Chapter 5 #2
“You wanna ride to my place and drop your car?”
What his suggestion implied was nothing I hadn’t thought already, but I still shot back, “Don’t push it, Stallion.”
“You know as well as I do, that’s where we’re gonna end up.”
“Deliver the diapers, would you?”
He chuckled as he began to make his way around me. “Give me five, sparky, and we’ll be on our way.”
I shook my head, annoyed he’d called me sparky again, but not enough to argue about it. When I was alone in the driveway, I climbed behind the wheel, started my engine, put on some tunes, and waited.
As promised, he wasn’t more than five minutes. When he walked by, he clapped his hand twice against the hood of my Bronco, winking at me as he passed before he went to mount his hog. After he started the engine, he revved it, then began to ease his way out of the drive.
I followed him out of the neighborhood, and we were at Humphrey’s in under ten minutes. When I parked in the spot next to him, I tried not to think about the fact that I hadn’t been on a date in years.
One date didn’t mean a damn thing.
This was a distraction.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Twister was off his hog and waiting for me as I got out of my car, looping my purse over my shoulder.
Neither of us spoke as we made our way inside.
We were greeted by a hostess, who asked if we preferred a booth or a table.
When Twister glanced back at me and I offered him no more than a shrug, he told her we wanted a booth.
We were seated right away, and we’d barely had a chance to look at our menus before our server stopped by, introducing himself.
In spite of the extensive offering of beers the place had on tap, Twister still ordered a Corona. Not wishing to prolong the evening too much, I opted for the same. When Twister tacked on a request for onion rings as an appetizer, I quirked an eyebrow at him.
“What? They’re famous,” he teased, pointing at the menu.
I glanced down at what I could see of his body from across the table.
He was covered in a black-tee and his kutte, but I knew what laid underneath.
I wasn’t sure how old he was, but he wasn’t younger than Mustang, and boss-man was thirty-eight.
Metabolisms were often unkind to some, but his hadn’t failed him yet.
He looked nothing like a man who indulged in fried foods and who’s favorite beverage was Corona.
Our server informed us he’d be right back with our drinks, and I lifted my eyes and caught Twister’s. He wore a beguiled expression on his face, and I knew he had an idea of what I was thinking.
I ignored him and looked back down at my menu. I decided on the jambalaya as soon as I saw it, but I pretended to deliberate until our server returned with our beers. When he asked if we were ready to order, Twister glanced at me for confirmation.
“I’ll have the jambalaya, please,” I said, handing over my menu.
Twister ordered the biggest burger they had, and then we were alone again.
Leaning forward, he propped himself up against his tatted arms on the table, looked right at me and said, “Tell me somethin’ about you.”
I conjured the brattiest answer I could think of before I told him, “My favorite color is pink.”
He grinned in that way he did when he found me outrageously hilarious.
Something in my chest tightened at the sight of it.
I chalked it up to annoyance.
“Bullshit,” he challenged.
I shrugged.
“What do you do when you’re not at Mustang’s?”
I leaned back against the cushion of the booth as I replied, “Mind my business.”
He shook his head at me slowly, but I could still see the laughter in his eyes.
“Why you playin’ hard to get?”
It was my turn to prop myself against the table. I got as close as I could before I murmured, “Not playin’, brown-eyes. I’m not the kind that gets got.”
“Then why’d you agree to dinner?”
“To convince you you’re wastin’ your time.”
We were interrupted when our server arrived with the onion rings. I straightened in my seat and thanked the man, even though I had no intention of touching those things. I pushed the basket toward Twister, but he shoved them to the side, his focus still wholly on me.
“Sparky—I’m gonna tell you somethin’. That head of hair you got, with those green eyes and that tight ass, you’ve always been somethin’ to look at.
” He paused, leaning in closer, and I saw in his gaze he was no longer amused.
“But I’ve heard you moan, and I’ve tasted that mouth, and there’s no way in hell you’re convincin’ me you’re not worth the effort.
