Chapter 4
Chapter four
Trooper
“For fuck’s sake, this is ridiculous,” Hillbilly grumbled.
Lila, Shea, and Keely laughed as they draped him in birthday finery. A few brightly colored plastic leis around his neck. A corny party hat with a rainbow pompom on the top and an elastic strap under his chin. And a silvery sash over one shoulder that announced in big bold letters, Birthday Boy.
“You’re looking beautiful, Prez,” I called across the room.
“Shut up,” he growled back.
It was an amusing sight to see this tough, weathered old biker, with his grizzled beard and his tattered ancient cut wearing such festive and gaudy birthday attire.
Two weeks had passed since the incident at Hotline with no sign of Ritter. Raine thought the whole thing was over and he had moved on. But Shea and I didn’t think it would be that easy.
And I didn’t lighten up on Shea’s protection either. Hillbilly and I coordinated a rotating shift of bikers to look out for her. If they were busy, I was the one who camped out in Hotline’s parking lot, followed Shea home, or stood guard outside her house.
Ritter’s threat wouldn’t stop replaying on an endless loop in my mind, and it chilled me to the bone.
He cracked a joke about how wonderful it would be to keep Shea all to himself. Like a butterfly, with pretty pinned wings.
My gaze followed Shea around the clubhouse. She really was as pretty as a butterfly, with tattoos covering nearly every inch of her skin. Her dark hair was tinged with streaks of vibrant, neon blue to match her eyeliner.
She scooped up Kenny as he wandered by and blew a raspberry on his tummy. He squirmed, giggling so hard that his cheeks turned red. Then Shea plopped him onto her lap and smothered his face in more kisses.
An ache took root in my chest, rising up to my throat. Despite the numerous years that we’d known each other, despite the closeness of our friendship, I suddenly realized that I’d never heard Shea mention having kids of her own. Or getting married. Was that something she wanted one day?
Judging by the way Kenny settled down into her arms almost instantly, she would make an incredible mother.
It was good to see Shea happy like this. Surrounded by people who cared for her. I wished I could keep her here indefinitely, so she didn’t have to face the threat of that Ritter creep ever again.
Hillbilly made a noise of protest and waved everyone off.
“Enough of your fussing,” he said, good-naturedly.
Keely kissed his cheek and patted his shoulder.
“Thank you for pretending that you didn’t know anything about the party. Even after I spilled the beans and ruined the surprise.”
“That’s because I threatened him to act right,” Lila quipped. “I’m mean and he’s scared of me.”
Hillbilly scoffed.
“I’m not scared of anyone, young lady. Especially not a little firecracker like you.”
“Sure, Dad, whatever you say,” she chirped.
The clubhouse had been transformed for Hillbilly’s birthday party, draped in streamers and filled with balloons.
The bar became a buffet full of his favorite food—waffles with an assortment of toppings.
Chocolate chips and whipped cream, sliced strawberries and blueberries, caramel sauce and fried chicken and seven different kinds of syrup.
Ironside, Vice President of the Reckless Order, slapped a stack of brochures and pamphlets onto the table next to Hillbilly.
“It’s time to start looking into retirement homes, old man,” he announced.
“Over my dead body,” Hillbilly replied, digging into his stack of waffles, drenched in chocolate syrup and pecans.
Ironside chuckled and took the seat beside him.
“All right then, what about a second marriage?”
Hillbilly grunted and shot him a look that clearly said, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
“Did Lila pay you to ask that question?”
Ironside pulled a ten-dollar bill out of his cut pocket and held it up with a smirk.
“I told her that I was willing to do it for free, though, if that makes you feel any better.”
“I didn’t realize your loyalty could be bought so cheaply.”
I swirled a generous helping of whipped cream onto my waffles.
“What do you have against a second wife, Prez?” I asked. “Wouldn’t it be nice to come home to someone at the end of the day?”
Hillbilly huffed with amusement.
