14. Not A Soccer Mom
Not A Soccer Mom
Arlo
T here’s nothing on Bree’s porch when I approach. I try not to make it obvious that I’m scanning for any signs he’s been here, but that’s the only reason I find myself at her door at seven in the morning. I can’t see any gifts or cameras, not even a door camera for Bree’s benefit, but I don’t trust that he isn’t watching and listening.
Knocking on the door, I wait.
‘What are you…’ her voice trails off as her gaze eats me up, and fuck, I can’t even begin to pretend I don’t like that. Jesus Christ.
‘Mornin’, short stuff.’ I grin as I push forward, backing her up into her place and shutting the door behind us. She’s cute as hell in her little shorts and cropped shirt. All mussed up from what appears to have been another restless night.
‘Arlo, what the hell.’
‘Go and get dressed, pix. I told you I was taking you out.’
‘But it’s Saturday morning.’ She groans, and I see now how tired she looks. She clearly didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, and I feel a little guilty, but just a little.
‘Exactly, we’ve got to get out there, seize the day.’
‘I want to seize my pillow and get some sleep.’
‘Trust me, sugar, we’re going to have a good day. Dress for a ride.’
Her eyes widen, and she holds my gaze.
‘What?’
‘You heard me,’ I grab her shoulders and turn her in the direction of the stairs, then smack her ass, earning me a shocked little gasp that goes straight to my dick. ‘Get dressed.’
‘I can’t,’ Bree says as we stand next to my bike, and I pull the bucket helmet onto her head. She looks so fuckin’ hot in her faded black jeans and gray t-shirt that it’s killing me, but I’m starting to lean into it. I reached the decision around midnight when I found myself with my dick in my hand, and the memory of her pressed against me on that dance floor on my mind. I may not be able to forgive her, but I’m attracted to her, so I’m going to stop punishing myself for that. She doesn’t need to know what I’m thinking and feeling once my doors are closed.
‘We both know you can.’ I tap her hip and climb onto my bike, and she releases a deep breath before climbing on behind me. Muscle memory has me reaching back to grab her thigh, and I pull her closer so she brings her chest flush with my back, wrapping her arms around me. I can’t think too long about how much I like the feel of her body pressed to mine. Instead, I take us away, out onto the quiet country roads.
I haven’t been to this place in a while. I used to come up here to get some headspace out of the city while I was adjusting to life outside of the prison walls. I don’t know why I thought to ride out here this morning. When I lay awake last night, staring at the ceiling while Beans snored his ass off on the floor next to my bed, I couldn’t get Bree off my mind. Yeah, I’d already spent a good portion of my time thinking about her legs, her ass, how fucking spectacular her tits look in those tanks she likes to wear, but it was a different kind of thought that brought us to right now. I remembered the tiredness in her eyes, the lack of fight in her. She needs to get that fight back. I have a feeling that when this stalking son of a bitch shows his hand, we’re both going to have a fight on ours. I need her to be ready for that.
I pull my bike onto the dirt road and feel Bree’s grip loosen as I slow down. I want to grab her hands and keep them wrapped around me, but she’s not my girl, and she’s no stranger to riding on the back of a motorcycle, so I let her do what she needs to do. She doesn’t let go completely, just eases off, and that’ll do.
Coming to a stop, I take a breath as Bree releases me and hops off like she can’t wait to get away from me.
‘Where are we?’ she asks, taking off the helmet and handing it to me, and I shrug.
‘Open your damn eyes, sugar. Where in the hell’s it look like we are?’ Goddam, that was southern. A week in a small town has me putting the south in South Carolina.
‘Quit it with that,’ she snaps, and I hold her gaze, waiting for more. ‘Calling me names: sugar, short stuff.’
‘Okay, I hand it to you, you’re not as sweet as you once were, but you are still short, pix.’
