Chapter Eight #2
“Oh, I forgot about that. They also call them sweet butts, patch bunnies, and sometimes just club whores.”
“Sweet butts? That’s some funny shit right there,” Wesley says, laughing his ass off.
“I honestly hate all of those,” I admit. “If I make a club, I’d want it to be unique and something just us.”
“We should base our club off horror movies,” Rich suggests. “We all love them, and we already call ourselves the Elm Street Crew, we could just change the name to the Elm Street Riders MC or something.”
“Oooh, I like that. If we did something like that, then we could call any girls who hang around our club something to do with Horror movies. What’s that movie where the woman is obsessed with the writer guy… it’s by Stephen King or something.”
“Misery,” Pippa offers. “Great movie. That chick was batshit fucking crazy. I think her name was Annie. She capped the guy’s kneecaps for not finishing his book the way she wanted.
The woman was obsessed.” She emphasized the word obsessed by holding out the first syllable and giving me a weird look at the same time.
“That’s perfect! We could call our club girls, Little Annie’s or something. Psychotic bitches with a strange attraction and obsession for guys in leather, ain’t that right, Pippa?” Wesley goads while saluting her with his bottle of beer.
Pippa curls her fingers into mine, so we’re holding hands. I immediately untangle them and move to the opposite side of the couch. It’s time to put some distance between us, it looks like.
Rich and Wesley share a look, then give me the same stupid grin. Wesley raises an eyebrow, almost like he’s daring me to try something with Pippa. Well, fuck them both. I don’t want her. I don’t want anyone right now, because the only female I want is Amber, for whatever reason.
“Have another beer.” Rich hands me another one. I’ve lost count of which one this is.
“So, this horror thing, what kind of names are we talking about? Because if I get to choose my name, I’m thinking Jason.” His smile practically moves to his ears.
“Jason is so basic!” Pippa argues. “At least name yourself something cool like Voorhees or something.”
“Oooh Voorhees. That’s what my fucking name should be. Voorhees. It has that “it” factor, and it’s badass. You’re a genius, Pippa!”
“If we’re picking names out, then I want something cool, like Jaws or Kreuger,” Rich decides.
“If anyone should be named Kreuger, it’s Eddie’s dad. That’s one scary motherfucker, and I sure as fuck have nightmares about that eye of his.”
Wesley dodges the handful of popcorn I throw at him. “What? It’s true. Tell me he’s not fucking scary as hell.”
“He really is,” Rich agrees. “But he’s also one of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet. I guess that means I’ll take Jaws then.”
“Hell no, motherfucker. With that ugly mug of yours you have to have something fucked up and disfigured. I just took Voorhees, so you’re shit out of luck. Maybe you could be Phantom or something?”
“I hate musicals and operas. There’s no way in hell I’d ever be called Phantom.”
Chuckling, I shake my head. “You hate everything, Rich, even Christmas.”
Rich runs a hand through his long hair and shrugs. “It’s too fucking cheerful. All the lights, and the god-awful music, and don’t even get me started on that fat jolly asshole in the red suit. You know, even as a kid, he always skimped out on my presents.”
Wesley rolls his eyes. “That’s because you were poor and your parents were the ones responsible for that shit, Rich.”
“Yeah, asshole, I’m aware. Still doesn’t change the fact that I hate Christmas and everything that comes with it.”
“Well, if that’s the case, then you should definitely be Krampus, not Jaws. An ugly motherfucker who hates the holidays. It fits you to a T.”
Rich glances over at me, and I shrug. “He’s got a point. And we just watched that movie; Krampus was one bad ass dude.”
“I agree with the boys, Rich. Krampus would definitely be the perfect road name for a guy like you.”
He takes another swig of his beer and shrugs. “Could be worse, I guess. But if I take on the name Krampus, then Eddie better have some cool fucking name too.”
Every head swivels my way. Pippa’s the first to say something. “What’s your favorite horror villain, Eddie?”
“I don’t really have one.”
“That’s bullshit. We’ve watched so many movies that you have to have a favorite. Is there any movie or character that means something to you?”
My inebriated mind, cluttered and a bit fuzzy, focuses on the only character that’s ever meant anything to me—to her. And he’s definitely not a villain.
Wesley grins. “See, I knew there was someone. Who is it? Michael Myers? Leatherface? Hannibal Lecter? It’s gotta be someone really cool.”
“The Count.”
“Ooh, Count Dracula… I like it. It’s fitting too. You’re one pale motherfucker.”
