Truly, Madly, Whiskey(11)
Confusion wrinkled his brow. He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I’m taking care of that inspection you need, babe. No need to get all up in arms. I’ll bring your keys back later.”
“You’re…my inspection? How did you know I needed one?” She looked at Gemma again, wondering if she’d told him, but Gemma shook her head.
“You mentioned it last night,” he reminded her.
Holy cow. He remembered? “But you haven’t slept, have you?”
“I caught an hour or two on the lawn. I’m good to go.”
The bells chimed over the door, and a group of giggling girls walked in with their mothers in tow.
“Hi. Welcome to Princess for a Day,” Crystal said to the group, then quickly returned her attention to Bear as Gemma went to greet the customers.
His eyes drifted down her cheerleader outfit again, making a purely male sound of appreciation loud enough for her ears only, and damn, her insides lit right up.
“Maybe you can cheer for me later.” He blew her a kiss and headed for the door.
She watched him strut out of the boutique wondering how she was supposed to concentrate on a birthday party for seven little girls when her big-girl body was on fire.
BEAR PACED THE parking lot of Whiskey Automotive with the phone pressed to his ear, discussing last night’s events with his father. Although his father no longer rode, he still ran the Dark Knights. He listened to his slow, slightly-hard-to-understand speech, a harsh reminder of the stroke he’d suffered shortly after Bear’s high school graduation. The stroke had taken more than his father’s once rapid and demanding verbal abilities. It had rendered his left side weak, his left hand clumsy, and had kept Bear from pursuing his dream of going to college to becoming a motorcycle designer. With Bullet out of the country on a military tour, Bones entrenched in medical school, Dixie a mere fifteen years old, and his mother, a nurse, caring for his father as he endured months of therapy, Bear had stepped in to run the bar. A few years later, his uncle Axel, who had run the auto shop and had taught Bear everything he knew about cars, passed away. He left the shop to Bear’s family, and Bear had taken over running the shop, too.
“Sounds like it went well,” his father said. “We need to meet to discuss the bar.”
Both businesses were owned in equal partnerships between his father, Bear, and each of Bear’s siblings. Since Bullet’s return to civilian life, he’d taken over the day-to-day operations of the bar, while Bear and Dixie handled the business management of both the bar and the shop. Dixie and their mother, who was now retired, worked part-time at the bar, and Bear took on bartending shifts as needed. They were all stretched for time, but their father refused to hire outside of the family. Bear was waiting for that decision to bite them in the ass.
“I think it’s time to make some changes,” his father said. “Can you come by the house tomorrow morning?”
Not if all goes well with Crystal tonight. “I’m not sure, Pop. Probably not, but I’ll talk to Dixie and make sure she’s there. She can fill me in.”
His father was silent for a beat. A f*cking annoying beat. Dixie was an equal partner in the businesses, but despite that, their father refused to give Dixie any say in them. Biggs had been raised by a hard-core biker with old-school beliefs that went back several generations. The men in their family bore the weight of all major responsibilities. It went hand in hand with the all-male motorcycle club mentality. Bear didn’t have an issue with responsibility. He’d taken on more than his share over the years. But he took issue with excluding his sister, especially since she’d not only helped keep the businesses above water, but she’d made them even more profitable.
The struggle between family loyalty and the inequity of how their father treated Dixie left Bear harboring a nugget of resentment, like a festering wound that wouldn’t heal.
“We’ll do it another time,” his father said, pushing Dixie to the side once again and leaving no room for negotiation.
Harley, Bear’s favorite of the new litter of kittens that were born to Big Mama, the auto shop cat, rubbed against his leg. He bent down and picked her up, tucking her against his chest. She purred the loudest of the litter, and she stuck to Bear like glue. Her cuteness helped push away the familiar discomfort that accompanied business conversations with his father.
“Still trying to rope that little gal?” his father asked, as if he hadn’t just rubbed Bear the wrong way.
Bear smiled at his choice of words. Trying to get together with Crystal often made him feel like he was trying to lasso a wild pony. It had bugged the hell out of him that she hadn’t texted last night. He’d thought they’d broken new ground. But he wasn’t about to give up. Eyes never lied, and Crystal’s screamed, I want you.
“Crystal,” he reminded him. His parents had met Crystal in passing when she was hanging out at the bar with the rest of them, but his father was never big on names. “And yes, you could say that.” He scratched the top of Harley’s head. The little calico nuzzled against him.
“It’s been a long time, son. Sure you’re not barking up the wrong tree?”
At thirty-three, Bear had sown more than his share of wild oats, but he’d never met a woman who made him want more than a few hot nights. Until Crystal. She had a spark of rebellion that had captured his attention right off the bat, and a sweeter, more vulnerable side that she tried her best to hide. The combination had reeled him right in. He wanted to strip away all those layers and get to the heart of who she was. And after months of getting to know her, building a friendship that bordered on coupledom—without the physical side—he had a feeling they’d fall perfectly into sync.