Chapter 6
H e had a name for her. Finally, after all these years, Pumpkin knew her name. Dosia. It was beautiful, unique just like her. He wasn’t positive of the spelling, nor was he sure if it was her full name or a shortened version of her name, but he planned to find out.
He was going to find out everything about this woman.
Pumpkin snagged his phone back from her. “Because our club’s Tech thinks it’s hilarious to change my phone’s wallpaper every fall to one of the various pictures my club brothers took that morning.”
Dosia’s blonde eyebrows drew down as she frowned. “I really don’t understand.” She shook her head slightly. “ Any of this.”
Pumpkin twisted his wrist to give SJ the back of his hand instead of his palm.
His son giggled like he’d just done a spectacular magic trick.
He kept his eyes on Dosia though. The longer he studied her, the more he realized how it wasn’t just caramel shading her irises.
There was copper too. Like lightning strikes, flaring with her deep-seated emotions.
He wanted to create a thunderstorm, to make her eyes spark with desire and passion as he was sure they’d done six years ago and he’d been too drunk to appreciate it.
He wanted to watch as every shade of orange, yellow, and brown swirled in the vortex of her eyes as every nuance of emotion was captured. Only for him. Just for him.
Dosia would never know another man’s touch, would never have to worry about another awkward first date. She would only know the feel of him as he brought her to new heights. And Pumpkin relished in the challenge, because the fire behind her eyes hinted that it would not be so easy.
Good. He didn’t want easy. He wanted anger and defiance as he pushed her to reveal her secrets. Layer by layer, he would strip her shields away until there was nothing left but the passionate, vivacious woman underneath.
And what a vixen she would be.
He could see it now. All that pent up passion just waiting to be set free. And he would be the one to do it. Whatever she’d been doing these past six years, whatever her life had been like, it would never be the same. Not now.
“Unfortunately, my memory of that night is just as hazy,” he confessed. “Only thing I’m certain of is how much I wanted to continue to see you.”
Her cheeks turned red, and Pumpkin realized just how much he liked watching her blush. This time, it was a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “I highly doubt that.”
SJ started fussing a little so Pumpkin turned his hand over again. His son laughed like he’d never seen his father’s palm before. Still, Pumpkin never looked away from Dosia.
“I am many things, but a liar has never been one of them.”
Dosia sat back in her chair, her posture mimicking his. “Just a womanizing drunk?”
That was interesting, and a bit revealing on her part. They’d only spent a few hours together one drunken night several years ago. What would make her think he was a womanizer when she’d been the one to leave first?
Not that he would accuse her of being the feminine version of a womanizer.
A man-anizer? Was that a thing? Any other known words to describe such a woman would never cross his mind or lips.
In Pumpkin’s opinion, it was completely unfair of society to judge women for sleeping with countless men but praise men for sleeping with countless women.
The double standard was never one Pumpkin would understand.
Frankie snorted, drawing both Pumpkin’s and Dosia’s attention away from each other for the first time since Dosia had sat down. Frankie’s cheeks pinkened as her eyes went wide. “I am so sorry. It’s just… Him?” She threw a thumb at Pumpkin. “A womanizing drunk?”
“Clearly you didn’t know him six years ago,” Dosia said with a bit of vehemence in her tone.
Pumpkin’s mind whirled. Had something else happened that night? Something he didn’t know about or didn’t remember? It was bad enough that they’d slept together and he hadn’t remembered her name. But… The anger in her voice hinted at something darker, something unseemly.
He hadn’t… Pumpkin paled. He hadn’t forced himself on her.
No. God , no.
First, Pumpkin would never believe any amount of alcohol would turn him into a rapist. Even drunk, he would have the wherewithal to stop if he sensed his partner wasn’t into something. He believed that down to the marrow of his bones.
Second, there’d been two used condoms next to him when he’d woken up. Meaning they’d had sex at least twice, and that implied consent.
And third, his mother would rise from her grave and castrate him herself if he ever disrespected a woman so heinously.
Pumpkin stopped Frankie’s rebuttal. While he appreciated her defense, he didn’t need it. Turning back to Dosia, he asked, “What do you remember from that night?”
Dosia’s eyes flitted around. “I am not having that discussion here.”
