Chapter Fifteen
Chapter
Fifteen
I Try to Be
Jagger
“Got something I’ve been putting off talking to you
about.”
It was the next morning after dinner with Archie’s folks.
Jag was at her bar, sipping coffee and watching Archie make breakfast (eggs,
cheese, sautéed mushrooms and taco sauce in a tortilla—it looked awesome, but
he’d already learned his woman could cook).
“What?” he asked.
She didn’t answer his question and he had a feeling that
wasn’t about the fact she was folding burritos.
“Babe?”
She looked from the food to him. “I’m going to watch that
movie. The one about your Club.”
His gut fell like he was on a roller coaster.
“Are you still okay with that?” she asked.
“Sure,” he muttered.
“I just…wanted you to know,” she said, her gaze intent on
him.
He nodded.
“I’ll watch it during the day sometime, so you don’t—”
“We can take a night off from each other.”
She stopped moving and her gaze got even more intent.
“Do you want to take a night off?” she asked.
“You said you have a sales assistant who’s on vacation so
you’re short staffed.”
“To my dismay, we’re never covered in customers, Jagger.
Lafayette has been on vacation, he’s coming back to work today, but I leave the
floor all the time to Fabe and Joany. I did it yesterday to go out and search
for stock.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Do you not want me to watch that movie?” she asked. “Tell
the truth.”
“You’ve only met a couple of the men.”
“And?”
Christ.
What was his problem with this?
“I want you to meet Hound first,” he blurted, he had no idea
why, it just came out.
“I can do that, baby,” she said softly.
“Cool,” he muttered.
“Now, we’ve been together a lot. Do you want some space?”
she asked.
“No,” he said immediately, watching her closely. “Do you?”
“Not even a little bit. Been waiting a long time for you.”
Thank fuck.
She put his burrito in front of him with the bottle of taco
sauce and stood opposite him with hers.
Once there, she said, “There’ll come a time, probably, when
I’ll need my zone. Joany’s bitching about the fact we haven’t been out in a
while. But I’m digging where we’re at, you and me. We’re not open on Sundays,
as you know, and I left the store to them last Saturday, so I think I should
hang here for this one. But I’d love to go for another ride on Sunday, or just
get out of town, even if it’s to go to Evergreen or Morrison for lunch.”
“We’ll figure something out.”
“Cool.”
He forked into his burrito, took a bite, then poured more
taco sauce on it.
“My man likes the spice,” she said.
He looked at her. “Yeah.”
She tipped her head to the side. “You okay?”
She was not going to watch that movie.
Not yet.
This meant he was okay, so he nodded.
“Okay,” she murmured, then forked into her own burrito.
“Don’t move that dining room table on your own,” he ordered.
“I’ll get Dutch or one of the guys over and we’ll move it up here for you.”
She chewed her burrito, her eyes on him.
She then swallowed her bite and said to him, “You’re such a
guy.”
“Well, yeah.”
“You know I move furniture, and shelves, and boxes around
all the time. It’s part of my job,” she shared.
Dragging shit around her store was one thing.
Carrying it up some stairs was another.
To communicate that, he repeated, “Don’t move. That table.
On your own. I’ll get a brother and we’ll move it up here for you.”
And that was when she grinned at him.
They did breakfast, he helped with cleanup and they made out
at the door before he moved out and headed for home.
He needed to change clothes and get to the garage.
He did the first part of that, but on his way out to his
bike, he stopped and texted his ma and Hound.
You guys free to have dinner at Archie’s? I want you to
meet her and she said she’d like to cook for you.
He knew how much he was on his mother’s mind when her reply
took about two minutes to chime in.
Absolutely! When?
You pick. Neither of us have anything on. He texted
back.
Thursday? Friday? His mom replied before he’d even
made it out to his bike.
Like I said, you pick. Neither of us have anything on.
He returned.
But is Friday night a date night for you two? Would that
be cramping your style? His mom shot back right before he fired up his
bike.
And before he even got his thumbs again to his screen,
another came in from her.
If so, we can do Thursday.
He was about to tell her he didn’t give a fuck—neither
of them had anything on—when thankfully, Hound butted in.
Friday. And we’re getting a sitter.
The man speaks. His mother texted. Then sent, Which
means the discussion is over.
No, I’m just sick of my phone fucking beeping with you
rattling on when Jag says they don’t give a fuck which day we show. Hound
declared.
I don’t rattle. His mother retorted.
Woman, you are in another room from me in the same house
right now. Why are you texting? Hound asked.
To which his mother said, Love you, Jagger. See you
Friday and can’t wait to meet Archie!
And that was the end of that.
Jagger started up his bike and headed to work.
But he did this smiling.
