Chapter 8
ASH
I should have asked more questions when Jace came over the other night.
The last thing I expected to see when I stepped out to get the mail yesterday was a silver minivan sitting in the driveway between our homes.
At first, I thought nothing of it because the guy has always needed to borrow a vehicle for his sculptures and custom kink pieces.
You can’t exactly fit a spanking bench on the back of a motorcycle.
But when it was still there this morning, I took a closer look and noticed the temporary license plate.
For what fucking reason would my big bad biker teddy bear need a soccer mom car?
With my mind still reeling long after my coffee became an iced coffee, I decide to fire off a few more applications.
Some of the online forums suggest putting in keywords even if they are not relevant.
Others say to hide prompts for AI review in my resumé in order for my application to pass onto a human review.
I’m starting to sound like my father with cursing out all of the machines and “damn robots taking over”.
The sound of a car on the gravel outside has my inner nosy white bitch coming to the surface again.
Honestly, after hours of answering the same questions over and over again, the distraction is very welcome.
Plus, I really should make a fresh cup of coffee, so I carry my mug into the kitchen and discretely pull back the curtain from the window above the sink.
Okay, so that car definitely does not belong to anyone here.
The guy who gets out of the car also does not belong here, judging by the rumpled suit jacket and tattered backpack that he pulls out through the passenger side window.
He takes a minute to verify something against his phone screen and then heads for the porch next door – Jace’s front door to be exact.
My coffee is forgotten when I hear the crunch of footsteps on gravel. My hip is hiked on the railing of my little deck before I can even recall going outside, and I watch messy suit guy walk a circle around my friend’s home. When he tries to open the back door, my patience runs out.
“Breaking and entering is a crime, ya know.”
Is it wrong to smirk at the asshole falling off Jace’s back steps? Maybe. Truth is, he has no business trying to enter anyone else’s home.
Unfortunately, my mother raised me to be both a gentleman and a lady, so I guess I should help him out of the bushes before he ends up with tetanus or something.
“Thanks,” he manages to squeak out when I get him back on his feet. “Is this the home of Jason Whitetower?”
He points at Jace’s place, and I start shaking my head before the name registers.
I have been helping with payroll and the office work at Mac’s for the last few weeks for some extra hours since Eli took pity on me.
Jason Whitetower is Jace’s legal name. Not very many people are aware of that fact.
To everyone else, he is just Jace Franklin.
“What do you need with Jace?” I demand, ready to call in the calvary if our teddy bear is in some sort of legal trouble. I am pretty sure I have a card for Justice somewhere in my junk drawer, and he really doesn’t take kindly to people going after his family.
Most people don’t think I am very intimidating.
Part of it comes from being unable to really put on any kind of meaningful weight.
Part of it comes from my wearing rather effeminate clothing at times.
My five foot, ten inches only really puts me ahead physically around guys like Lucky and Toby who are teeny tiny.
Even Jackson at his five foot, seven – on a good day – is more intimidating than I am most days.
Still, Burglar Bradley over here looks like he is about to piss himself when I step into his personal space.
Nobody fucks with people I care about. This bitch absolutely knows where to hide a body and is friends with enough people with seven figures in their bank accounts to have top quality legal counsel… especially if it’s in defense of Jace.
“I-I-I’m B-Bradley S-S-Sommers. Social Services.”
The man is actually shaking as he digs out a business card to give to me. Meanwhile, I am struggling not to giggle at the fact that his name really is fucking Bradley.
Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket for tonight.
“I need to check off the home inspection so that Gerald can be released into Mister Whitetower’s care tomorrow.”
I hold up a hand to stop the man from rambling on because there are things he just said that I do not understand. Who the fuck is Gerald and why is Jace dealing with social services years after he’s aged out of the system?
Instead of making the bumbling idiot stand outside in the blazing afternoon sun, I invite him into my home where the air conditioner is doing the Lord’s work.
Whoever sells the lie that it doesn’t get as hot as Georgia in the summer here needs to be castrated.
After starting a fresh pot of coffee, I send a text to let Jace know about his visitor. Considering he is not on the schedule for Mac’s or the D.C. tonight, he is likely working on something at the forge out by Round Hill Park.
His response comes faster than expected.
**:
shit!!! I thought they were coming tomorrow morning.
Me:
anything u wanna share with the class TB?
**:
I promise to fill u in later. Can u let him inside? I’ll be home in 15
Glancing over at the clearly ill-equipped man in the suit, I huff out my frustration.
I’m not mad at Jace… Okay, I am a bit peeved that I am getting blindsided by heaven only knows what, but my friend always plays everything very close to his chest when it comes to his personal life.
Hell, the only reason I even know the guy was even in foster care is because Jackson is his brother from the same foster home, and Jackson doesn’t know the meaning of TMI.
“He’s on his way home, but he says I can let you in to take a look at the place,” I say and grab the spare key out of my junk drawer. “But you need to explain why you were trying the door before I let you inside.”
Brad looks a bit sheepish as he explains that part of his check is to ensure that housing is secure.
His mentor told him to try the doors and windows if the adult was not home to let him in because “if a person leaves their home unlocked, they don’t take safety seriously” or some bullshit like that.
“Or,” I say as I lead the way into Jace’s living room a few minutes later, “the person lives in a neighborhood where we all look out for each other at the top of a big ass hill where it gets noticed immediately if someone shows up uninvited.”
He actually has the smarts to look chagrined.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” he mumbles before pulling out a clipboard from his backpack. “I was thrown on this case at the last minute. I usually work cases in much… well different areas.”
The sorrow in his voice is enough for me to pack the bitch away – at least temporarily. I’m not a bully.
Plus, I appreciate the fact that he didn’t stumble over his words when it came to recognizing my gender.
When I went outside earlier, I was not wearing my pronoun pin nor a shirt with my maxi skirt.
I had taken off the tank top when I spilled soup from my lunch on it and hadn’t bothered to put something else on because I was in my own freaking home.
I put the top back on – stain and all – after getting the texts from Jace.
Maybe Bradley is a good egg after all. At least, I hope so because I can hear the roar of my biker boy coming up the hill.