10. Candy
CHAPTER TEN
CANDY
T here’s nothing more demoralizing than learning the guy you want is petrified at the mere mention of being married to you.
I don’t know what the hell compelled me to reveal my wedding dream to Butch. I guess I got too comfortable being myself around him. It’s easy being unfiltered with Butch when he hasn’t judged me like others have.
Although, I should’ve realized the holy matrimony subject would set him off. Most dudes are going to freeze when you talk about marriage this early in the game. For Christ’s sake, we only hooked up last night. Had the situations been reversed and it was someone other than Butch bringing up marriage to me, I would tweak out, too.
We’ve been friends. Good friends. Best friends, even.
Still, whatever is happening between us shouldn’t be rushed down the church aisle.
I’m trying not to take Butch’s speechless response to my silly wedding dream personally. Though I’d be lying if I said his fear-caked face didn’t hurt my feelings.
The awkward silence between us as we hurried to get ready was super uncomfortable. I’m used to doing most of the talking with Butch. But I was at a loss for words .
To make matters worse, Butch seemed to sense I was in my feels. He may not have known what I was upset about, but he knows when I’m struggling. He hovered near me, insisting on carrying our bags while holding my hand in the lobby. For someone who seemed petrified by the idea of marriage, he certainly liked to stick to me like glue when he sensed me pulling away.
It’s confusing. One second, I think he’s on the same page as me. The next, he’s turning down sex, asking odd questions about the night we shared, and being all-around weird.
His reaction makes me think I’m good enough to sleep with, but not good enough to have a future with.
Typical man.
Needing distance to sort through my feelings, I let go of Butch’s hand and beeline for the company SUV when our team reaches the parking garage. I barely have the door open before a hand hits the window, shutting the door closed.
Annoyed, I turn to glare at Butch, refusing my entrance. “Mind moving your hand, biker boy?”
He scowls at me. “Why are you getting into the SUV?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because we ride together,” he says matter-of-factly, glowering at me like I’m denying him something he has rights to.
Wow. He wants all the benefits of having a woman without the title.
Jerk.
I flash him my fakest smile, knowing it’ll piss him off. He hates when I treat him like everyone else.
Relatable. I hate being treated the same by every guy, too.
“Sorry,” I say in an insincere tone, fluttering my eyes. “Guess I’m hungover, too. Can’t be riding on the back of a bike when I’m tired, can I?”
Not waiting for his response, I force the vehicle door back open. He releases an oof when it hits him in the chest, forcing him to step back and let me enter. I have a slight twinge of regret for causing him some minor discomfort, though not enough to apologize when I’m beyond disappointed with him.
Seated in the vehicle, I try to shut my door, only to be stopped by Butch crowding my space. I lean back in my seat as he reaches across my body to fasten my seatbelt. He looks at me with those gorgeous hazel eyes of his, warming my insides.
I scowl internally, annoyed he’s affecting me this strongly when I’m pissed with him. Any other guy, and I’d dry up like a desert. Apparently, my pussy hasn’t gotten the message we’re mad at Butch.
He closes his eyes and presses his forehead to mine.
“Get some rest, Goddess,” he whispers. He pulls away, closes my door, and strides to his bike without a backward glance.
It hurts more than I’d like to admit he didn’t bother looking over his shoulder at me at least once. So what if he seems dejected I turned down riding back on his hog? He hurt me first when he looked nauseous when I mentioned my marriage dream. Screw him.
Ziggy opens the front passenger door. He cocks his head, seeing me sitting in the back seat. “Why are you sitting in here?”
“Didn’t realize I needed your permission to ride in the company SUV,” I snap back, my anger toward Butch coming out to attack Ziggy instead.
“Easy, Candy. I was only asking a question. I assumed you’d ride with your man.”
“My man?” I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. “I don’t have a man.”
“Great.” Ziggy groans as he climbs in. “What did my brother do to piss off Her Royal Highness?”
“None of your beeswax.”
“Fine. I’ll ask him when we get back home.”
Good luck. The fool doesn’t have a clue what he’s done to upset me. “Whatever.”
Punk climbs into the driver’s seat. He spots me in his rearview mirror, then whispers to Ziggy, “Do I want to know?”
“Even if you wanted, she’s not giving up answers,” Ziggy replies .
“Awww.” Punk gives me a cheeky grin in the rearview mirror as he starts the engine and rolls down our windows. “Your first couple’s quarrel. How cute.”
