Talkin' Trash
Page 3

That was true.
When I was drafted, Conleigh and I were fairly tight.
However, I hadn’t been able to handle all the things that came with being drafted, playing professional football, and everything else I was expected to do.
That, and Conleigh had started school clear across the freakin’ country from me, making me realize that it probably wasn’t our time.
Then there was her stepfather, a man who’d always intimidated me since the day that my father had joined his MC, telling me that I needed to stay away from his girl because she was too young.
So, I had.
And now, eight years after meeting her, she was twenty-four and I was twenty-seven, and I’d had an epiphany.
The time was now.
I was wasting it.
Conleigh was no longer across the country.
She was less than an hour away from me, going to school in her spare time while also working as a nurse at a local hospital.
I’d purposefully stayed away from her for too long, hoping that she’d finish school, and her stepfather would lose the grudge he held against me.
But then, last night, she’d said that she didn’t like school, and I realized that maybe it was time to do me now.
“Fine,” I said to my future mother-in-law. “How many grandkids do you want?”
Winnie squawked. “I’m too young for grandkids!”
I chuckled. “Well, maybe you should start preparing yourself now. Oh, and tell that husband of yours that I’m going for it.”
Then I hung up before she could say anything else, like the word ‘no.’
Pulling up my phone, I texted crabby pants again.
Linc: What time should I pick you up for lunch?
I got an immediate reply that had me nearly laughing my ass off.
Conleigh: I’m too far away for you to just pick me up for lunch. Sorry.
Linc: I’m sorry, correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you in Kilgore?
The dots that indicated she was replying went on for forever, making me chuckle.
Putting the phone down on my bed, I stood up and shucked out of my underwear, walking to my closet to find a brand-new pair, along with jeans and a Liners t-shirt.
Then I thought better of that t-shirt and pulled it off before tossing it into the bottom of my closet, settling instead for a solid navy blue one that didn’t declare me as a member of a losing team that the people in the surrounding area would still be pretty miffed off at.
Once I was dressed, I picked up my phone that still had those three dots rotating and headed out the door and toward my lunch date.
***
I grinned when I saw the blinds flip up and immediately back down at the sound of my Harley arriving in her driveway.
She had a cute little rental on the outskirts of town, and it was more than obvious that she cared for the little place.
It also happened to look a whole lot like the one I’d purchased just a year ago.
Sure, I could’ve easily afforded something more, but what was the point? I only utilized half of the house I had now. If I had more, that’d be just one more thing I’d have to clean.
My eyes took everything in, and aside from the flowers planted next to her mailbox, almost everything about it was nearly identical on the outside to my own.
There was a small front porch with three steps leading up to a red door. The house was painted white, and the shutters were red. Then there was the one-car detached garage that had a bright red goddamn door—also exactly like mine.
What the hell?
Was my place and hers by the same builder or something?
This was uncanny how similar our houses were to each other.
Then the blinds flicked again, making my lips twitch.
Getting off the bike, I hung my helmet on the handlebars and started up the well-groomed path, stopping to study the flowers.
Red and blue.
That was so Conleigh.
My girl wasn’t a pink girl. Nor was she a purple girl. I didn’t think I’d ever seen her in anything that even remotely resembled those colors.
Black? Yes. Brown? Double yes. Blue jeans? Hell yeah.
Dresses? Fuck no.
Conleigh was not a girly girl. Conleigh was a functional girl.
That was why, when she opened the door in a goddamn dress, I was so fucking surprised that I almost questioned whether I was at the correct house or not.
When I saw the long, flowing brown hair that was the color of dark chocolate, I knew that it was her.
The makeup and the dress, though? Those both threw me off.
“What the fuck?” I asked. “Why are you wearing a dress?”
Conleigh, who also never had her hair curled like it was right then, looked down at her attire.
“I’m going on a date.” She bit her lip.
I narrowed my eyes.
“Let me guess,” I said sarcastically. “You’re going on a date, knowing I was coming here to take you to lunch.”
She smiled. “How did you know?”
About that time, a car purred to a stop behind me, and I turned my head to study her date.
He wasn’t anything special. About six feet even, he was skinny as a rail and had a fuckin’ pink shirt on that I knew Conleigh secretly hated. He was the epitome of the type of man who would not do it for her. Not even a little bit.
But then she smiled at the little prick as he stepped out of his shitty little eco-friendly car, and acted like I was the interloper here, not him.
“Tyson!” Conleigh called.
Tyson looked at me, glanced at Conleigh, and then smiled. “Uh, hello. Are you ready to go?”
If I would’ve been in his shoes, I would’ve been straight up hostile toward a man who was sharing the same space as my date. This Tyson loser looked like he’d blow over with a stiff wind.
Then he reached his hand out to her, and Conleigh’s hand connected with his, and I started to pay attention to other aspects about the man.
Not only was he skinny and wearing a pink shirt, but his hair was perfectly styled, and he had soft hands.
I looked down at my own hands.
They were big, weathered, and had scars on top of scars.
I had one on my right pinky from a pair of size sixteen feet stepping on it—the spikes that helped with purchase on the grassy field puncturing the skin.
Then the same thing had happened on the other hand, but unfortunately, not only had it punctured the skin, but it’d also nearly crushed my left ring finger.
Wearing a wedding ring would definitely be tough, that was for sure, seeing as it was about twice the size of my other fingers—which were quite big to begin with.
I had calluses from lifting heavy weights without hand protection, and my fingernails were all bruised in some way.
And then there was the fingernail I didn’t have at all on my right ring finger.
Yeah, I didn’t have pretty boy hands like this guy.
I certainly didn’t have hands that were the same size as hers, and probably felt nicer than hers did, either.
So, there was that.
“You ready?” I heard him ask again.
What a pussy.
“Yes!” Conleigh said with false excitement. “Totally.”
Then he led her over to the smart car that was only just a little bit bigger than my bike and stuffed her inside.
When he walked around the car, Conleigh’s eyes connected with mine.
She didn’t read anger in my eyes, though. No, she read the challenge.
And I knew that she was going to understand it, too.
Her lips pursed and she looked away, but she kept glancing surreptitiously at me through her hair, wondering if I was still watching her.
She needn’t have worried.
I was watching every move she made.
Chapter 3
Me: I need to do a thing. Body: You did a thing yesterday.
-Conleigh’s secret thoughts
Conleigh
“Who was that man on your front porch?”
I wasn’t even halfway through the date before I realized that I’d made a really stupid decision.
I’d finally accepted one of the doctor’s countless offers to go out on a date—doing so only after Linc said he was on his way over—and was learning too late that he was a real piece of work.
He was everything I hated in a man, and I knew without a single doubt in my mind that I would never go on another date with him.