2. Slate
2
SLATE
I don’t do “dates.”
I don’t do flowers, candles, or any of that romance shit that girls are into. If I want a girl, I take her. Simple.
But Ivy Calloway makes me want to do every goddamn thing I swore I’d never do.
She’s the definition of temptation, encased in something too soft for a rough bastard like me. Flashy, fierce eyes that glare thrillingly back at me like she has no idea she’s the most seductively dangerous woman I’ve ever met. Those pouty lips, so plump and so pink, just begging for my tongue and my teeth.
And her curves…
God almighty.
Talk about a womanly body just made to be held, claimed, roughed up by my callused hands. And her long, messy hair that I am dying to just wrap up in my harsh grip and pull hard, tilting her head back while I show her why a young, innocent girl has no business with a man like me.
She looked up at me like she wasn’t sure if she should run for her life or let me have my way with her. Which makes sense, considering who her father is. But I’ve got a feeling she wants me more than she wants to be a good girl.
Ever since I first saw Ivy at her father’s shop, she’s been running through my mind non-stop. I was dying to ask her out yesterday, but our war with The Reaper’s Oath guys had to take priority. We gave them a good beating–hard enough that they’ll think again before invading our turf–and since she said yes to my date proposal today, I haven’t been able to think about anything else but her. I was barely able to make it through my bar shift back at the clubhouse. It’s like I have an itch I can’t scratch, a hunger I can’t feed. And I’m just dying to get my hands on her.
Gorgeous and innocent.
Eighteen years old…
I can picture her back at the shop, covered in engine oil and grease, sweat beading over her flawless skin, and the thought of some prick who isn’t me walking in there and giving her the wrong look has me feeling homicidal.
So when the clock hits six, I’m out the door and on my bike, gunning it back to Calloway’s Auto to pick her up.
The door to the garage is closed, but I can see her through the office window. She’s bent over the counter, which instantly sends blood pumping to my cock. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun, wisps falling down on either side of her face, framing her beauty like she is a painted portrait come to life. This girl wears no makeup. She needs no makeup.
Since I saw her earlier, she’s knotted up her work shirt around her waist, exposing her midriff, which is also smeared with oil and grease. It’s just a hint of skin, but it’s enough to kick my lust for her into overdrive. Christ, she’s so fucking sexy. I want to destroy her.
I pull up out front, kill the engine, and bang on the door. Her head snaps up immediately, and her wide, golden-brown eyes lock on to mine. Unmistakable shock is plastered all over her face. Was she not expecting me to actually show up? I’m a man of my word. If I say I’m going to do something, I do it.
She waves a hand and calls out, “One second!”
I nod and watch as she quickly finishes up whatever she was doing on the computer, turns the monitor off, and rushes over to the door. “Hey,” she breathes, stepping outside. “You’re here.”
I chuckle, eyeing her ass as she bends down to lock up. What a flawless figure. Perfect curves and baby-making hips. I’m already getting hard, and she’s basically fully clothed. “I’m here,” I reply. “You think I wouldn’t be?”
She shakes her head, taking a breath as she brushes a strand of hair from her face. “I just thought I’d have a little time to get ready so I didn’t look like I just crawled out from under a bike.”
“I like that you look like that,” I reply, moving right in on her, wrapping a rough hand around her slim waist. “I just hopped off one. It’s a match made in heaven.”
My fingers caress her soft curve, and fuck, she feels so perfect to my touch. She shivers, barely enough to notice, but she doesn’t move away. At least, not at first. Her lips part like she wants to speak, or maybe like she’s begging to be kissed.
But just as my grip tightens, she pulls back.
Not quickly. Just a soft, tentative retreat, like she doesn’t want to offend me. Like a voice in her head is telling her to take it slowly. She pats my chest awkwardly with her hands before dropping them to her sides. “We should go, don’t you think?” She smiles, her voice light but projecting an unspoken boundary. “We don’t want all the lanes to be taken.”
I read her loud and clear, and although it takes every ounce of willpower I have and all I want to do is pull her closer, I force myself to remove my hand from her waist and step back.
“Yeah.” I nod. “We wouldn’t want that.”
I lead her over to my bike, and she follows. “So we really are going bowling?” she asks.
Grinning, I throw my leg over my bike. “Why? You think I was gonna take you to some dark alley and have my way with you?”