Shaking her head, she turns away, and I hear her take in a deep inhale. I watch as her shoulders raise up and lower down, and I pull out a blanket, lay it down on the grass at the base of an old oak tree, and sit, leaning back against the trunk while Bree stares out at the gentle river passing by in front of her.
Closing my eyes, I listen to the sounds of the water, the forest around us, and the bugs and birds as the sun starts to shove the clouds out of the way so she can make herself known, and then I hear the sob. It has my eyes flying open and watching her with concern. I don’t move, but I tense as her shoulders curve, and her arms wrap around her middle, giving herself a hug as she cries, and it hits me in the gut. Bree Campbell is not a crier. She’s the strong one, the ballsy one, so the sound of her soft sobs affects me in a way it shouldn’t, not anymore.
‘Bree,’ I call out as softly as I can, but it’s still enough to see her shoulders rise up. Fuck.
Pushing myself up to stand, I walk over to where she stands and pull her into my embrace. Immediately, she turns and presses herself into my chest, her arms tightening around my back and the sweet scent of her shampoo filling my nose.
‘You okay?’
‘I’m so tired, Arlo. I just can’t sleep right now. God, this is embarrassing.’
‘Nah, it’s not. We need sleep. Without it, everything goes to shit. You want to talk about anything?’
Stroking my hand over her hair, running my fingers down her braid, I work to steady my pulse as she seems to come to her senses and pushes away from me.
‘No, I don’t want to talk about anything.’
She turns back to the water, and I walk away and return to my spot on the blanket, the feel of her hair seared into the skin of my palm as I tense and relax my fingers to try and force away the stupid as fuck imaginary sensation. Her hair didn’t burn your skin, you dick. Get it together!
‘Come sit down, Bree,’ I say as I pull out the breakfast I packed in the saddlebags. ‘You need to eat.’
Bree’s gaze comes around to see the waffles in Tupperware and the bottle of chocolate sauce slung onto the blanket.
‘You brought waffles?’
‘I knew I wasn’t giving you time to eat this morning.’
Slowly, as though I’m a snake in the grass and she’s nervous to get too close, Bree makes her way to the opposite edge of the blanket and kneels, and I pull out the thermos of coffee.
‘Okay, boy scout,’ she raises one eyebrow, ‘what’s with the picnic and the bike?’
‘What do you mean the bike?’ I look at my girl, and Bree follows my gaze.
‘It’s massive, Arlo.’
‘You ain’t the first to say it, sugar.’ I wink as I turn back to her, smirking, then laugh at the expression on her face, the roll of her eyes.
‘Your old bike was a lot smaller.’
‘And I was a lot younger when I rode it,’ I admit, letting my head drop back against the tree as she eyes me seriously.
‘You don’t wear your cut anymore.’
Shaking my head, I respond. ‘I’m not a part of the club anymore. Hence the bike. I don’t need fast these days. I need comfort and convenience.’
‘You could just get a minivan.’
That makes me laugh loudly. ‘I’m a forty-year-old biker, Breanne, not a soccer mom.’
‘You’re not forty yet.’ Smiling, she picks up a waffle, tearing a piece off and stuffing it into her mouth. ‘Why did you bring me out here?’ she says around the waffle, and I smirk, loving that she’s not putting on a show with me—she’s the same old Bree.
‘I don’t know. I guess I just felt nostalgic for the old days.’ I wait for her to raise her caramel eyes to mine, but she lowers them back to the food.
‘It was a long time ago, Arlo.’
‘It was,’ I admit.
‘Are we ever going to talk about it?’ She glances up at me hopefully, but I can’t get into that conversation with her. She takes another bite as I inhale and exhale deeply and reach out to snag a waffle myself.
‘I don’t think either of us has the energy for that conversation right now.’
I want to fight with her. I want to scream at her that she knows exactly what she did. I want to hear her apologies and excuses, but I can’t. She doesn’t have the energy for me to be an asshole, so I won’t be one… that conversation has waited for twenty years. It can keep waiting.