Motorcycle Man
Page 68

“Because I’ve been using this brand of shampoo for years and I never really noticed what color the bottle was. Not once.” I drew in breath. “Until you.”
Silence then a soft, very sweet, “Darlin’.”
“See you at five, honey.”
Again sweet, “Five, babe.”
“Later.”
“Later.”
We disconnected.
I reached and grabbed a bottle of conditioner.
Same style bottle as the shampoo but it was beige.
It was the lettering that was bright orange.
Chapter Twenty-One
Cool Whip
“Bye!” I shouted, standing outside Tack’s front door, Tack behind me, his arm tight around my chest and I was waving away Dog and Sheila, the last of Chaos to leave our impromptu Friday night party at Tack’s place.
Sheila, who I loved and who was on the back of Dog’s bike, shifted to lift her arm to wave back.
“Later!” I yelled as they made their way down Tack’s lane.
It was three weeks since I told Tack, drunk and turned on, that he colored my world and then confirmed it, hungover and with my wits about me, while standing in Ulta holding a shampoo bottle.
Three great weeks.
I didn’t screw up at work (much).
No one had been kidnapped.
Naomi had been laying low.
Lanie and Elliott were somewhere Tack assured me was safe and we still had our secure phones so I could talk to her.
After I sent my e-mail to Aunt Bette giving her the news that Tack and I worked it out, neither she nor Uncle Marsh lost their minds.
And Kane “Tack” Allen had proved he could handle me with care which further proved he was absolutely, without a doubt, my dream man.
Now it was now. I was at Tack’s. Tab and Rush were out, Tabby at a party and she was spending the night with a girlfriend. Rush was on a date which was a double feature at the drive-in and he wouldn’t be home until late.
Hop, Brick, Dog, Boz and Hound, all members of Chaos, and their women had come up. We drank beer. We shot tequila. We ate chips out of the bag (I didn’t even put them in bowls!). We dipped those chips in jars of store bought dip that I also didn’t put in bowls. We laughed. We played music loud. Some of the boys and girls smoked pot though Tack didn’t and they didn’t press it on me. I thought that was cool since I was riding a happy vibe and didn’t want to discover the consequences of saying no to a high biker. And the night ended when most of the couples started making out (yes, even Tack and me) so Tack gave the sign that the party was over (he did this by announcing, “The party’s over”) and the boys loaded the girls up on their bikes.
It was a blast!
Now it was late and Chaos was gone and I was standing outside Tack’s wondering when I became the woman who would serve chips in a bag and then make out relatively hot and heavy with her man with a bunch of bikers and their babes in attendance.
Then I quit wondering because I was tipsy, happy, Chaos was gone and the real party could commence.
When Dog and Sheila disappeared, Tack released my chest but grabbed my hand and tugged me into the house. Then he shut the door and locked it.
This done, he turned me into his arms.
“You drunk?” he asked a question he knew the answer to, grinning his sexy grin down at me.
“Yep,” I answered, rounding him with my arms, leaning into him and allowing his sexy grin to do a number on me.
“How drunk?” he asked, still grinning down at me and I rolled up on my toes, pressing close and holding him tight.
“Smashed.”
“Good,” he muttered, let me go but grabbed my hand again and dragged me to the refrigerator.
There, I watched him open the door and tag a tub of Cool Whip.
“What’s that for?” I asked as he closed the door.
His eyes came to me.
Looking in his eyes, I knew what the Cool Whip was for.
Then I got a top-to-toe tingle that I fancied shimmered straight off my skin.
I grinned.
Tack didn’t grin. He tugged on my arm and dragged me down the hall to his bedroom.
Dinner was chips and dip, beer and tequila and good company.
Dessert was Cool Whip and Tack.
In other words, dessert was the bomb!
* * * * *
I woke naked, draped over Tack, smelling the musk of him I loved, feeling sluggish, mildly hungover and definitely sated.
I didn’t know the time since Tack didn’t have an alarm clock.
“Babe, I get up when I get up. Don’t need a machine tellin’ me what to do.” This was Tack’s explanation of not having an alarm clock and seeing as he was an early riser, it worked for me as when he rose, he saw to it I did too. Therefore, I couldn’t find out the time.
I did know the sun was shining bright but since it was Colorado in August this could mean anything.
I also knew it was Saturday so whatever time it was, it didn’t matter.
I lifted my head and saw my man was sleeping. As in out.
This wasn’t surprising. He drank a lot of beer, shot a lot of tequila and ended the night energetically in a sex marathon that lasted a long, long time where he insisted on doing all the work.
But I was up in a way I knew I was up. Not to mention, I had to go to the bathroom.
So, carefully, so as not to wake him, I slid away and rolled off the bed. Rooting around on the floor which now included a tangle of my clothes, I found a camisole that I’d worn to bed a couple of nights before for approximately ten minutes before Tack took it off. Then I went to my bag in the corner, rooted through that and grabbed a new pair of undies before I picked my way through the clothes on the floor on my way to the bathroom.
I did my business, put on my undies and cami, washed my face, brushed my teeth and flossed. After I was done rinsing my toothbrush and was putting it in the holder with Tack’s, my eyes caught my reflection in the big mirror that spanned the long vanity and I went still.
My belly had never been concave but it had been (mostly) flat. Now it was slightly rounded. My h*ps were never slim but they were now more rounded. My br**sts were clearly fuller and straining the camisole.
I knew it by the way my clothes were fitting but I didn’t really pay any mind to it.
Now I saw it. I was gaining weight.
Three weeks of eating whatever I wanted, that was bound to happen. But I didn’t think of it, not once, until then.
I was deciding no more chips and dip and definitely no more beer when my mind moved over last night. Tack’s mouth on me, his tongue, his hands, the way he rolled me, shifted me, hauled me, tossed me around the bed. His focus solely on me. The looks on his face, the heat in his eyes, the noises he made.