A soft sound escapes her lips, like a startled breath, and I don’t miss the way her eyes widen and her legs stiffen. Did she actually think that’s what I wanted? Or is the thought of it now turning her on?
“Of course not,” she protests, clearly not wanting to offend me.
Smirking, I motion to my bike. “Well, hop on, my little grease monkey. And I’ll show you how to make nothing but strikes.”
Ivy stops midstride, glaring at me as if I’ve just insulted her. Christ, she’s adorable. “Oh, you’ll show me how to get nothing but strikes?” Shit, I bet she’s even cute when she’s angry. I don’t think I could stay mad at this goddess.
I shrug provokingly. “Yeah, that’s what I said. So what?”
Ivy puts her hands on her hips and rolls her eyes, but I see the blush on her cheeks. “Okay, tough guy,” she replies, tonguing her teeth. “But when I win, you owe me something.”
So cutie wants to play a game, huh? I narrow my eyes as she tilts her chin up in defiance. Her shirt all twisted up like that is acting like a push-up bra, really showing off just what a rack she’s got under there. “Okay, baby,” I reply. “You win, you can have anything you want.”
Her lips purse, and I swear she’s about to tell me to fuck off and drive her home. But to my surprise, she slowly smiles and hops on the back of the bike. “Let’s go then, Slate,” she says softly, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Before you scare me off with any more romance.”
A grin consumes my face as I kick the bike into gear and pull out of the lot.
Girl, if you think this is romance, you have no idea what else I’ve got in store for you.
The bowling alley is pretty packed when we enter. It’s retro, with neon lights, worn-out lanes, and the smell of cheap food and popcorn in the air. I was here a few weeks ago with some of the Bastards, hustling some guys who thought they were hot-shots. By the time the night was over, our pockets were fat with their cash.
But this evening, I don’t want to see anyone but Ivy.
She looks across the room, her eyes flashing with excitement. “Jeez, I haven’t been bowling in a long time.”
I throw an arm over her shoulder, pulling her close. “Be prepared to lose, girl,” I whisper.
She laughs and wriggles out of my grip, pushing me up to the counter. A bored kid, probably fifteen, reading Tolkien takes my money and hands us our shoes after asking our sizes. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. Poor guy doesn’t know how good he has it. Nice cushy job like this?
At his age, I was already on my own, living hard and wild, just fighting to survive. I grew up in the foster system, bouncing around from home to home, until finally the shit hit the fan. The man I was staying with was abusive and would fly into a rage any time I refused to call him Dad. My “mom” at the time never stood up for me either.
The two of them forced me to work at Mick’s Repair shop and would take any money I made so they could “put it toward utilities.”
I knew they were lying. They spent it on booze and drugs and nights out at the bar. So one night, after a really rough beating, I decided I’d had enough. I started hiding my money, giving over only half of what I was making after lying about the boss having cut my hours. A few weeks later, I packed a bag and left.
But not before giving my foster-dad a nice right hook in the eye.
I bounced around from job to job for a while before ending up in Chesterville, where I met Saxon, the leader of the Heartless Bastards. I’m still not sure what he saw in me back then, but he offered me a place to stay and a job. But more than that, he offered me a life. And I know I’ll never be able to repay him for that.
Ivy giggles beside me, grabbing a bowling ball and stepping up to the line. I watch her, arms crossed, my gaze devouring every gorgeous inch of her as she readies herself. She’s small, but she moves with a confidence far beyond her size.
She tilts her chin down, lines up her shot, wiggles her hips, and calls out, “Ready for this one? Strike time!”
She practically throws the ball down the lane. It slams down, veers right, and clips only two pins before ending up in the gutter. She groans and turns to me. “I’m terrible.”
Chuckling, I walk over to her and hand her another ball. “Here,” I say gently, wrapping my arms around her and turning her to face the lane. “Let me show you.”
I press my chest to her warm back. She tenses slightly but quickly relaxes. I take her hand, show her how to adjust her grip, and guide her arm back and forth for a couple practice swings.
“Just relax,” I whisper in her ear. “Focus on the center and go again. You’ve got this.”
She swallows nervously as I step back and takes a deep breath. My eyes soak in her hips as she swings the ball back, then forward, and then releases.
