Chapter 7
Annalese
I lounge back on the sofa with my arm propped up on a pillow. All the shopping yesterday took a toll on me. I’ve been here for three days, and my cast is making the skin underneath itch like crazy. I promised my doctor I wouldn’t scratch but it’s turning out to be a difficult promise to keep. I’ve got my cell phone in my good hand scrolling through all the reasons sticking a pencil down my cast to scratch this never-ending itch is a bad idea. It says if I break the skin, it creates the perfect environment for a staph infection and shows images of casts oozing green puss. I click away from that sight, convinced that I can tough it out after all.
As I surf my newly created social media account, I try to get used to my new name. Anna Lee Bryan. It rhymes with my real name, which is Annalese Ryan. I’d chosen the name when I first arrived in Las Salinas, this alias has the advantage of people calling me Anna, which has always been my nickname growing up. That means I’m not trying to remember to respond to a strange name all the time. I don’t really have an ID or anything, so that’s why I was looking for jobs that pay under the table like the one at the Savage Legion’s clubhouse. Not that finding one worked out for me—before my accident I was still living off the last of my savings and staying in a crappy motel room which I could barely afford.
Dropping my phone into my lap, I turn my new situation over in my mind. Trying to stay off my ex’s and sociopathic stepbrother’s radar is the smartest thing I’ve ever done. My father was the one thing standing between me and them embracing their worst instincts. It took me far too long to realize the danger I was in. Once my father passed, things got ugly fast.
Being rescued by a good man like Haze was a stroke of luck. He somehow got my rehab paid for me through a charity and there is zero chance of the dynamic duo from my past finding me at his tattoo shop. This is the last place either of them would show up. They’re both too addicted to living like billionaires with their custom-made suits and fancy sports cars to even think of coming into a town like this.
This place suited me just fine. I liked the small-town atmosphere of Las Salinas, the cool vibe of the tattoo parlor and the hot biker who took me in. In the weeks I’ve known Haze, I’ve developed quite a crush on him, I know he’s been flirting with me on the regular, but I’m pretty sure he’s like that with every woman so I’m not taking it too seriously. I’ll not lie, at night my thoughts have been wandering, and my horny mind has conjured up images of what lies underneath his well-worn jeans. He’s got a damn fine ass, and I can’t help but notice he’s packing. I should be ashamed of perving on the nice guy who took an interest in saving my life, especially since his ex is pissed that he’s letting me stay here. Her behavior that first day was off the charts. The truth is I’m not bothered by my intense attraction for this bad boy with a heart of gold. I’m entitled to my own internal thoughts and feelings. He’ll never even know. So, what’s the harm?
Haze has set me up with drinks and snacks again today and every so often he’s been checking in on me, which is so sweet. He’s been going above and beyond for me. I honestly don’t know how to take his interest. Maybe he’s interested in me too? But I honestly can’t see that, because even with the new makeover, I’m not looking my best. I feel like my body and life are both messed up to the nth degree right now, but at least my thinking is clear. That’s something, I guess.
I go to the bathroom, take care of business, and wash up. I’m finding that even though I’ve gotten back pretty good use of my fingers, everything takes more time with my arm in a cast. Most of the damage was on my upper arm it seems. I absolutely must have a shower tonight, wet wipes only do so much. I’ve been too embarrassed to ask Haze for help—especially given the massive crush I’ve developed—but I have to swallow my pride.
Just when I’m starting to get bored out of my mind, Haze comes back and takes off his boots.
“Tough day at the office,” I tease him with a level of familiarity we don’t really have quite yet. I guess that’s what helps the joke land.
He grins and sits at the other end of the sofa. “I got to drop some cool designs and made some money so I can’t complain.”
“I heard your ex came back in today. I hope you did a good job on her tattoo. She seems pretty demanding. It made me think she would be particular about her ink.”
“I told her it was too soon for the shading,” he mutters.
“She’s keen.”
His head jerks up and his expression turns disgruntled. “And she’s not my ex, just so you know.”
I interrupt him to ask, “So you’ve never taken her on a date or slept with her?”
