I sighed and sipped my beer, wondering idly how long it would take to get dinner figured out.
I was ready to go home.
Today had been long, and my fucking knuckles were aching.
Even worse, I think my back was acting up again.
I’d have to make another appointment at the chiropractor. The one that was scared of me.
Yay.
“Ohhh.” One of the ladies laughed, catching my attention.
“Oh, here’s one for you.” Six dissolved into laughter, turning the computer screen my way.
Wanted: Man to feed me Doritos so my fingers don’t get orange. No weirdos.
My ideal match: No animals, no kids, no annoying voices, doesn’t like beaches, can deal with me not talking, and doesn’t mind when I talk down to you or that I’m smarter than you. Also, it’d be ideal if you don’t like to cuddle, because my body temperature runs hot, and I don’t generally like people touching me skin to skin. Is blunt and doesn’t try to use sarcasm. Won’t try to get me to go out to places where there is a large group setting.
Again, no weirdos.
“This chick sounds like she’s perfect for you.” Six clicked on the photo, but she didn’t need to.
I’d seen the photo.
The woman was gorgeous.
Though I couldn’t see her height, I could make out other things.
She was curled up in a chair that looked like a cocoon of sorts. One with really tall sides, big, poofy cushions, and it was all hanging from a contraption from the ceiling.
She had her knees crisscrossed in front of her, and she was wearing a baggy white t-shirt, black horn-rimmed glasses, and had a book partially in front of her face.
That book happened to be one of my favorites.
Captain’s Fury by Jim Butcher.
In all honesty, that was the very first thing to catch my eye.
Her hair, which was so fuckin’ curly that I knew if I tried to run my fingers through it, they’d get caught at least a dozen times.
“She’s perfect,” Crockett declared. “Message her. But don’t make it weird. Make it… sweet.”
“Bruno’s not sweet,” one of the boys, likely Sin, called out. “Don’t make him come off as sweet. The chick will definitely know that it wasn’t him that wrote it.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Messaged her. Let’s see what she says.” Six squealed, clapping her hands.
I sighed.
“Oh, she already messaged back. Oh my God. She said, ‘Hell no.’”
My brows lifted at that.
“Oh, she’s perfect. I just know it.” Six snickered.
“Oh my God. I knew she looked familiar! That’s Belle Pena! One of my good friends! Sorry, Bruno. But there’s no way in hell that she’s going to agree to date you. She has a type,” Beckham said as she settled her son, Hiro, more firmly on her shoulder.
She looked like she was lagging, though.
I bent forward and caught the kid before Beckham, who really was interested in this whole mess, dropped her own kid.
Beckham didn’t even notice that she was giving him away to me before she was insinuating herself into the bullshit.
I tipped back the beer and settled the kid more solidly on my shoulder.
He snuggled in deep, buried his face in my neck, and promptly sneezed all down my neck.
Gross.
CHAPTER 3
Vaginas are expected to be bald, super soft, no stubble and taste like a mango. Yet there are so many hairy, discolored, sweaty and salty ball sacks demanding to be in a mouth. How is that fair?
-Belle on double standards
BELLE
Eight weeks later
“Somebody should tell him,” I heard one of the men at the table next to mine say.
“I’m not telling him shit,” another replied. “Do you know how pissed he’d be if he heard that his new girlfriend was cheating on him? There’s a reason that they have the term ‘don’t shoot the messenger.’”
I slowly turned my head so that I could see the table next to me.
The table was filled with bikers.
Bikers that declared themselves part of the Souls Chapel Revenants MC.
There were five of them in total.
One, whose nametag I could read, was named ‘Sin.’ He was by far the prettiest that they had.
Then there was the blond with the glasses. I could just make out the very edges of his nametag. Something that ended with an ‘nt.’
The only word that my analytical brain could come up with at that point in time was ‘Cunt.’
But I was sure that he didn’t go by that.
At least, I hoped he didn’t.
And, before I could stop myself, I started in on the spiel that my brain couldn’t help but output.
“During war, kings and warlords needed a way to communicate,” I found myself saying. “They called a truce with certain individuals under a white flag. It was formal and respected.” I frowned. “It’s also said that Shakespeare is responsible. In Henry IV, part two, Cleopatra threatens to treat the messenger’s eyes as balls when told Antony was marrying another.” I tilted my head slightly. “Then there was just the mention of town criers who spread news. If you hurt the messenger, it was considered treason. Therefore, people didn’t do it, and made mention of ‘not shooting the messenger.’”
The table of men turned their attention to me.
“What I’m getting at is that you should tell him,” I finished, repositioning my feet on the barstool next to me.
I was at a bar-height table, the only chairs in the entire place that had backs, and I had my feet up with a book in my hand.
There was a cold beer on the tabletop in front of me, and I was a quarter of the way through a book that I’d never intended to start.
Why didn’t I intend to start it?
Because I was supposed to be meeting a date here an hour and a half ago, yet my date had either no-showed me, or he’d been called in to do something at his work and hadn’t had time to call.
Both of which were very possible.
My date, Benji, was a successful CEO of a multimillion dollar company. He was also a doctor in town and apparently very popular with the ladies.
His company was into bionics or something, and he was a ‘very busy man.’
Well, I was a very busy woman, and you didn’t see me standing up my date.
“Did you order hot wings?”
I looked up to find the waitress, the one who’d been giving me ‘sad eyes’ all night, holding out the hot wings that I’d literally ordered from her not even twenty minutes ago.
I looked at the hot wings and nodded.
“I did,” I confirmed. “Did you remember the ranch?”
Normally, I wouldn’t do ranch because it was so messy, but I’d wanted to try the ‘burn yo damn mouth’ ones the restaurant boasted as their ‘hottest flavor’ and thought I’d better prepare for them to actually be too hot.
It didn’t happen often—me finding a flavor that was actually too hot—but the waitress had already been extremely slow so I wasn’t putting her not coming back and me needing ranch to chance.
“I’m going for it now. I should have it out in a jiffy,” she said as she all but sprinted away.