8. Phoenix
PHOENIX
We devised a plan so that while Aspen was at work, I would keep Parker on task, but that hadn’t worked out well for us so far.
He was restless and stuck on a scene, while I was still fuming over my uncle’s insistence that I not return to my duties until I got the stitches out of my face.
Personally, I’d have thought he’d welcome me wandering around the club looking like Frankenstein’s monster the way he had in the past, but for whatever reason, he’d sent a text telling me to keep my ass wherever I was, since he’d already been by my room and knew I wasn’t crashing there.
Staying home meant I struggled to keep myself entertained while not distracting Parker, who was curled over the notepad he had resting on the arm of the couch, snarling curses every few minutes as he crossed something out.
“This is bullshit,” he grumbled, hurling the notepad on the coffee table with a huff.
“If these fucking characters won’t cooperate, then they can be fashion week’s next casualties, and readers will have to follow a whole different team of amateur investigators in the next book because these two are pissing me off. ”
“Do all authors cuss their characters out as often as you do?”
“If their characters are as stubborn as mine, then I bet they do. There is smoke pouring under the door of the room they’re trapped in, and do you know what those idiots are arguing over?”
“Who’s gonna pick the lock on the door?” I asked. “Or is one trying to be all macho, ramming himself into it, hoping to bust free before the fire gets too close?”
“See, now those would have been rational, even reasonable actions in a situation like that, but no, they’re arguing because the garment Joey grabbed off the rack to wedge under the door to hold off the smoke is made of beautiful chiffon and Kyle wants him to grab something hideous instead.”
Snickering, I just lay there trying to figure out why he didn’t just choose a solution for them and keep rolling with the story.
“Depending on the door, if one of them has a thick enough driver’s license or credit card, they can just drag it between the lock and the door and pop the lock. Won’t work if it’s got any sort of a bolt on it, though.”
“Neither of these two nitwits would think to try that,” he explained. “They get paid to look pretty. I don’t know what made them think they could investigate a murder in the first place.”
“Didn’t you plan for that to happen?” I asked.
“The only plan I had was for them to solve another mystery, like they had in the previous books, but those have all been relatively small compared to this. I can’t decide if I’m truly stuck or just frustrated that I can’t start that bike messenger project yet.
Why don’t you take me for a ride on your Harley?
I can zone out while you drive and maybe even figure out a solution by the time Aspen gets off work. ”
Most days, it was Aspen begging for a ride. This was a first coming from Parker, and I leapt at the chance to take him up on it.
“Where to?” I asked.
“Anywhere.”
“Wanna narrow it down or should I just pick a direction and drive?”
“Wherever the day takes us.”
Shrugging, I got off the couch and went in search of my jeans, boots, and keys, since I’d been lounging around in sleep pants.
He’d picked up clothes from his place after our night at the drag show, and I was pleased to see that he’d brought a pair of boots with him, since my backup pair was still in my room over the strip club.
I’d gone back twice already for things I couldn’t do without, but I didn’t miss the cramped, drab interior or the sound of everyone else’s conversations, since the walls were so thin it was impossible to get any privacy in that place.
It was a bit of a madhouse at times, with my uncle Bobby and three of my other cousins occupying rooms, but not having to worry about rent was what had allowed me to buy my Harley in the first place, even if she was used.
She ran like a dream and gleamed in the sunlight when we stepped out of the house.
Yes, she was one of several things I’d gone back for as soon as the puffiness around my eyes had gone down enough for me to see straight.
Now that I thought of it, I’d packed everything I cared about, including the stuffed Rottweiler Raleigh and Murry had given me, but only after their Daddy had made some seriously badass mini leather pup gear for it.
When Dorian presented me with the matching gear before his last fashion show, I’d teared up and had to growl at everyone to quit looking at me as I started slipping into it.
They had.
Mostly.
Aspen hadn’t, but he didn’t give me shit, either; he just helped me with all the buckles and smoothed my hair back before positioning the headpiece.
It was impossible to explain wind therapy to someone who’d only gone places surrounded by metal. I’d rather wear layers of clothes than ride in a cage, though I would park her and walk when the roads were slick, because I loved her too much to ever want to wreck her.