“Fine,” Pumpkin shrugged. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”
Her cheeks flamed. “I am not?—”
“You are,” he interrupted her protest. “Because this conversation is six years overdue and the only way we can move on.” He pushed the breadbasket at her. “Eat. You’re not the only one here who is getting hangry.”
“I am not getting hangry,” Dosia argued. But she took a breadstick anyway.
Pumpkin picked the basket up to offer one to Frankie before dropping it back into the center of the table and grabbing one for himself.
He worked one-handed to peel the crust off the bread to get to the soft center.
Seeing what he was doing, Dosia rolled her eyes and reached over to help him so SJ didn’t have to give up his father’s right hand as his new favorite toy.
He smiled at her. Fuck, she’d make a great mom.
“Thank you,” Pumpkin said when she was done. He added some small pieces of bread to SJ’s tray. His son immediately started gobbling them up. The amount of drool that came from his mouth could fill a pond, and he still refused to let go of Pumpkin’s hand.
Dosia picked up her own breadstick and seemed reluctant to say, “You’re welcome.” It sort of came out like a grumble, as if she couldn’t believe she’d helped him like that.
Pumpkin grabbed some of the crust and popped it into his mouth. “I’m not a womanizer, you know. I have a great respect for women.”
Dosia’s cheeks flamed. “I told you, we’re not discussing this here.”
“Then we’ll discuss it tomorrow.”
“I am not meeting with you again.”
She was. She just didn’t know it yet. “Why not?”
Dosia stared at him for a while, chewing on her bread far longer than necessary before swallowing.
She leaned forward, accentuating her cleavage in that low-cut black number, and making Pumpkin’s mouth salivate for something completely different than steak.
“Tell me this. Why was your road name ‘Vodka’ when we met if you’re not some drunkard? ”
Pumpkin could understand the misconception.
Given that he was drunk when they’d met and having a road name like that…
Yeah, he couldn’t fault her that conclusion.
“Because I’m half Ukrainian.” He indicated his features, which he’d unfortunately inherited from his father.
In his youth, he’d hated looking in mirrors because he knew he lo oked just like the man.
Especially when puberty hit. “And while vodka is my drink of preference, I am not a drunk. I was drunk that night because I was celebrating.”
Dosia watched him carefully. Pumpkin added more bread to SJ’s tray without looking away from her. “What were you celebrating?” she asked.
“It was my patch-in party,” he answered honestly, pleased she was willing to talk about this now. The sooner they got this confrontation over with, the sooner they could move on. And he had a lot of plans for their future.
“That means you became part of the club, right? I’ve seen Sons of Anarchy .”
Pumpkin nodded. “It was the night I was celebrating becoming a patched member, yes.”
She nodded slowly, her eyes casting downward to her half-eaten breadstick.
Pumpkin tipped his head to the right. “Why were you there?” He didn’t know how old she was, but he knew how old she wasn’t .
No one under twenty-one was allowed on property during one of the club parties.
They were very particular about that, though it had been easier to enforce after they’d built the gate around the property.
“It was my twenty-first birthday.”
Which meant she was almost twenty-seven.
At the very least, he had her first name, or part of her first name, and birthday now.
Keys would be able to track her down if needed, but Pumpkin didn’t plan on letting it come to that.
He’d bring her around. Once he cleared up some of her misconceptions about him, which he was all too eager to do. Womanizing drunk, he was not.
Finding out her age also meant realizing that there was nearly seven years between them. “I’m thirty-four,” he informed her, though she hadn’t asked.
Dosia’s eyes flicked between him and Frankie. “Good for you?” It sounded like it was a question, which made Pumpkin chuckle.
“Do you believe me now? That I’m not some womanizing drunk?” He was ready to be done with this subject, and move onto better topics of conversation.
Dosia, though, shrugged. “It doesn’t matter if I believe you or not. I appreciate the ride home. I’ll pay you for gas and my dinner in cash. After tonight, we’ll never see each other again.”
Pumpkin leaned in close, grateful for the small table that allowed him to let SJ keep his hand and reach for Dosia’s chin at the same time. “Look at me.” While he touched her, he didn’t not pinch or squeeze. He would never hurt her or grab her like whatever the fuck his name was had.