4. Viper
Chapter Four
VIPER
I wake up hard as a rock, dreaming about soft lips, silky red hair, and the way Jean whispered my real name.
Hearing my name from her mouth slammed into me harder than a wrecking ball. It broke open a door I didn’t even know was shut. The kiss... fuck, that kiss. Sweet and hot and… everything I didn't think I needed.
I roll out of bed and pull on my sweats, trying to shake off the dream and the memory of her luscious body pressed against me on that couch. My buddy fixed up her car, but it was a late night.
Gram's already up, bustling around the kitchen with her usual morning energy. At eighty-three, she's got more stamina than most people half her age.
“Morning, sunshine,” she says, not looking up from scrambling eggs. “You're up late.”
“Had stuff to do.” I grab coffee and lean against the counter, watching her work.
“Is that so? Wouldn't have anything to do with helping that stranded girl last night?”
I should know better than to be surprised. Nothing happens in Snowflake Falls without Gram hearing about it within twelve hours.
“Maybe.”
She turns to study me, peering over her glasses. “Pretty, is she?”
“Beautiful,” I say without thinking, then curse myself when her face lights up.
“Well now. Beautiful . That's interesting.”
“Don't start, Gram.”
She plates the eggs and hands me a fork. “When's the last time you called a woman beautiful instead of just pretty?”
Never. The answer is never, but I'm not giving her that ammunition.
I shrug, feigning innocence. “I promised to show her around town today.”
“That's nice, dear. The dogs need walking first, though, and then I need a hand with the back fence. There’s a new dog this morning; Stone dropped him off early. Part Great Dane. He’s called Baron von Drool.”
I groan inwardly. Gram fosters rescue mutts, all different sizes and temperaments. Walking them is chaotic, but it's part of my morning routine when I'm staying here.
Forty minutes later, I'm jogging through town with a Great Dane mix, two shepherds, a beagle, and Monstro, a three-legged chihuahua. The usual madness, but it gives me time to think.
About the way Jean looked at me like I was something worth having instead of something to be afraid of.
I drop the dogs back at Gram's, help her out with the fence, and then grab a quick shower. I promised Jean I'd show her around, and I'm not backing out. Even if being near her is dangerous as hell.
By the time I get to the Laird place, it's past noon. I find her on the deck, curled up in a chair with a cup of coffee and a sketchpad. Her hair's piled up in a messy bun, and she's wearing a shirt that slips off one shoulder, revealing soft, freckled skin.
“Afternoon, Red.”
She looks up, and that smile is like the sun peeking through the clouds. “Good afternoon. Thank you for getting your friend to drive my car back. I was wondering if you'd changed your mind about that tour.”
I climb the steps, trying not to stare at the way the sunlight catches her hair, turning it a fiery orange. “Never. Had some chores to do for Gram. What're you working on?”
She turns the sketchpad so I can see. It's a drawing of the view from the deck; the mountains, the valley, the way the light falls across the trees. It's good. Really good.
“I didn't know you were an artist.”
“I'm not. I... dabble. Haven't done this in years.” She closes the pad, suddenly self-conscious.
“Why not?”
“No time. Between work and trying to be the perfect daughter… I guess it seemed frivolous.”
“This isn't frivolous. This is real talent.”
The blush that spreads across her cheeks makes me want to kiss her again. Make her blush for entirely different reasons.
“You ready for that tour?” I ask instead.
“Let me grab my bag.” She disappears inside, and I take a deep breath.
Twenty minutes later, we're walking down Main Street. My cock was hard the whole ride down to town; her curvy thighs slotted behind me, her arms wrapped tight around my waist, and those soft tits pushed up against my back.
I show her the basics: the diner, the candy store, the hardware place, the witchy bookshop. She asks questions, laughs at my stories about growing up here, and I find myself relaxing despite the constant awareness of her beside me.
“This place looks charming,” she says as we pass The Coffee Heart. “Like something out of a movie.”
“You hungry? They do a good grilled cheese.”
“Starving.”
We settle into a table and I watch her look around at the checkered floor and vintage signs. She fits here somehow, even though she's clearly city through and through.
After we’ve ordered, I meet her gaze. “Tell me about being fired. What happened?”
Her face closes off immediately. “I made a mistake that cost the company money. Seven figures.”
“Bullshit.”
She blinks. “Excuse me?”
“That's bullshit, and we both know it. You're too smart. You wouldn’t make seven-figure mistakes.”
