4. Jenny
Chapter four
Jenny
A week later, Casey was back on his feet, full of energy again. And I needed an extra pair of hands to manage him. I tucked my phone into the crook of my shoulder as I juggled my bowl of cake batter.
“Hey, honey,” Simon said, picking up on the first ring.
I closed my eyes and released a breath of relief. God help me, that grittiness in his voice still gave me butterflies sometimes.
“You have to come get your children,” I replied.
“I love them dearly. But they’re driving me insane.
I know I’m supposed to have custody of the kids this weekend, but I’m swamped.
I promised to bake a cake for Bobbie and Psycho’s wedding tomorrow, and I’m so far behind schedule at this point that I’ll have to pull an all-nighter to get it done. ”
Footsteps galloped above me as Mia and Casey raced through the house, screeching like banshees at each other, arguing.
I groaned and leaned against the kitchen counter, tipping my head back.
“Simon,” I said through my teeth. “Please.”
He chuckled. I growled and brandished my batter-covered wooden spoon in the air, even though he couldn’t see my threat.
“I’m at my wits end and you’re laughing,” I said dryly.
“I’m not laughing, mi amor,” Simon protested. “I’m savoring the moment. It’s nice to be needed once in a while.”
I grumbled and switched the phone to my other shoulder.
“Listen, if you can’t take the kids, Simon, just tell me. I’ll…figure out something else.”
It wouldn’t be easy at the last minute on a Friday night. Most babysitters were already booked, or had plans of their own. My parents retired to Florida a few years ago, and my sister lived three hours away in Aurora, so asking my family to help was out of the question.
In the back of my mind, I knew there was another option. I just didn’t like it.
Simon’s club. I could call on any of the wives that were my friends—Keely, Lila, Lena, Bobbie.
I was trying to untangle myself from club life though. Not entrench myself in it even deeper.
“Don’t get your panties in a twist, sweetheart,” Simon protested. “I never said I couldn’t take the kids.”
A roar of applause and howling cheers echoed in the background on the other end of the line. On weekends, The Reckless Order clubhouse tended to be packed with wild, raucous bikers, and I steered clear of it.
But this was too loud to be indoors. Revving engines, piercing whistles, and the bellowing frenzy of a crowd.
“Where are you anyway?” I demanded.
“Don’t worry about it,” Simon replied. Which was code for: it’s club business, so don’t ask me questions, because I can’t tell you anyway.
“It sounds like you’re busy,” I pointed out.
“Not too busy for you and the kids.”
A lump formed in my throat and I lowered my spoon, half-heartedly jabbing at the bowl of batter.
Most of the time, I didn’t doubt my decision to get a divorce. Being married to Simon was…a challenge, to say the least.
When Mia was barely a year old, Simon got tangled up in club business that turned violent. I never got a clear picture of what actually happened. Everyone was so tight lipped about it, because I was his wife, and the mother of his baby girl. I had to be kept in the dark for my own safety.
The only thing I knew for sure was that Simon took a bullet to the chest and he landed in the hospital for four months. Fighting to breathe. Fighting to keep his heart going.
It scared the shit out of me.
With a baby in my arms, and my husband in the ICU, this was not how I pictured my marriage would go.
I begged Simon to be more careful, but that damn club was his family, too. He couldn’t leave his brothers high and dry when they needed him.
And I couldn’t keep holding my breath, waiting for the news that my husband had left me a widow. So I wanted to separate.
Then there were times like this—Simon was willing to drop everything when I called him, and it made me wonder if the divorce was a mistake.
Marrying an outlaw biker was always going to be a bumpy ride, and I should have known that when I said I do.
But Simon never complained that we were asking too much of him.
He worked his fingers to the bone to show just how much he loved me and the kids, every single day.
Ten minutes later, Simon came striding through my door as promised. He looked sinfully good in snug black jeans that hugged his muscled thighs. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing his tanned and tattooed forearms.
Damn him for aging like fine wine. At forty-two, he looked even better than he did when we first met over a decade ago.
“Who wants to see a movie with me?” Simon said.
Mia and Casey cheered and swarmed him with big hugs.
“Can we get popcorn?” Mia asked.
“Can we have ice-cream for dinner again too?” Casey added.
I raised my eyebrows and wiped my floury hands on my apron.
“Ice-cream for dinner? Again? How often does that happen?”
Simon clamped a hand over Casey’s mouth.
“He’s joking. Kids will say anything. You know that. It’s a strict diet of peas and carrots where I’m concerned.”
I narrowed my eyes and propped my hands on my hips.
“So now you’re teaching the kids to lie to me. That’s even worse.”
Simon grimaced.
“Shit. I didn’t mean—it’s not a lie, mi amor. It’s…a fib.”
I fixed him with a withering stare.
“Same difference. You’re supposed to be keeping the kids healthy, Simon. Your club already loads them up with enough sugar to feed a small army. I’m trusting you to ensure they eat some vegetables once in a while.”