The next day, in the afternoon, Jag sat at the soda
fountain next to Mal.
Mal was showing him the difference between a chocolate shake
made with chocolate ice cream and one made with vanilla and chocolate syrup.
Actually, he wasn’t. Archie had made the shakes.
But it was Mal’s idea.
So they both sat there with two full shakes in front of them
because Archie didn’t fuck around with halfsies.
The taste test was done, and Jag had discovered that Mal was
right.
The syrup option was seriously better.
As they slurped between the two, Jag asked, “Your mom okay
with all the stuff?”
From Mal: Slurp. “She freaked out at first.” Slurp.
“Went into the school and lost it on the principal.” Slurp. “He
stepped up surveillance of the Harris brothers.” Slurp. “They were
suspended today.”
Jag turned from his shake to Mal. “They fucked with you
again?”
Mal shook his head even with the straw still in his mouth.
Slurp.
He then let the straw go and looked up at Jag.
“There’s a girl. She’s in a special needs class. She’s super
pretty but she sees letters backward or something.”
“Dyslexic,” Jagger told him.
“Yeah. That. They mess with her too. Mostly because Aaron
likes her, and she thinks he’s a dick. The more she puts him off, the more
Aaron pulls shit with her. They messed with her today. Since teachers were on
high alert about them because Mom lost her mind, they were caught.”
“Allan in on it?”
Mal put the straw between his lips, shook his head and, slurp.
Then he said, “No, I wasn’t there. I didn’t see what they
did. But I figure it was a guilt by association thing.”
“He ever in on it?” Jag asked.
Mal shifted the glasses in front of him while shaking his
head again. “Allan’s quiet. Get him away from Aaron, he’s not a total asshole.
But twisted props to him, he never leaves his brother hanging.”
Jag didn’t have any brothers who were dickheads, either of
the blood or of the cut.
But he suspected, he got fucked repeatedly because of their
damage, it’d eventually begin to get old.
“I should probably tell you not to cuss,” Jagger noted.
Mal shot him a smile. “You probably should.”
Jagger smiled back but said no more on that subject.
Instead, he said, “You walking with the store crew here
after school like I told you?”
Mal got instantly serious.
“Yeah, but I don’t blame them, Jagger,” he said. “No one
wants to be a target of those jerks.”
“There’s safety in numbers,” Jag pointed out.
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Maybe not. But I get not wanting to
take chances with that.”
“I don’t get that, bruh, because
you look out for your own. Even if you get your ass kicked doing it, or someone
dogs you, it doesn’t matter. You take your brother’s back.”
Mal lost interest in his shakes and stared at Jagger.
“Same goes for you with them,” Jag continued. “It sucks,
they’ve been messing with you. But if their focus shifts, Mal, to one of your
bros, or one of the girls, you back them. You with me?”
“You’re like my dad, but white and a biker.”
“Way you talk about your dad, I’m gonna take that as a
compliment.”
“You should.”
They stared at each other.
Jag smiled first this time.
Mal returned it.
Then they went back to their shakes.
“There’s, like, one thing sexier than watching you
bond with Mal.”
It was late evening and they were out on Archie’s fire
escape.
They’d ordered in from the Ethiopian place. They’d eaten it.
And now, she’d made some cocktail with prickly pear syrup.
It was sweet as fuck, and after a double dose of chocolate
shakes and a heavy dinner, he wasn’t going there.
So he had a beer.
He also had his girl sitting between his bent legs, resting
back against his body.
“What’s sexier?” he asked.
“Your face when I suck you off.”
At her words, he squeezed her hips with his thighs.
She shifted in his arms so she could look up at him.
“Have I ever told you how handsome I think you are, Jagger
Black?”
Well…
Fuck.
He wasn’t sure any woman had said that to him straight out.
But Archie saying it, like that, the way they were out on
her fire escape, with her so goddamn pretty, right then, and all the time.
“No,” he replied, his voice on that one word weird, hoarse.
“I think you’re super fucking handsome, boyfriend,” she
whispered.
“I think I need you to suck me off right about now, baby,”
he whispered back.
“First, I need to know if your folks don’t eat anything. I’m
going to the grocery store first thing tomorrow, after you leave and before the
shop opens.”
“Ma isn’t picky,” he shared. “Hound will eat what you put in
front of him, avoid what he doesn’t like, but heads up. He’s a meat and
potatoes guy.”
“Gotcha.”
Jagger trailed a finger down her hairline, in front of her
ear, and along her jaw.
And while he did, he felt his gut grow tighter and tighter.
Archie, who didn’t miss much, didn’t miss that.
“Jag?” she called.
He held her jaw in the palm of his hand and looked into her
eyes.