chick? The actress?”
I nod. “My dad said Mom told him once that she chose the name she’d give her daughter when she was ten years old. There was never any question of what I’d be called. Dad said she was absolutely insistent about it as soon as they found out they were having a girl.” As always when I talk about my mom, who I never got to meet, a familiar slice of grief cuts through my heart. If I hadn’t been born, she’d still be here. Maybe she and my dad would have still been happy, with Connor as their only child. Maybe Dad wouldn’t have turned to alcohol to numb the pain. He’d still be here, too.
Without even knowing it, my arrival in our family ended up destroying it.
“That’s sweet,” Mack murmurs. “That she was already thinking about having you when she was a little girl.” His voice is gentle. Too gentle. I’m still not used to Mack being anything other than King Asshole. He knows the whole story of my mom dying in childbirth, of course. He had a front row seat to Con’s and my whole childhood. But I’ve never talked to him about it before.
“Joke’s on her, I guess,” I say, doing the sarcasm thing I always do when conversation gets too serious. “I came out looking nothing like my namesake. She couldn’t have picked anyone I look less like.” That’s an understatement. Bardot was blond, buxom, and was considered one of the most beautiful women in the world. Me, on the other hand, I’m short, curvy in all the wrong places, and have unruly red hair that probably makes me look more like a garden gnome than a model. “I remember growing up, thinking that I got a name I could never even hope to measure up to.” Maybe that’s why my dad started calling me Gigi. That, and because the name Brigitte was a constant reminder of the woman who named me.
Mack frowns. “What do you mean, you couldn’t measure up? I’m pretty damn sure your mom didn’t expect you to grow up to be a French movie star.”
“Sure, but I mean…” I cast about for the right words. “Brigitte is the name of a glamorous, show-stopping sex kitten. Someone that turns everyone’s heads the second she walks into the room. Someone who is never awkward, or insecure. Who commands every room she’s in.” I look down at myself. “Not some awkward weirdo reject with tattoos.”
Mack has gone weirdly still. “You know you’re fucking gorgeous, Gigi. Right?”
I have no way of answering that that won’t make me sound like the insecure freak I am. So I don’t say anything at all.
Mack stares at me. “Seriously? You don’t know that?” He shakes his head incredulously. “You know what, though, I agree with you about one thing. Gigi fits you perfectly. Even better than Brigitte. You’re spunky and fiery and hot as shit. You’re sexy in this badass way. Like, any guy who would stand a chance with you would have to be able to give as good as he got.”
“Okay, you’re starting to freak me out,” I say, attempting a joke. “Who are you, and what have you done with Mack Maxwell?” I try to ignore the tinge of vulnerability in my tone, and hope Mack can’t hear it, too. “You have literally never given me a compliment before, dude. What’s up with nice, non-asshole Mack al of a sudden? Why are you saying this? Did Connor give you money to be nice to me or something?”
Mack’s chin juts forward. “I have abso-fucking-lutely given you compliments before. You just don’t listen to them.”
“No you haven’t! Like what? No, actually, forget that. I don’t want to know.” I especially don’t want him to think I’m fishing for compliments, even though I’m weirdly hungry to hear more of them. Mack thinks I’m gorgeous? Hot as shit ? My stomach starts to get all fluttery at the thought. He may be an asshole, but he is a sexy as hell asshole, damn him. Any woman would have to be crazy not to take it as a supreme compliment if he thought she was good-looking.
And honestly?
Lately, King Asshole hasn’t been nearly as much of an asshole as I remember.
Ugh. Okay, I need to change the subject. I can’t go down this road. “Okay, that’s enough of that,” I announce, picking up my Paul Molitor burger. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Okay.” Mack takes a swig of his beer. “What?”
“Uh, how are your folks?” I try.
“They’re good. Reenie’s been asking about you. She wants you to come over for dinner some night soon.”
“Does she… do they know about…” I wave my hand vaguely. “Everything?”
“I haven’t told Mom. But since Choppa obviously knows, I’m guessing he probably told her about what’s been going on.” Mack’s dad, is a Royal Bastard, too. “She had that concerned tone in her voice last time I talked to her on the phone when she asked me to bring you over.”
“Great,” I mutter. “Just what I need. More people feeling sorry for me.”
“If you wanna get out of the clubhouse and get a home-cooked meal, I could let her know we’re coming over tonight.”
“I don’t want to be a burden, Mack.” A bubble of anxiety rises up inside me. Reenie and Choppa have always been so kind to both Connor and me. Especially Connor. He was over there so much it was like he was Mack’s brother instead of mine. Frankly, I was always jealous of his relationship with them, especially when it meant I was left alone with our dad and his drunken tempers.
Sometimes, when things got especially bad at home, Connor would take pity on me and bring me with him over to Mack’s house. But once we got there, he’d immediately go off up into Mack’s room, leaving me alone with Reenie to keep me company. I always felt like such a charity case. And by the way those familiar feelings are flooding up inside me now, I guess I still sort of feel the same way.
Mack scoffs. “You’re not a burden to her. Jesus, G, don’t be a dumbass.”
Something in Mack’s dismissiveness flashes inside me like oil overheating in a pan. “Don’t call me dumb!” I exclaim.
“Well, then, don’t act dumb and I won’t have to!” Mack’s voice rises. “Christ, you’d have to be stupid to think you were ever a burden to my parents. They knew you and Fury needed help. They were glad to do it.”
“Yeah, exactly! We were charity cases! At least in Con’s case there was some other reason to be over there because he was your friend. I was just poor pathetic Gigi, with no friends. And now you’re inviting me over to their place, and I’ll be poor pathetic Gigi who needs everyone else to take care of her because she can’t take care of herself!”
“Jesus, G, you’re being hysterical! I never said any of that.”
“ Don’t call me hysterical! ” I yell.
A few of the bar patrons swivel around to look at us, murmuring in confused tones. My face flames.
Lowering my voice, I hiss at him: “Fuck you, Mack. I’m sick of you making fun of me, kicking me when I’m down. I’m sorry my brother roped you into being my bodyguard, but I never wanted any of this. And I am sick of everyone else deciding what’s good for me and not taking no for an answer!”
Mack holds up his hands in a surrender motion. “Look, that’s not what I meant. Reenie would be thrilled to have you come over. She’d love to see you. And she always makes too much food anyway. That’s all I was saying.”
“I said no!” The words seem to come from someone other than me, even as I say them. I don’t know where this anger and stubbornness is coming from, but I’m too embarrassed to take it all back now. “I’m done. I’d like to go now.”
Pushing my plate away from me, I refuse to meet Mack’s searching eyes. He flags down the server for our bill, and I toss down money to pay for my half, silently challenging him to argue. He doesn’t. We go back to his truck, and he gets behind the wheel without another word. I just stare out the window, counting the seconds until I’m out of this truck and away from Mack Maxwell.