“French fries are vegetables,” he countered. “They’re made from potatoes.”
“Doesn’t count,” I said flatly.
“Says the woman making a giant wedding cake,” Simon replied. “I’m pretty sure there are no vegetables in all that chocolate.”
I poked him in the chest.
“Don’t do that. Don’t rile me up on purpose.”
The corner of Simon’s lips twitched with a wry grin and his eyes gleamed with mischief.
“But you’re so fucking hot when you’re angry, mi amor.”
I swatted him with my apron.
“Stop that.”
Simon rumbled a laugh and slid an arm around my waist, pulling me closer.
“We talked about this, remember? When you call me asshole—”
Now it was my turn to cover Simon’s mouth with my hand. I felt him smile against my palm with a teasing little bite.
“Mia, Casey, get ready to go,” I said. “Find your shoes, brush your teeth.”
They scampered off, jostling each other as they raced upstairs to their rooms. After Simon and I were alone, I removed my hand.
“I know what you’re doing,” I said.
Simon hummed.
“And that would be…?”
I planted my hand against his chest and pushed him back until he was forced to retreat two steps.
“You always act like this when you’re trying to get under my skirts.”
He shrugged.
“It can’t hurt to test the waters every now and then, just to see if my charms still work their magic. You used to love it when I bent you over the counter.”
My cheeks warmed at the memory. An ache of need throbbed between my thighs. I turned my back on him, busying myself with the cake batter again.
“Well, take your charms somewhere else.”
Simon came to stand next to me, leaning back against the counter while I scraped cake batter into a baking pan.
“So, are you bringing a date to this wedding?”
“I invited Greyson, if that’s what you’re wondering,” I replied. “He’s working overtime though, so he can’t make it.”
Simon clucked his tongue.
“That’s too bad.”
I flicked an irritated glance at him as I put the cake into the oven and set the timer.
“You don’t sound the least bit disappointed.”
Simon shrugged.
“I’m not looking forward to meeting this guy, but I’m sorry he didn’t show up. For your sake.”
I raised my eyebrows with surprise.
“That’s generous of you to say.”
He shrugged and looked away.
“I might have gagged a little bit. Made me nauseous, but I powered through.”
I laughed.
“As a reward for your bravery, you can lick the spoon.”
I passed the batter-covered wooden spoon to Simon and leaned back against the counter next to him. We stood together side by side, shoulders nearly touching.
“What about you?” I asked. “Are you bringing a plus-one to the wedding?”
Simon shook his head.
“Nope. Unless you want to go with me.”
I sighed.
“You’re the most stubborn man I’ve ever met.”
Simon mumbled a noise of agreement. My gaze followed the slick length of his tongue, slowly dragging along the spoon, curling over the edge to get every last crumb of remaining batter.
When he noticed I was watching him, he arched an eyebrow.
“Is something wrong?”
I cleared my throat and shook my head, turning to the sink. A mountain of dirty dishes waited for me.
A brief pause lingered in the air. Then Simon edged closer. I could feel the heat of him at my back. He placed a hand on the counter next to me, leaning in. His breath fanned over the exposed curve of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.
“Do you really think I can’t read you like a book by now, mi amor?” Simon whispered. “If I had to take a wild guess, I’d say sweet, saintly Jenny wants me to take her apart with my fingers and my tongue and my cock—”
A strangled, flustered noise rose in my throat. I hated how easily my body reacted to him when he purred those pet names in my ear. The divorce was supposed to put a stop to these feelings, but they kept creeping in with every flirty comment and lingering glance.
Desperate to cover my ass, I reached over and snatched the wooden spoon from Simon’s grip, shoving it into the sink.
“If you could actually read me like a book, Simon, you would see it written all over my face that you better feed our children a real healthy meal for dinner instead of popcorn and ice-cream.”
He huffed a laugh and brushed a fleeting kiss to my shoulder. My stomach flip-flopped with anticipation, but it was just a brief gesture of familiarity and nothing more.
“Good luck with the cake, honey,” Simon said. “If you need anything else, call me, and I’ll be here as soon as I can.”
I watched as Simon herded Mia and Casey out the door while they babbled with excitement. Casey darted ahead and Mia held Simon’s hand, taking hurried steps to match his long-legged strides.
My heart squeezed at the sight of them together.
Sometimes, it was hard to believe that Hades, Road Captain of The Reckless Order MC, and Simon de la Cruz, father of two and devoted husband, were the same person. He was so careful to make sure we were safe and protected from any danger the club was involved in.
We were only allowed to see the fun-loving biker side, like birthday parties and baby showers and picnics at the clubhouse with a bunch of tattooed men who acted more like uncles than outlaws.
I turned back to the sink, lathering the dirty dishes in soap.
One day, I would call someone else when I needed help instead of Simon.
A strange hollowness gaped in the pit of my stomach at that thought.
It should have been comforting to imagine calling a husband who wouldn’t have to divide his time between club business and the responsibility of providing for his family.
Instead, I just missed Simon already.