This time, it lands smoothly. No thud. No bounce. This time, it’s a clean hit, knocking the rest of the pins down for a spare. She spins around to face me, a thrilled smile dancing across her lips.
“I did it!”
Goddamn, what I wouldn’t do to see that smile every day. I might even give up my patch.
I smirk and throw her a goofy thumbs-up. “Hell yeah, you did.”
We play for about an hour, and of course I let her win. I can’t help myself. Whenever she outscores me, she does this little happy dance, swinging her hips and causing all her best parts to jiggle and shake. Never in my life have I been more desperate to throw a girl over my shoulder and take her home.
But I hold myself back.
Tonight isn’t about simply claiming her. Tonight is about proving to her that she is mine in every way that truly matters. That I’m more than what her father has said about guys like me. That we could work. And by the time we’re leaving, she’s practically glowing with happiness. I hold the door open like a gentleman, guiding her out with a soft hand on her back, and when we step out into the night air, she looks up at me with an adorable smile.
“This was great,” she says softly.
I step closer, so close I can smell the scent of the shop still hanging onto her, like a perfume personally designed to attract me. “Oh, you think the night’s done?”
Her lips quiver. “Isn’t it?”
I shake my head, letting the backs of my fingers brush across the soft skin of her neck. She’s so goddamn sexy. So delicate. But she’s also fiery and sassy and knows she can stand up for herself.
I’m fucking smitten.
“Not yet, baby.” I smirk. “You won. Now you have to tell me what I owe you.”
Her plump red lips part as she looks at me. Her eyes quiver, as though she’s trying to choose between two different responses. One that she is afraid will be a mistake. A wonderful, life-changing mistake. Blood rushes to my center as I watch her internal struggle.
Finally, she raises herself up on her toes, wraps her arms around my neck, and pulls me down into a kiss.
Jesus Christ, I was not expecting that.
That’s my job .
Her lips are soft and sweet, and her tongue presses against mine with a passionate heat. A wildness beneath her innocence. I groan into her mouth as my hands lock around her waist, pulling her close as I deepen the kiss.
I can taste the orange soda that I bought her on her tongue, feel the nervous shiver in her body, and a single word snaps into my mind.
Mine.
Ivy is mine.
I pull her tighter and slide my palm up her stomach, searching for the hem of her shirt. But she pulls back, her lips gleaming, her eyes wide.
“Fucking A, Ivy,” I growl, my pulse running rapid through my veins.
She bites her lower lip like she’s so innocent. Like she didn’t just pull me down to kiss her. “So…what you owe me is”—she swallows, looking away for a split second before bringing her eyes back to mine—“a second date.”
Yep. Absolute perfection.
I’m beyond smitten.
My lips twist into a knowing smile. I trace the line of her cheek with my thumb, lost in her abject beauty. “Second, third, fourth,” I chuckle. “You can have as many as you want, baby.”
Her eyelids flutter as she looks up at me. The heat between us is unreal. It’s all I can do to keep myself from dragging her out back and stripping her clothes off. My cock is burning with desire beneath my jeans. I’m gonna have to jack off three times just to get to sleep tonight.
“I should probably get back,” Ivy whispers. “Before my dad starts to wonder where I am.”
I try not to laugh. If ol’ Hank knew I was out here with his daughter right now, he’d bury a wrench in my skull. We’re going to have to keep this secret. It’s going to be dangerous. But Ivy is worth it. I’ve known her less than a day and I can already feel her changing me.
I mean, I just took her out on a bowling date. If I told any of the boys that, they wouldn’t believe me. “Slate? He’d never do something like that,” they’d say.
And they’d be right.
But for Ivy I would.
I lead her over to the bike, swing a leg over, and pat the seat behind me. “All right then, baby. Come on. I’ll get you home.”
Wide-eyed and smiling, she slides on behind me and wraps her thin arms around my waist, pressing her perky tits into my back. Another rush of blood surges to my cock. Did I say I’d have to jack off three times just to get to bed tonight? Maybe I was wrong. Probably more like five.
I’m so fucked.
Hank’s gonna find out, and he’s gonna try to kill me. Saxon’s gonna hear about this, and he’s gonna do everything he can to stop it.
But I don’t care.
Ivy isn’t just some random hot chick. She’s more. Much more. She could also very well be the end of me.
But hey, if that’s the case, I’m gonna be in heaven for every second of my destruction.