“Are you kidding? After being around you bastards, I’m grateful for some peace and quiet. In my own home. Alone. With no one yapping in my ear.”
Beside me, Tarzan held a plate in each hand while Keely selected toppings for their waffles. When she was finished, she beamed up at him and popped a blueberry in his mouth. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled down at her and brushed a quick kiss to her lips.
I tore my gaze away, feeling that prickly-ache of bittersweet happiness for them all over again.
Then my gaze landed on Shea amid the crowded room when I wasn’t even looking for her.
She had found a set of markers somewhere and she was doodling an entire sleeve tattoo along Kenny’s arm with studious precision.
Kenny sat stock still, entranced with her process.
“That better not be permanent marker you’re using, Shea,” Tarzan called. “Don’t get me in trouble with my wife because you tattooed my son when I turned my back for a few minutes.”
Shea hummed and flicked a glance in his direction, but she didn’t stop following the outline of an airplane on Kenny’s shoulder in black ink.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s washable. Besides, everyone knows this little man will grow up to be a big, scary, tattooed biker just like his daddy,” she added, tickling Kenny’s tummy.
That ache in my chest turned into a gaping hole of…something I quickly smothered and buried. I couldn’t afford to have feelings for Shea. She wouldn’t put our friendship at risk like that, and I wouldn’t either.
Sliding into the seat across from Shea, I set my plate on the table and extended my arm.
“When you’re finished with Junior there,” I said. “It’s my turn next.”
Shea didn’t even look up this time, head bent over Kenny’s arm. She added a miniature set of cars around his wrist, as if they were locked in bumper-to-bumper traffic.
“You have plenty of real ink already,” she said.
I tapped an empty space of skin on the inside of my forearm.
“Look. See? I don’t have anything here. I need it filled in.”
Finally, Shea slid her gaze over to me.
“What kind of tattoo did you have in mind? Wait, let me guess—a curvy beauty in a teeny tiny bikini, with a military salute as a thank you for your service.”
I breathed a laugh and plucked a gummy worm from my waffle mountain, tilted my head back, and dropped it in my mouth.
“I get the sense that you’re mocking me.”
A small smile flickered at the corner of her lips. She jabbed her marker at my pile of food.
“Did you get literally every topping available?”
I surveyed my waffles, then I shook my head.
“Nah, I skipped the sliced bananas. Too healthy. I had to draw the line somewhere.”
Shea chuckled and swiped her finger through my whipped cream, licking it off before I could protest. My gaze strayed to her mouth, to her lips wrapped around her finger, and the playful twinkle in her eyes.
Fuck, why did that make my cock throb?
Sure, Shea was open-minded. Friends with benefits would probably be on the table if I had the guts to propose it.
But I knew the difference between sex that meant nothing aside from scratching a mutual itch and sex that was loaded with feelings I should not be harboring for my friend.
Tarzan called to Kenny, gesturing for him to come eat. That snapped me out of my reverie, wrenching my attention away from Shea and her mouth. I still remembered the way her lips tasted when I kissed her—
Shea wrapped her agile fingers around my wrist, gently stretching my arm out.
My heart leaped into my throat at her touch. This was not helping the state of my hard-on.
“Any suggestions?” she asked, stroking her thumb along that patch of bare skin on my inner forearm.
I exhaled slowly and shifted in my seat, attempting to alleviate the tightness of my jeans.
“Surprise me,” I said with a shrug. “Artist’s choice.”
“Brave decision,” Shea replied. She rummaged through her set of markers and held up a pink one. “What if I chose a princess bow? Or a sparkly diamond tiara? Your biker brothers might tease you mercilessly.”
“I would wear it with pride,” I said, holding her gaze. “Because you made it.”
Shea's throat worked as she swallowed and she looked away. Rifling through her markers, she selected her color palette—stormy blue, royal purple, shiny beetle green, and midnight black.
“Last chance to change your mind,” she said. “Are you sure you don’t have any specific requests? Otherwise you’re entirely at my mercy.”