Just the sound of that engine rumbling when I fired her up was enough to send a shiver of electricity through my soul.
Even while I waited for him to get settled behind me, I was eager to leave town behind us and head up into the hills.
I waited to see if he rode like some of my exes, with his hands on my hips and three inches between us, ramrod stiff and too scared to relax and enjoy himself.
They didn’t stick around long.
When Parker wrapped his arms around my midsection, I stroked the well-worn leather of the jacket he’d pulled on, pleased to discover that there were no traces of fear in the way he held me.
Parker rode with his head on my shoulder, arms snug but not restrictive, a solid presence at my back as we took off down the street.
I headed north out of town, along the windy country road I’d loved since before I was old enough to drive it.
My old man and my uncles would ride these hills from sunrise until several hours after the sun went down, with me and whichever other cousins were willing to follow the simple rules they laid out.
Kickstands up at six; that means having your ass outside at 5:55. That was always easy. I’d be out there at 5:30 polishing chrome if any needed it or just impatiently waiting for them to come out.
Keep your mouth shut and your ears open. That one was the easiest, since they told the best stories while we were pulled over somewhere, staring off over a valley at some scenic lookout point, or clustered around a picnic table, pigging out on burgers and chicken strips.
Never eat the last goddamn wing on the table unless it was offered to you. Okay, so that one was hard, because I’d never met a chicken wing I didn’t love, but those were the rules they’d laid out for us, word for word, complete with the cussing.
My grandmother tried to correct them once, but as soon as she yelled at them to stop cursing in front of the goddamned kids, she threw her hands in the air and went back into the house, fully aware of where they’d gotten it from.
My old man had been counted in that mix, since he’d spent as much time at my mom’s house when they were young as he had his own. To my uncles, he was another brother.
To my mom, he’d been the one to prove to her that men didn’t always leave.
A couple of my older brothers had dads who were pure assholes and never came around after they’d moved on from my mama.
Dad had stepped in to fill that gap and put a ring on her finger, complete with a motorcycle-lined aisle for her to walk down and a beach ceremony where he officially made her his queen.
To hear everyone else tell it, she’d been it for him from day one, and he’d just been patiently, or stubbornly, depending on who was doing the telling, waiting for her to figure it out.
This time of year, the trees were beginning to change, dotting the landscape with an assortment of yellow, orange, and red hues.
I veered left at a familiar road, toward Elle’s Orchard, where they not only had a giant store filled with fresh produce but so many products that it was always hard to choose what to bring home with me.
Not to mention how much ice cream to put away at the ice cream stand, where they offered warm, homemade toppings that turned every sundae into absolute perfection.
When the first bright green and orange sign popped into view, I eagerly gunned it a little and heard Parker laugh in my ear. The last mile passed in a flash, and I slowed down so we wouldn’t slide when we turned into the driveway.
Nice!
We’d picked the perfect time to drop in. There were only a handful of cars in the parking lot, leaving me plenty of shady spots to park my baby, so I chose the one farthest from all of them.
“Right on!” Parker declared after I’d parked and killed the engine. “I’ve only been here once, but their apple cider was exquisite. Easily the best I’ve ever tasted.”
“Did you try the ice cream?”
“It’s not typically my go-to fall treat.”
“Dude, you have got to try the ice cream,” I declared and grabbed his hand only to immediately let go, because damn, I did not go around holding hands with people.
“Guess I’m trying the ice cream,” he declared, grabbing my hand and giving it a squeeze.
I didn’t tug mine free when he grabbed it; the urge wasn’t even there.
I just strode across the parking lot with our hands swinging between us, unable to believe he’d done that.
My fucking face was still a mess, thanks to the gods-be-damned stitches, and he was easily one of the most beautiful men I’d ever met.
A part of me longed to duck my head and hide the wreckage, but it was too ingrained in me to always walk with my head up and my gaze sweeping everything around me so I wouldn’t be caught off guard.
So then why did all the feelings I’d had since meeting these two leave my head reeling every goddamn time we were in the same room?