He clears his throat and takes a moment to gather his thoughts before stating, “Brittany is a club girl, she hangs around our clubhouse. I’ve never taken her on a date, but I’ve drank with her and slept with her. But then again, so have most of the brothers in my club. That’s what being a club girl is. They like to party with us and we accommodate most of their eccentric behavior because it’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. It gets to be a problem when they start overstepping boundaries or trying to lay claim to us.”
Shock rolls through my gut. “Don’t the brothers ever end up in relationships with any of them?” I don’t know why but it seems like they would since they spend so much time together drinking and having sex.
“Naw, it’s not like that. In the MC world, once we find our one, we put her in a property cut and call it a day. My brother got married a few months back, and his old lady is running around wearing a cut with his name on the back. Club girls sometimes take it for granted that they’re going to hook up permanently with their favorite brother, but it rarely happens that way.”
I get the feeling he’s saying that doesn’t happen because those women have slept with just about all their friends and it’s not conducive to relationship building. I don’t know how I feel about that. How many men a woman has had sex with shouldn’t affect her worth as a relationship partner.
“How did your brother meet his wife?” I only ask because I want to get away from talking about club girls.
“He met her at a rave. She was raised in a rival MC and her grandfather was a gigantic piece of shit. Trix is a really nice person. She’s been really good to my brother, so I can overlook him sleeping with the enemy.”
The light, playful tone of his voice and the wry grin on his face tells me he’s joking around.
“Why do I get the feeling you always lead with humor?”
“Because who the fuck wants to be serious all the time,” he replies with a laugh.
Something about the mischievous look on his face is sexy as hell. He must sense something in our exchange that alerts him of my attraction, because his expression shifts to a flirtatious one as he slides down the sofa to move closer to me.
“So, you’ve got a thing for guys with a good sense of humor. Is that what I’m hearing you say?”
I shrug, because he caught me out. “Who doesn’t. Like you said, being light and playful is worlds more fun than being a grumpy stick in the mud.”
“I’m young, handsome, and make far too many of my decisions with my dick.” Leaning forward his eyes sparkle with mirth as he hits me with another zinger. “I absolutely adore redheads, so if you ever want to fool around just let me know.”
I freeze, unable to believe he feels comfortable with such outlandish pickup lines. I quickly glance down at my cast and remember that although my body has mostly healed, I’m definitely not presenting at my best right now. I choose my words carefully. “Either you weren’t joking about making too many decisions with your dick or you have thing for bruised and battered women. I’m not entirely certain which of those options I’d prefer under the circumstances.”
“Look, I’m not a sick fucker who gets off on having sex with women who look battered or any crazy shit like that. You don’t really fall into that category right now anyway.”
He’s being nice because although my bruises and scrapes have healed up, I still have a few visible scars, which I’m hoping will fade over time.
I must look like a woman who needs more reassurance because he adds, “When I look at you, I don’t see the physical scars, only the beauty you carry inside.”
I fight back a smile at his earnest words. “You talked about my red hair, not my inner beauty.” It’s not a complaint so much as an idle observation.
My gentle reminder causes him to glance at my hair. It’s currently thrown up in a messy bun because it was about all I could manage one-handed.
He smiles unrepentantly. “Yeah, I stuck my foot in my mouth on that one. Just so you know, I really like your personality, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice the lovely package covering all that inner beauty.”
I playfully shove him back with my good hand. “I’ll keep that whole dick riding offer in mind. For now, I don’t think I’m up for acrobatic sex with a hot tattoo artist.”
He nods. “We also need to get some food in you and your prescriptions filled.”
“My doctor had his PA send them to Las Salinas Pharmacia,” I told him. I’d been sent home with a week’s worth of medications but didn’t want to run short.
He pulls out his cell phone and starts scrolling through. “I can get one of our prospects to pick that up for you?”
“You know that I’m running short on cash, so maybe I should call and find out the prices first.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I gotcha,” he says absently as he types out his message.
“I hate to be a burden,” I blurt out. “I promise to pay you back as soon as I get a job.”
“It’s no problem,” he mumbles. When he’s finished, he pauses with his phone in his hand. “What are you thinking about for dinner? I’m thinking pizza, but I could do whatever you like.”
I perk up immediately. “I would love some pizza.”
“We have a really good local pizza shop. It’s called the Las Salinas Pizza Emporium.”
“Sounds like a mouthful,” I tease him.
