Sasquatch
Holy shit, he was fucked.
He’d ignored his attraction to Devin for months. Hell, years. Croon had put the word out and he was loyal to his brother, but fuck was she making it hard.
It was like she was looking at him, for the first goddamn time, really looking at him. Not just as the Bastards’ Enforcer or her brother’s club brother.
She was looking at him like a woman looks at a man. One she seemed interested in. If he wasn’t mistaken, it wasn’t just sexually either, the way the club girls looked at him. There was something in her eyes that held a longing and dare he say, affection.
And it did something in the region of his chest.
There were a multitude of things people saw when they looked at him, biker scum, big scary asshole, dumb fucker with the vocabulary of well, a biker, a night of pleasure slumming it, but never the kind you take home for Sunday dinner with the parents.
He hoped that was the look in her captivating green eyes, because it caused something to bubble in his bloodstream like carbonation. It made him want. Want more than he ever had.
Maybe it was wishful thinking that had him reading into it. Either way, he was going to enjoy the feeling of being wanted. He could pick it apart later.
No one ever looked deeper, no one saw more to him. No one found him worthy. No one saw anything worth sticking around for.
Not even his own mother.
Until that moment, Squatch didn’t know how much he craved that, or how much he’d never had it.
It also made him nervous though. If she found him worthy, the pressure to live up to the expectation was there.
He could do without that part.
Quickly changing the direction his thoughts were headed, he slid the quarter back across the table. “Ladies first.”
“Okay.” She retrieved the coin. “Trailer park rules.”
Devin was relaxed, unlike he’d seen her in months. Her smile was a little wider, her voice a touch higher, and her eyes were absolutely beaming.
“What, pray tell, are trailer park rules?”
“It’s the rules I made up to this game in high school.
We were basically trailer trash, thus the name.
Anyway, if you make it, you get either a truth or a dare, victim’s choice.
If they don’t complete it to your satisfaction, they do a shot.
If they do, you do the shot. If you miss the shot glass, you do a shot. Simple.”
As soon as the last syllable left her mouth, she leaned forward and rolled the damn thing off her nose. It bounced off the table right into the empty shot glass.
“Goodie.” She clapped like a loon. “Truth or dare, big guy. Truth or dare?” By the time she finished talking, she was rubbing her hands together.
“You’re doing that like a cartoon super villain. Should I be worried, Dev?”
“Who me?” She placed a hand on her chest with exaggerated feigned innocence. “Why, sir, you have wounded me.”
“From now on I’m gonna call you Devious Devin.”
“Well then, which do you want first, big guy, truth or dare?”
“First? I thought it was either or?”
“Oh, did I fail to mention that part of trailer park play? If at any time the victim offends the quarterer, then they can claim both a truth and a dare from the quarteree.”
Devin crossed her arms over her chest in mock offense, but her glittering gaze told him she was enjoying the whole experience way too much.
“Quarterer, quarteree? I may not be a smart man, but I’m fairly certain those are not words.”
“Another offense. That means you will also have to take a shot. That’s in the rules too.”
“Are these written somewhere? I’d like to see a copy if they are, because I have questions.”
“Why yes, they are. They’re written on your momma.” She laughed her ass off at that response, but Squatch stilled. The earlier warm and fuzzy feeling their banter had given him washed away with a few careless words.
He knew he shouldn’t let it get to him, she didn’t know. Hell, almost no one did, but that didn’t bring his good mood back.
Fuck the lime and fuck the salt, Squatch grabbed a shot and threw it back. When he slammed the glass on the table, Devin looked up at him, the laughter still shone from her eyes but died on her lips.
Squatch hated himself for ruining her good mood, but it was what it was. His mom dumping him with her mom and little sister just to jet off with his sperm donor at the ripe old age of sixteen still hurt like a bitch.
Was he so unfuckinglovable that even the one person who should’ve loved him beyond all reason couldn’t even spare him a note or a name?
He lit a cigarette and took a deep draw, trying to calm the anger that was rising inside him at thoughts of the past.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me. Has your mom passed.”
Squatch met her eyes and there was nothing but sincerity there. She hadn’t meant to cause him pain and was hurting for it. That just made him feel worse. He didn’t want to cause Devin pain, never. A few more pulls on his smoke went a long way to calming him down.
“Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not.”
Devin slid her hand across the table, palm up in invitation. Squatch stubbed out the cigarette and placed his hand in hers.
The contact soothed him. He rolled their hands over so hers was on top, almost completely engulfed in his. His skull ring caught the light, and her French-tipped nails showcased their differences.
Her hands, delicate and soft, his, rough and stained.
She didn’t ask or push for more, they just sat there in a comfortable silence. He found that her not needling for more made him want to give it.
“Truth. My mom pushed me out at sixteen. A man, yes, man, as in a lot older, who was assumed to be the father, picked us up from the hospital. According to my Aunt Phoebe, who was the only one home at the time, they laid on the horn until she came outside. Mom thrust me into her arms and took off. No diaper bag, no note, no words. Just me in what the hospital provided, shoved into the arms of a ten-year-old on her actual fucking birthday.”
Devin’s hand tightened in his, but he couldn’t look into her eyes and see the look that caused it, or he might stop.
“My grandmother got home after her shift and cursed at being stuck with a kid to raise, wanting to drop me with the state. My aunt begged her not to, so the majority of the burden fell to my aunt. Even my name.” He heard an indignant and painful sob come from Devin.
“Right? Apparently, I didn’t even warrant enough for her to give me a fucking name. I’ve been worthless since the day I was born.” His voice was so low and laced with pain, he felt it cut deeper and deeper. He hadn’t meant for the last to slip out. That truth was only for him.
Now, it was for Devin too.
“No,” Devin gritted out.
When he looked up, she was speaking through clenched teeth. He’d never seen her that mad before. All for him?
“She is the worthless one. She didn’t deserve to name you. Neither did your father or your grandmother. That sorry excuse for a chip didn’t fall too far from the rotten tree it came from.”
Squatch couldn’t help the small scrap of humor that wove through his heart at her mixed-up analogy or metaphor or whatever the fuck you call those things.
“My Aunt Phoebe was great. Even as young as she was. I don’t remember the baby years, obviously.
But I do remember when I was little, she got me up and made me breakfast every morning.
When I started school, she packed my lunch and did my homework with me, even though she had her own to do.
When Grandma died, she kept me. Even though she was only seventeen and still in school.
She worked two jobs, so I never had to go without.
It wasn’t ideal, leaving a first grader by himself after school but we made it work.
The alternative was to let the state have me and she’d already fought that fight and said she’d be damned if that ever happened. ”
Devin’s other hand patted their joined ones. “She sounds awesome. I’d love to meet her sometime.”
Squatch stared into Devin’s open face. Right there in the bar, he lost a little piece of his heart to her. It was decided. He would call Croon and ask permission to date his sister.
“I’d like that. I know she’d love the shit out of you.”
Devin pulled her hands away, and Squatch mourned the loss of contact. She tucked her hair behind her ear with an overly exaggerated motion and smiled a cocky smile. “Of course she would, I’m awesome.” Her words said confidence, but her eyes said anything but.
And just like that the mood was back to the more lighthearted tone it’d been earlier. He appreciated her ability to pull him back from the edge like that. It was something only his Aunt Phoebe could do without fail and his prez sometimes.
It was nice, not just because it lifted the gloom, but because he felt cared for. Like his pain mattered.
“That you are my little devious one. That you are.”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet. It’s time for your dare.”
“Okay, lay it on me.” No matter what she dared him to do, he’d do it but only if he could extort a kiss from her later because of it.
He pulled his phone from his cut and held it in his lap and tapped out a text under the table.
SQUATCH: Brother, gonna date your sister. Not hit and quit. We’ll talk face to face tomorrow and you can take the shot then, but I wanted you to know now.
Devin was drumming her chin with her index finger as he looked up. “Let’s see.” She said as she scanned the bar. When he felt the phone vibrate in his hand, he looked down.
CROON: What the fuck. I thought you’d look out for her not fuck her. Damn right I’m taking the shot. Two for the fact you texted like a pussy instead of facing me.
Squatch smiled to himself and he sent a response.
Croon was the polar opposite of what people pictured when they heard biker.
A pretty boy who looked like he should be playing polo or some other rich sport.
Even though he was raised in a run-down trailer, he looked like he belonged in a country club.