So, let’s try this again. Where’d you grow up? ”
“Where’d you grow up?”
I spat the words out as fast as I possibly could. He had the upper hand and there was no denying it. It was my fault. I’d fucked him twice. I agreed to this date. If I was honest with myself, I didn’t have the right to be surprised by his questions.
One plus one always equaled two.
But I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to be alone. Not yet.
Twister didn’t answer right away. He studied me a moment before he straightened and reached for an onion ring.
Before he took a bite, he said, “On a ranch in Dayton, couple hours from here. Got a sister still there. My pops, too. Brother-in-law took over the ranch a few years ago, after we lost mom.”
As he took his first bite, I asked, “And your other sister?”
“She and her brood are down in Casper,” he answered around the fried onion.
“Were you close? With your mom?”
I’m not sure why I asked, other than to keep him talking. I didn’t need to know such intimate details about him—but neither did I want to give him the chance to ask the same of me.
He finished his bite before he replied, “Can’t say I was a mama’s boy, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell when she was gone.”
I opened my mouth to ask another question, but he spoke again before I could get out another word.
“My turn.” He paused a moment, eyeing me carefully, and then asked, “What’s your favorite food?”
He tossed the rest of the onion ring in his mouth, and I couldn’t help but to smile.
Twister was a lot of things, but he wasn’t dumb.
“Sushi,” I answered honestly. “But we don’t really have any of that around here, so I’ll settle for Chinese food if I’m cravin’ it.” I glanced at the basket of onion rings, smirking when I looked back at him and clarified, “Not the fried kind.”
“What’ve you got against fried food?” he asked before taking a sip of his beer.
“It’s not good for you.”
“Shit,” he grumbled, leaning back in his seat. “Don’t tell me you’re some health nut who doesn’t eat French fries.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not a masochist.”
“Well, that’s a fuckin’ relief.”
“Yeah, and what about you? You eat this shit every day?”
He reached for another onion ring as he replied, “Leg day, baby. I eat whatever the hell I want.”
A soft laugh bubbled out of me. “Fair enough.”
We went back and forth like this for a while, and I felt myself begin to relax.
He didn’t dig for anything I wasn’t willing to share; so, in turn, I played fair.
We talked about our favorite things—food, music, movies.
I wasn’t surprised to learn he wasn’t much of a reader, but I didn’t judge him for it.
Turned out, while there were many things we didn’t have in common, there were a few things we did.
Our distaste for wine. Our affinity for Tom Cruise movies. Our respect for the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Bruce Springsteen, and Guns N’ Roses—along with our utter destain for any modern music with a backing track.
It was mostly small talk, but it was also precisely what I needed. By the time we’d both eaten our fill, the devil within had been silenced and the events which led me to agree to the date in the first place were properly locked away in my mind.
When our server left the bill at the table, Twister reached for it with one hand, extracting his wallet from his back pocket with the other. He counted out the right amount of cash, dropped it on the table, then nodded toward the door. “Ready?”
I followed his lead, and we made our way to the parking lot. It was still warm out, the sun trying to hang on as it hovered over the horizon.
“So, you comin’ to my place?” he asked as I reached for my door handle.
He and I both knew I wasn’t going to tell him no. Still, I needed to make sure he and I were on the same page.
“If I say yes, that doesn’t make us a thing.”
A crooked smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as he kicked a leg over his Hydra-Glide and settled himself on his seat. “Not yet, anyway.”
Turning to face him directly, I shot back “I mean it, Twister. If you’re gonna get the wrong idea?—”
“Oh, I’ve got plenty of ideas, baby, but not one of them is wrong; and I promise you, all of them end with you screamin’ my name.”
I didn’t get a chance to respond before he started his engine.
Speaking loud enough to be heard over the rumble of his beast, he asked, “You comin’ or what?”
I knew it was a bad idea—but the sight of him on his hog, looking at me, with the promise of pleasure the likes of which I hadn’t known before him suspended between us—I didn’t think twice about it.