Chapter 6 #2
“You have to! Remember when Jake kept staring at them months ago? You told him to stop ogling me. It’s because they’re weird, right?” She still cups her chest. “They get all pointy sometimes.”
“I’m not going to feel you up, Marietta.”
She huffs out a breath. “I knew it. But I’m willing to settle. Seems like several members of the club were happy to put up with my weirdo chest. I’m still a girl, even if I’m don’t have much of what is appealing about one.”
I can barely keep up with how hardcore she’s hating on herself.
“Marietta, stop. Just stop. You’re fucking gorgeous. And your breasts are fine.”
“Are you sure?”
And by God, she does it again, lifting her blue sweater, revealing a long smooth belly and those precocious tits.
“Marietta, you’re killing me.”
Her head pops up. “I am? Even with these?”
“Yes, you are.”
She lowers her sweater. “I’m not really shy.”
“I guessed that.”
“I auditioned for a strip club.”
My throat bobs, imagining her naked on a stage, awash with colored light. “I remember you saying that before the remodel.”
She glances around. “If I were a club bunny, and everyone was having sex with me anyway, it would be fine if I stripped here, wouldn’t it?
” She hops down from the bar and heads to the stage.
“You could put a pole right here!” She picks up a chair and sets it on the platform.
“I could do the whole Flashdance routine.” She turns the chair sideways. “Imagine me naked.”
Like that’s hard, given she just flashed me.
She sits in the chair and arches her back. “We don’t even need the water. It would make a mess anyway.”
She spots one of the load-bearing columns we put in where the wall was removed. Even though it’s square and not round, she grasps it and straddles the thick wood, legs in the air, feet aiming for the ceiling. “I’m getting better, see?”
Yeah, I see. I shift in my chair.
She drops her legs. “Do you need a special license to have strippers?”
I clear my throat, angling my arms between my thighs to hide my reaction to watching her do that maneuver. “Yeah, it’s a whole different set of permits.”
“I guess I could do private shows for the club. Is there a pole in your clubhouse?”
Fuck. I imagine Chain and Hoss going apeshit for her as she strips. “No.”
“They could put one in.” She throws a leg over the seat of the chair next to me to straddle it, crossing her arms over the back. “What I’m saying is I’m game. I’m ready to get wild. It’s not a lifetime thing, right? I can be a club bunny just for a while?”
I nod. “Yeah, you’re free to come and go as you like.”
“So, how would it work? Do think Iron Jack will let me pick my first man?” She rests her chin on her arms. “Could I negotiate that into the deal, or am I property, and they vote?”
I suddenly remember I’m supposed to be convincing her to be a house mouse, not a bunny.
I better shift course. “Why don’t you be a house mouse first? Nobody can touch you then. And you can get to know the guys and maybe have an informed opinion.”
“Ohh, that’s good. And once I pick, I could go to Iron Jack and say, I’m ready to be a bunny, and he’s first.”
“Or,” I say, feeling less sure the more we talk about this, “you could get along with one of them well enough to go straight to ol’ lady.”
She frowns at that. “Maybe. I think a bunny is better because it’s temporary. I’ll graduate in a year. And I might move.” Her eyes light up. “I wonder if I can somehow roll this experience into my master’s thesis.”
I try not to choke. “You’d study the club?”
“Yeah! Oh my gosh. I could compare the dynamics of an outlaw social structure against other more traditional familial hierarchies.”
“We’re not outlaws.”
“Oh, right. Well, boo. Still, this whole idea of ol’ ladies and sharing bunnies. It’s fascinating! And the mixed metaphors of presidents, like it’s a democracy, and church, using faith-based terminology like the club is a religion.”
She’s too smart for the Wild Hair, that’s for sure. “Iron Jack won’t want you writing up club business. And besides, bunnies don’t come to church.”
“But do the bunnies bring in booze or food? I could eavesdrop.”
“Only the ol’ ladies do that.”
“What about a house mouse?”
I think about it. “I’m not sure. The Wild Hair hasn’t had a mouse since I’ve been a prospect. I don’t know where they go.”
She frowns. “But I really want the sexual experience. I’m clearly too awkward to get it on my own.”
She’s convinced nobody wants her. “You know, it’s easy to go from house mouse to club bunny. But once you start banging everyone, you can’t go back.”
She rests her chin on her arms, which are folded across the back of the chair. “You’re right. Okay. We’ll do it your way. I’ll come in as a house mouse. See what I can learn. And when I pick my first mark, I’ll move up.”
Finally. “I’ll let Iron Jack know.”
“Good!” She hops up. “The girls are going to kill me. They think this is a terrible idea. But I’m excited. When can I move in?”
“Iron Jack will probably have one of the ol’ ladies contact you. They’ll show you the ropes.”
“Yes!” She runs up to me and throws her arms around my neck. “I wanted it to be you, Merrick, but I get it. Surely, there’s someone in the club I can handle. Who knows, maybe I’ll love the whole life. I’ve never ridden a motorcycle.”
I hold on to the moment, her body pressed against mine, immersed in her floral scent. She’s such a study in opposites. Sad. Excited. Innocent. Wild.
I force myself to pull away. “Be careful about asking for a ride,” I tell her. “A lot of bikers have an NFNF policy.”
“NFNF?”
“No fuck, no fun.”
Her eyes go wide. She’s unbearably close. “So, to get a ride, I have to have sex with them?”
“It’s common. It’s a perk of being in an MC.”
“Do you do that?”
So many times. Motorcycles are the easiest way to spread a lady’s legs.
But to her, I say, “I’m just a prospect.”
She pats my arm. “I hope you get some big-boob sex soon. And I’m sorry I naively propositioned so many people accidentally. I didn’t know about the NFNF.”
I want to argue with her. That I’d totally give her a ride. Every kinda ride.
But she has plans. I need to let her sow her motorcycle oats and move on. I’m weirdly invested in her, and that is no good for my future in a club where she intends to take on every member who’s game. I can’t fight them all.
Marietta picks up her purse and heads for the door.
“Maybe I’ll get to strip for you at the clubhouse!
I know these don’t tempt you.” She smacks her chest again.
“But you can admire my moves!” She grasps another of the poles, somehow lifting her body to spin around it even though it’s thick and square.
She does have good moves.
She hops down and waves, twisting the bolt to the door and disappearing into the sunshine.
I feel like I’ve been left in the wake of a hurricane. She’s naive and awkward and inexperienced and unsure of herself.
The club can probably fix pretty much all of that.
But how the hell am I going to let someone else have her? Much less a whole slew of them?
Fuck.
I don’t know that I can.