I didn’t have the heart to correct him. The Count I was referring to was purple, had a counting fetish, and all puppet. It definitely wouldn’t be a great road name for a hypothetical horror themed motorcycle club.
“Though, we’d have to shorten that shit. Maybe call you Drac or something, cause Count Dracula is far too long, and if we just call you The Count, people would think you live with a big yellow bird and little red furry monster.”
“We can go with Drac,” I mumble. “It works.”
“That settles it then. If we ever start a motorcycle club, we’ll call it the Elm Street Riders MC. We already got some kick ass road names picked out, so all we’ll need is some bikes.”
“Yeah, good look with that,” Rich grumps. “We’re all broke.”
My eyes migrate to the broken floorboard in the floor.
Nobody but me knows how much cash I actually have stashed in there.
I could easily buy myself a bike right now if I wanted to, but that would be foolish when I’m so close to buying Old Man Peterson’s place.
Granted, it’s all the way in Fernley, but it will be worth the relocation with how much damn property he has.
“Fuck, I didn’t realize it was this late. I really should get going,” Wesley says, shooting to his feet. He stumbles a bit and sits back down. “On second thought, I think I’m gonna call an Uber, you coming too, Rich?”
“Why don’t you guys just crash here tonight? I got plenty of room, and there are two beds in the guest room. Pippa, you can stay as well, if you want?”
Her face lights up the second I address her. “Oh, yeah I’m so drunk right now, I couldn’t possibly drive.”
“How?” Wesley questions. “You’ve been nursing the same beer all night.”
She feigns innocence. “Call me a lightweight?”
“Whatever, I’m tired. So, I’m gonna crash. Rich, you coming too?”
Rich nods, and both of them abandon me in the living room, leaving me with Pippa. There’s an odd silence that fills the room before she hands me another beer.
“Thirsty?”
I shouldn’t drink it, everything is telling me I’ve had my limit, but sitting next to Pippa like this has me agitated and needing a release.
All night I’ve been distracted, but now, in the silent living room, all I can think about is Amber, and how sitting this close to her best friend, who’s purposely leaning toward me so my eyes can’t look anywhere but her chest, makes my insides feel icky.
Taking the open beer, I drink everything inside of it, hoping it will help me forget it all.
“How you doing, Big boy?” she asks, patting me on the leg. For some reason her touch feels a little too good, and I abruptly move my leg.
“I’ve been better,” I reply, annoyed I drank the last beer in the house.
“Still feeling broken?”
“Pretty sure it’ll never stop. I should’ve just listened to you and waited to go. Maybe things would’ve ended up differently. Maybe I could’ve salvaged some things.”
Her hand returns to my thigh, this time moving inwards.
Every movement is followed by a tingle, all of them rushing between my legs.
“Is it even worth worrying about? She cheated… you cheated… the relationship is over, Eddie. Besides, do you think a girl like her would ever ride on the back of a motorcycle with you? She hates them.” The last part she whispers into my ear, her hand gently cupping my growing erection.
What the fuck is wrong me? I don’t want this, but it’s like my body has other ideas.
“Eddie, you deserve someone that’s going to accept all of you.
” She moves onto my lap, my hands instantly finding a place on each of her butt cheeks.
Her tongue traces my face, and my reflex is to jerk back, but she follows.
“The good.” Every word she says oozes sex, and the way she moves on top of me is very alluring.
The button on my jeans is popped, and her hand slips beneath the fabric her delicate fingers curl around my cock, making me gasp.
A guttural groan follows when she slowly strokes my length.
“The fucking bad,” she murmurs, nipping at my throat with her teeth.
She starts rocking back and forth, but I’m having trouble focusing on her face, my vision is going blurry and my head is starting to pound.
“Pippa, stop. I’m feeling funny.”
“Shh shh, just let me help you feel better.”
My cock is out of my pants and she starts moving down my body, stopping when her lips are inches from the tip, her breath hot against the sensitive flesh.
“And now we get down and ugly.”
“Pippa, stop. Please, I’m begging you!” I plead, trying to wiggle away. But it’s too late, the way her mouth feels wrapped around me is something I can’t fight off. It’s like I’m weakened, like I can’t say no.
“Just go with it, Eddie. I’m here to help you forget all about her.”
My hand fits against her scalp and in one desperate attempt to gain control over my mind, I rip her head up by her hair, forcing the little temptress to look me dead in the eye.
“If this happens, she can never fucking know.”
The evilest smirk slides eerily across her face, followed by a devilish wink. “Consider this our little secret…”