Irritated with the guys, I turn my attention out the window to watch the rest of our team getting ready to leave. Simone seems to be giving Chase a hard time as he takes her by her elbow, directing her toward the SUV. The closer they come to the vehicle, the more their conversation can be heard.
Simone tries to yank her arm out of Chase’s grip, failing miserably. Chase is one strong dude, like a new-age Thor, with his tawny-colored hair pulled back into a ponytail.
“Dammit, Chase. I told you, I’m riding back home with you. I’m even wearing the stupid jeans you bought me, and you know how much I hate jeans,” she clips in a pissy tone.
“Sorry, Numbers,” Chase says unapologetically, using her accounting nickname. “I won’t risk my babymama getting hurt riding with me.”
The “baby” word has me cringing. Pregnancy is like an epidemic in the club these days, with every claimed woman getting knocked up at alarming rates.
“You thick-headed Neanderthal. Stop saying I’m pregnant when we have no proof I am yet.”
Chase chuckles deeply. “Oh, I don’t need a pee-stick test to confirm. It’s in your genetics.”
Simone scoffs. “Excuse me?! My genetics?”
“If you’re anything like your little sister, Jo, you’re baking one in the oven as we speak. Your family is more fertile than mares in heat.”
All three of us in the SUV vocally gasp. Chase is likely to be castrated by Simone for saying something so stupid. The woman he married handed over her ex-boyfriend to the mob after all.
The blue vein in Simone’s temple looks about ready to burst through her ivory skin.
“Did you compare me and my sister to farm animals?! ”
Oh, shit. This biker is about to get his ass handed to him. And I’m here for it.
Punk bursts out laughing. “Should I intervene or see how this plays out?”
Ziggy shakes his head. “I don’t think it would be wise to get between those two. You remember Jo and Simone fighting in the front yard of headquarters? Chase’s hellcat would rip us to shreds.”
Chase wrestles Simone into the SUV, buckles her in, and steals a kiss before she takes a swipe at him and misses.
“AAAAH!” she screams, punching the back of Punk’s headrest in her frustration.
Punk’s head lurches forward, almost eating the steering wheel. “Jesus, Tyson! Calm your ornery ass down.”
“Blame your best friend,” she angrily snaps back.
“Take good care of our baby, Numbers,” Chase calls through the open window. He places his hands in the shape of a heart to his chest as he walks backward to his hog.
“Idiot!” she yells out her window.
“Love you, too,” he hollers as he swings his leg over his bike.
Simone grumbles, sinking back against her seat.
We glance at her, then at her stomach, and back at her. We’re nosey like that. Can’t help curiosity.
Punk bites the bullet. “Sooo…are you?”
“Do I look like I’m pregnant, moron?” she hisses heatedly. “He found out on our wedding night my depo shot was overdue. He’s as delusional as Atlas with the ‘baby’ nonsense.”
Punk puts the SUV in drive, chuckling. “Yeah, but Atlas got our sister pregnant—like, immediately. Twice.”
“One, she’s my sister. Not yours. And two, just because we want to be pregnant, doesn’t mean it happens at the snap of your fingers,” Simone counters.
“One,” Punk mimics Simone’s whiney voice. “Jo’s my adopted sister, Priss—so are you. And two, you’re having unprotected sex. You could be pregnant. No reason to get snippy with me. Your man is trying to protect you and your potential child.”
Simone falls into contemplative silence as we pull out of the parking garage and onto the road, following Butch and Chase on their bikes.
She sniffs, wiping at her eyes. Is she crying?
Oh my gosh, I think she is.
This is awkward. I’m not exactly the best at providing comfort to others. Therapy has helped me open up to the people I care about. Yet I haven’t learned a damn thing about consoling anyone in need.
Unsure if I’m qualified to soothe, I tentatively pat Simone’s knee. “There, there. It’s going to be okay.”
Simone surprises me when she grips my hand with her free one, squeezing it. She gives me a small smile. “Thanks. I’m sorry you had to witness me and my husband bickering.”
“When aren’t you bickering?” Punk teases innocently. “You love to push each other’s buttons.”
I shush Punk. The guy never knows when to shut his mouth.
“No biggie,” I say to Simone, still unsure I’m helping. “Do you, uh, wanna talk about it?”
Geez, I feel dumb. Simone didn’t want to talk about it when Punk asked. Why would I be any different?
She sighs, leaning her head back against the headrest. “Chase wants to be a father, like, this second. He’s been talking to my stomach since our wedding night. I want a baby, too. But the reality is, most people don’t get pregnant right away. It takes time. It’s stressful hearing Chase say I’m carrying his child. How’s he going to react if I’m not? He’ll be heartbroken.”