I grinned.
“That’s exactly where I want to be.”
She huffed and shook her head as she started sketching a few lines.
The buzz of conversation in the room faded to a dull background noise as I watched Shea.
She was beautiful like this, in her element.
Completely and utterly engrossed in her work and the design taking shape with every stroke of her marker.
“You’re good with Kenny,” I said after a minute or two. “He might be getting a little crush on you.”
Shea hummed, adding a few scribbles of green.
“He’s a cute kid. I always thought it would be fun to be an aunt, but I never had any siblings. And Lila doesn’t have kids that I can spoil yet.”
“What about you?” I prompted.
She frowned with confusion and glanced up, pinning me with a questioning look from her warm hazel eyes. I swallowed hard under her scrutiny, her closeness, her touch—a heady combination that was making it difficult to think straight.
“Having kids of your own,” I clarified. “You’ve never…mentioned it before.”
“Oh,” Shea said.
And that was it. She bent back to her work, showing no inclination to say anything more.
"Go ahead, call me a dumbass for sticking my foot in my mouth," I said. "I can mind my own business."
Shea arched an eyebrow, amused, as she selected that dark stormy blue.
“I figured out you’re a dumbass a long time ago,” she replied affectionately.
“It’s just—I’ve always struggled to envision a future for myself.
Getting married, having kids…it doesn’t feel real.
I’ve been so lost in life that I just wanted a place that I could call home.
And I think part of me is still searching for that. ”
Her words hit me like a kick to the gut. When Tarzan and I were kids, our home life had been so turbulent with our parents fighting all the time that we were desperate to be anywhere else.
Then I went into the military, searching for somewhere to belong.
Tarzan didn’t come with me. And we went our separate ways for a few years.
I knew exactly what it was like to feel as if you had been set adrift in the world.
“What about Hotline?” I pointed out. “You worked your ass off to make that dream happen.”
Shea nodded.
“I’m grateful for that, of course. But…now what?
Where do I go from here? What’s the next step?
Obviously, Raine thinks I need a husband before I’m a wizened crone.
But I’ve spent so long on my own that I can’t imagine someone…
being there all the time, you know? My mother got married and clearly that didn’t last.”
A pause settled between us as Shea focused on her work. I tried to get a look at the design but the angle of her head blocked my view. So, I decided to sit back and trust her visionary process.
“You’re worth staying for, Shea,” I said. “Not every man will be an asshole like your dad was.”
Her marker slipped. She swore under her breath and licked her thumb quickly, scrubbing at the errant streak of ink.
“I didn’t say that,” Shea replied firmly.
“You didn’t have to.”
She sighed and stopped scrubbing.
“For the record,” I continued. “I’m still single because I’m scared shitless that I’ll be just like my parents and marry someone who hates my guts, day in and day out. So, you won’t hear any judgment from me on the subject. I get it.”
Shea lifted her head, her gaze more vulnerable than I’d ever seen it.
“Well, then, I’d say we’re both pretty fucked up.”
“We should probably see a shrink and have our heads examined,” I agreed. “Or maybe just get drunk and eat our weight in waffles.”
Shea laughed. My heart did a little somersault in my chest at how light that sound was. After a few more strokes of her marker, she straightened up and declared my temporary tattoo was finished.
“What do you think?” she said.
I held up my arm, examining her work.
A motorcycle in bold black lines was twined with ethereal green ivy. Perched on the handlebar was a dragonfly in blue and purple, matching the same dragonfly tattoos on Shea’s spine.
“I was kinda hoping for the sparkly tiara, to be honest,” I said.
Shea huffed and kicked me under the table.
“You are fucking impossible. Give me those waffles.”
She stole my plate, grabbed my fork, and dug in. I didn’t object and let her eat as much as she wanted.
I was too busy committing every inch of that temporary tattoo to memory. Since the ink was washable, it wouldn’t last long.
But I loved it more than words could ever say.