He just grins at my lousy attempt at humor instead of making fun of me like my ex did. Trevor had always been such a prick. I quickly put him out of my mind and just enjoy this moment with Haze. Who knows how long it will last. I don’t want to waste our time letting past hurts intrude onto our time together.
The conversation between us flows smoothly and I’m delighted he just flirts his ass off with me rather than pushing me for sex. A lot of men have a one-track mind but not Haze. Compared to the men I’m used to, he’s a real gentleman.
He sits down on the floor, flips on the television, and asks, “So, Star Trek. Original or the remakes?”
I remember our Trekkie marathons while I was in rehab, “Remakes.”
He nods approvingly, “But not—”
“Not the newer ones, only the great three, The Next Generation , Deep Space Nine , and Voyager ,” I jump in.
Pointing one finger to his temple, he announces, “Brilliant minds think alike.”
“I’m far from brilliant, so you might want to be carefully about comparing yourself to me.”
He lowers the remote and glares at me. “Don’t do that, sweetheart. Putting yourself down that way isn’t the type of humor I find amusing. It just annoys me that you’ve somehow been brainwashed into thinking you’re worth less than anyone else. You’re not. I’ve met a lot of people in my lifetime and there is nothing in the world wrong with you.”
I should be embarrassed at his gentle chiding. I’m not though. I’m actually elated that he sees me as normal and worthy. I tell him, “I’ve known all along that I was probably fine, but between my ex and my stepbrother being assholes, I’ve been conditioned to insult myself before they can. If I’m being honest, it hurts less that way.”
Haze pushes up and off the floor in an instant. He scoops me up in his arms without asking and then sits down with me in his lap. I’m so startled that I don’t object.
When he holds me close and rubs my back, I tear up. He’s holding me, soothing me. And I didn’t realize how much I needed this type of physical comforting until this moment. It’s been a long time since I was touched with real kindness.
He grumbles, “I hate that you’ve been treated like shit by a couple of assholes with nothing better to do with their lives than pick on a sweet woman like you. It makes my blood boil.”
I’m so relaxed that I say more than I should. “My father used to keep them both in line but since he died, they’ve become the kind of smooth-talking degenerates I always worried they would become if they got half a chance.”
“I can always give them a little tune up for you. It’s no trouble and might do them good.”
I slap his chest, more amused than worried about his offer. “Not necessary.”
“You sure? My knuckles haven’t had a workout in a while.”
“I’m certain. Why put you to any trouble when I can just choose to forgo their shitty company?”
“I can see you’re the violence doesn’t solve anything camp.” I can tell by his expression that he’s not of the same mind.
“I just think that violence should be a last resort, not the first stop in solving problems.”
He wraps one finger around a strand of red hair that’s escaped from my messy bun. “I get it, sweetness. You want me to butt out and stop white knighting for you.”
“I’d rather have a friend than a white knight,” I admit, hoping that he understands. “You’re more than just someone to fight my battles.” Glancing away, I admit, “I’m really starting to care about you as more than just a friend.
I smile when he asks, “Instead of just a friend, how about a friend with benefits?”
I can’t keep the smile off my face that he waited until I brought it up again before offering. It’s a generous offer and I realize in an instant that I would absolutely love the opportunity to be with a guy who puts my needs first for once.
I turn around to face him, I know that Haze is an entirely different kind of beast. Apparently, he’s the kind that loves getting women off. The idea of being friends with benefits is nice, the idea of having something more with him is even nicer.
“I’ll think about it. I really like you, but it feels like we’re jumping the gun a bit here.”
He grins at my turn of phrase. “Just so you know, we’ve already established a bond. You trusted me enough to let me pull you out of your overturned jeep and get you to the hospital. We’ve spent quite a bit of time together over the last few weeks getting to know one another. You even let me treat you like my queen for a day. Whether or not you realize it, we’ve been circling each other with interest ever since you got out of rehab.”
He's not wrong about that. I do feel a connection with him, a bond of trust if you will. I shift under his calm gaze as I try to find the words to tell him that I’m interested in what he’s offering.
As I’m about to respond, the doorbell rings. I slide off his lap and begin clearing off the coffee table. This is a cozy space, and I don’t want to leave it.