1. Aspen #2
There was no mistaking the heat in Phoenix’s gaze or the soft admiration I already knew he held for me.
We’d spent time sitting around the refreshment bar after Dorian’s shop closed, talking about music and television shows.
I kept hoping he’d talk about more serious things, because watching new bruises constantly darkening his skin was slowly breaking me.
“Enjoy your night of cherry decadence,” Parker declared when we reached the parking lot. His car was near the back, while all the motorcycles were parked close to the building.
“Oh, we will,” Phoenix growled with such heat in his voice that I had to adjust myself before I climbed onto the back of his bike.
His body was all solid muscle and soft leather that smelled like machine oil and aftershave.
Whatever he used was full of spicy overtones that made me feel like I was hugging a cinnamon stick when I wrapped my arms around him.
He covered both of my hands with his, squeezing once, caressing, taking a moment to enjoy the weight of my body pressed against his back.
There was no other way to describe it than intimate: a collective pause, a shared inhale, and tranquil drifting in our private bubble, only dimly aware of the sound of Parker’s engine roaring to life.
“Timing is off,” Phoenix grumbled. “He might want to have it looked at soon.”
“You should tell him,” I replied. “If I say anything, he’ll just take it as criticism.”
“Well,” Phoenix said, chuckling as he patted my hand, “technically it is criticism of the awful sound of his engine when he revs it that way.”
Laughing, I squeezed him and rubbed my face against the shoulder of his leather jacket.
“My point exactly,” I replied.
“I’ll say something to him the next time we run into each other,” Phoenix said before the machine roared to life.
I’d always loved motorcycles, losing myself in the rumble and the scent of exhaust. There was something primal and wild about roaring through the night, bodies pressed together, the machine like a living, breathing entity, filling the gaps between souls.
So maybe it was a smidge flowery and on the wrong side of purple prose, but I’d ridden dozens of Harleys before and experienced the soft, melty haze that descended over my mind anytime I rode one.
Sure enough, by the time Phoenix pulled up in front of my house, I’d lost track of how many streets we’d ridden down; the start-stop feeling was so sudden that for a moment I sat there confused, trying to sort out whether we’d actually driven or just been beamed from one spot to the next.
“Still want me to come up, or are you too tired?” Phoenix asked, drawing me out of the beautiful gloaming.
“What makes you think I’m tired?” I said as I shook myself, stretched, and hopped off the bike, trying to prove to him that I had plenty of energy left for wherever the night happened to take us.
“Thought you were falling asleep on me,” Phoenix explained.
“Absolutely not,” I grumbled. “I was just enjoying the way dance moves start to flow together in my head whenever I’m on a bike. It just dawned on me how fast a new routine comes together in my head when I’m on the back of one.”
“It was always the same for me,” Phoenix admitted.
“Comedy routines too, now that I think about it.”
“You’ll have to do one for me sometimes.”
“Never tempt a wannabe comedian with a captive audience,” I declared. “Which you will be after I’ve finished stuffing you with cake and cocktails.”
“You make it sound downright nefarious,” Phoenix chuckled, the sound rumbling along the back of my neck as he followed me up the porch steps.
“I can make it do more than sound that way,” I muttered beneath my breath as I unlocked the door and turned on the lights.
“What was that?” Phoenix asked.
He filled the entryway.
On the bike, the size difference between us wasn’t as noticeable as it was with him in my living room, at eye level with the chandelier.
“The place wasn’t built for tall people, was it?” he said, stepping around it to take off his boots.
“Tall people can handle it just fine,” I replied. “Sasquatches, on the other hand…”
I made sure he was watching me as I raked my gaze over his body, drinking in the sight of those well-worn, thigh-hugging jeans that tapered at the hip, leading right to the strip of skin that peeked out from beneath the hem of his cropped t-shirt.
Son of a bitch, there was a darkened, bluish-purple patch of flesh peeking out of the waistband like someone had been aiming for his ribs.
“Sasquatch would be my brothers,” Phoenix remarked. “I have the misfortune of being the runt of the litter.”
“For fuck’s sake, if you’re the runt, they’d be wearing my chandeliers for top hats,” I muttered, eyeing him up and down again.
“Pretty much.”
“So why are you the one running security at the strip club, then?” I asked. “Why not stick the biggest guy at the door and let him scare the fuck out of everyone who goes in there?”
“Because size doesn’t mean he can beat me when we square off,” Phoenix pointed out.
“Doesn’t mean the biggest guy is the meanest, either, though we do try to position someone at the door who can put the fear of the goddess into the idiots.
“Unfortunately, whenever alcohol is involved, the first inhibition that bites the dust is fear.”
“What’s the second?” I asked, curious to learn more about how he viewed the folks he was forced to deal with at his job.
“Being self-conscious,” he said as he pulled a chair out.
“Yeah, I guess that tracks.”
It took no time at all to brew the refreshers, spike them, and pour the mixture over ice, slice the cake, and make sure each piece was liberally drenched in maraschino cherry juice and adorned with fat, red cherries.
“Have you ever thought about doing something else besides bouncing?” I asked as we settled in to eat, monster truck races on the countertop television beside the microwave.
“Yeah, but thinking doesn’t keep my wallet full,” Phoenix replied.
“So, no trying to recruit me the way you did Murry and Raleigh. It’d be too damn tempting.
The club has been run by my family for three generations now.
I feel obligated to do my part, ya know?
The shitheads will clear out soon enough, and things will be back to the normal level of bull-shittery in a week or so.
We just have to weather the storm until they move on up the coast.”
“You shouldn’t have to put up with that crap.”
“Unfortunately, the people who come to the kind of place we run aren’t the sort to care about what others think of them, so they’ve got no problem showing their asses in public.
Even if they get arrested, they’re laughing about it come Monday night because they know we can’t ban all of them or we’d have no clientele left. ”
“Maybe you should think about attracting a better class of clientele,” I suggested.
“Oh man,” Phoenix said, lightly slapping his knee, “I can just see my uncles’ faces now if I suggested we look to attract more upscale patrons.
They’d laugh my ass right outta the office.
Some of the knuckleheads are a pain in the ass sometimes, but most nights it’s chill, and the dance routines are amazing. ”
“Uh-huh,” I muttered, “I doubt it’s just the routines that are amazing.”
His grin said more than words, cake crumbs clinging to his lips as he shoved another moist forkful past them.
I’d have to keep cake on hand for future opportunities like this, because there was something about Phoenix that had already attached itself to a piece of my heart.
It grew more after every encounter, reminding me of how empty my life had been before I had murder mystery suppers and game nights with friends to look forward to again.
Even if that was all we’d ever be, I wanted a life for him that didn’t involve constant fights and scars, especially if they began eroding that gorgeous soul of his.
Hero.
Protector.
I wanted to be the one to watch his back so maybe he’d be able to drop his guard for a change, because I’d glimpsed his pup a few times now when he’d been relaxed and playing with Murry and Raleigh.
And each time I’d longed to lure him out more and make him mine.