“At least you guys are on the same page,” I blurt, thinking how Butch doesn’t want any future with me. Hopefully, she and the guys didn’t pick up on my bitterness.
“Yeah, it’s good we want the same thing,” Simone agrees. “I hope it happens sooner rather than later. I’ll feel like I’m failing if it doesn’t happen. ”
“You could never fail him,” Ziggy says gently from the front seat. “He won’t be upset if you aren’t pregnant this month or this year. He’s happy to have this future with you. It’ll happen when it happens.”
“Maybe you should communicate how much pressure you feel to provide a child for him,” I suggest. “He seems too excited to see how this puts unnecessary stress on you. If you tell him being stressed doesn’t help with getting pregnant, I’m sure he’d back off.”
Simone releases a long sigh. “You’re right. I know I have to talk to him. I only hope I can get through to him.”
“If I had an answer for getting through fat heads, I’d use that knowledge with Butch.”
“Oooo,” the entire group says at once, turning the focus of our conversation onto me.
Whoops.
“Care to share?” Punk asks from the driver’s seat.
“Butt out, Punk,” Simone chides.
“A little hard when we’re all in the same vehicle,” he counters.
Simone ignores him, addressing me. “What’s going on with you and Butch?”
“Not a clue,” I say with a clip, my irritation coming through.
“Are you together?” she asks, cocking her head.
“Of course they’re together,” Ziggy cuts in. “My guy is crazy about Candy.”
The hell? In what way? As his friend. As a girlfriend?
“Do explain because I’m not seeing it.”
Ziggy turns in his seat to face me. His mop of dirty-blond curls bounce with his fast movements. “Did you sleep together?”
“Ziggy!” Simone chastises. “Why would you ask such a personal question? That’s none of your business.”
“Oh, please,” Ziggy says to Simone, unashamed. He focuses back on me, waiting for an answer.
Sex is not an embarrassing issue for me. But what I shared with Butch was meaningful. Maybe not to him, but it was for me. It’s not anything I care to share with anyone besides Butch.
Instead of giving an elaborate answer, I nod.
Ziggy gives me a pointed look. “And his knees?”
I freeze. I’m certain Butch’s bedroom antics aren’t known within the brotherhood. If it was public knowledge, I would’ve heard it. The crew gossip like teenagers. No one can keep a secret long term. Ziggy is Butch’s best friend, but does he know Butch is a submissive?
“And his knees?” Punk parrots. “What’s wrong with Butch’s knees?”
There’s no way I’m outing Butch’s sex life to anyone. I stare back at Ziggy, tight-lipped.
Ziggy nods knowingly. “It’s all the confirmation you need.”
“What confirmation? Why are you guys talking in code?” Punk presses.
Simone swats the back of Punk’s shaved head. “It’s not for us to know, moron. Let it go.”
Grumbling curses under his breath, Punk rubs his abused scalp.
It’s all the confirmation you need.
This changes things. Ziggy may have been subtle, but his message was clear. Butch wouldn’t have confessed he’s a submissive in the bedroom if I was nothing more than an easy fuck.
But then what am I to Butch? His situationship?
My mind races with questions and uncertainties, trying to make sense of the enigma that is Butch. Ziggy claims his best friend is wild about me. If what he says is true, I have to mean more than a friend-with-benefits. Right?
Punk sniggers in the front seat. “Maybe Butch will catch the baby craze, too. Should we start a bet? See which of you two ladies gets knocked up first? I know my bro, Chase. He’ll try to rut Simone like a dog in heat.”
“Eww.” Simone turns her nose up in revulsion. “We’re humans. Not animals. You’re as bad as Chase. No need to be gross about babymaking. ”
Punk ignores her, continuing with his theories. “Now Butch, he’s a quiet one. And you know what they say about the quiet ones, right? They’re freaks in the sheets. Watch out, Candy. I’m not putting it past Butch restraining you to the bed until you’re preggers, too.”
“Restraining Candy.” Ziggy gives an amused snort, shaking his head.
I agree with Ziggy. If restraints are involved, it’s not me being tied to a bed. Butch has claimed dibs on all bedroom submissive roles.
Fine by me. After my shitty abusive past, being tied down will never be an option for me.
Restraints aside, this conversation is edging into dangerous territory.
Babies and I don’t mix. And they never will.
While the rest of the group joke and place bets, I stare out my open passenger window, wondering if a future with Butch is in the cards.