For a moment, I think she's going to stand up and walk out. Then she blinks rapidly, and her face softens.
“You're right. I didn't make the mistake.”
The story comes out slowly. She discovered discrepancies in client accounts and found out someone was skimming money and making it look like clerical errors. She tried to do the right thing and got thrown under the bus for it. I clench my fists under the table.
“Derek Harensby made sure everyone thought I was the one stealing. Had me fired publicly, with security and everything.” Her voice is so quiet that I have to lean forward to hear her. “And…”
“And what?”
She covers her face with her hands. “Sweet mercy, this is so embarrassing.”
"Red. What happened?"
“There was this bachelorette party the week before. Office thing. I won a... gag gift. Huge, glittery, bright pink... you know.” She gestures vaguely. “I shoved it in my desk drawer and forgot about it.”
I'm starting to get a bad feeling about where this is going.
“When they were escorting me out with my box of stuff, the social media director was doing a live TikTok on the steps outside the building.” Jean looks out the window.
I smile in what I hope is an encouraging way. She takes a deep breath.
“Well, the box broke, and... it bounced right into frame and started glowing, I think the impact turned it on.
This enormous vibrating hot-pink dildo is blaring Britney Spears at full volume while bouncing down the concrete steps.
I'm getting fired to the tune of Work Bitch .
Security's trying not to laugh, and the social media director is just standing there frozen because she can't cut the live feed fast enough. The TikTok comments were going absolutely insane in real-time.”
I stare at her and try not to smile. “You're kidding.”
“I wish. It went viral within hours.” She looks like she wants to crawl under the table. “My parents saw it. My old college roommate sent me screenshots. I can't show my face anywhere without someone recognizing me as the dildo girl. I think it’s a hashtag now.”
I try to keep a straight face. I really do. But the image of a giant pink sex toy blaring music and bouncing around is too much.
I start laughing.
“It's not funny!” she protests, but there's a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.
“It's fucking hilarious,” I manage between laughs. “And terrible, but also hilarious.”
“I'm never living it down.”
“Sure you will. The Internet's got a short attention span. Something else will go viral next week.”
“Easy for you to say. You're not the dildo girl.”
That sets me off again, and this time she joins in. We're both cracking up, and I realize this is the first time I've seen her really laugh. Not the polite chuckle from last night, but a real, belly-deep laugh that lights up her whole face. Beautiful doesn't even begin to cover it.
“Feel better?” I ask when we finally calm down.
“Actually, yeah. I haven't been able to laugh about it yet. I think I needed some distance from where it happened.”
“Good. Life's too short.”
Our food arrives, and we eat while she tells me more about her old life. The pressure from her parents, the job she hated, and the way she felt trapped in the city.
“What about you?”
I tell her about the club, about my sisters, about Gram. I even tell her about the dogs, to make her laugh again.
“You mentioned recovery. What were you addicted to?” The question's quiet, careful.
“Everything.” I meet her eyes. “I was angry and destructive and heading nowhere fast.”
“What changed?”
“Gram. I’d come to live with her when I had nowhere else to go. Burned all my bridges. She told me I could either get clean or get out of her house. And I couldn't stand the thought of disappointing her anymore.”
“That must have been hard.”
“Hardest thing I ever did. But worth it. The hobbies help. Keeps my hands busy, my mind occupied.”
“Hobbies?”
I hesitate. Most people laugh when they hear about a biker who weaves blankets and teaches kids to jump rope.
“Jump rope team with underprivileged kids. I weave and spin yarn; Gram taught me and my sisters. Make a lot more than we can keep, so I donate blankets to the veterans’ home. Bake when I'm stressed. I play the harp.” I watch her face for judgment.
Her expression is soft, wondering. “That's amazing.”
“Most people think it's weird.”
“Well then, most people are idiots.” She reaches across the table and touches my hand. “It's wonderful. All of it.”
The way she says that makes my heart thud in my chest. No one's ever looked at me like that. Like I'm something precious instead of something broken that got put back together wrong.
“Red…”
“What?”
“We should probably get out of here before I do something that'll scandalize The Heart’s Delight's regulars.”
Her cheeks flush that pretty pink that makes me wonder if her nipples are the same rosy shade. “Like what?”
“Like grab you, get you on my lap and make you forget your own name…”
Her breath catches. “Maybe we should go back to the cabin.”
I clear my throat. “Yeah. Let’s go.”