Falling for you

Chapter Ten

JUDGE

“Woah! You have Patsy Cline, the Coasters, Wanda Jackson, the Blasters, Joe-Tex, Tito and Tarantula, T. Rex, ugh …, how could anyone choose?” She drawls and squeaks without catching a breath.

Her raw and candid excitement catches me off guard.

Could this be a glimpse into what I’ve been missing all these years?

With this freaking angel drooling over one of my most prized possessions, it brings back memories I’d done my best to forget.

Jackie hated the thing and smashed it the night she left. It was her way of getting two birds with one stone, destroying both Jake and me with one simple act of cruelty. As if f*****g another man on my desk and letting our kid see wasn’t enough.

Tearing our family apart wasn’t f*****g enough.

Back in the day, Jackie’s feisty temper was what first caught my eye; it kept the spark alive and was a force to be reckoned with.

However, that unchecked fury festered—metastasized—into something nobody could overlook.

Heck, I confused it with strength, but it was bitter resentment. A dark postpartum depression that capitalized on guilt. And a disrespect that had been allowed to go on for close to a decade.

My wife, the ole lady to the president of the MC, couldn’t remain an exception. She was meant to be an example to follow, proud to wear the badge, but chose instead to spit on her brothers. On her husband. On her son. That behavior had gone on long enough.

My little man, our boy—or should I say, my boy­—was on no account hers. She didn’t even allow him to call her mother or any variation of it. She looked at him as if he owed her the world and deserved repayment for the sacrifice.

It was the same look Bowden had, and I should’ve recognized it sooner. And the day he sweetly bought his dad the very first birthday present with his own money, she f*****g lost the plot.

It was my 30th birthday, and we’d just gotten back from a club ride, which she refused to join. We hadn’t even blown out the candles when things went from bad to s**t. His gift, delivered while we were out, had been laid to waste across the floor, as the lights waited long enough for Jake to see them twinkle out of existence. Yet, I held on strong to the concept of family—for him, me, and even her—until I saw my little guy’s face.

What broke my heart was that he knew who’d done it without a shred of doubt. I couldn’t deny it even if I wanted to as I’d done since the day he was born. I had to come to terms with it, then and motherfucking there, that my good intentions weren’t protecting but hurting him.

“Momma…—”. That was the first and last time he ever allowed himself to call her that.

The kid was distraught. Tears and snot rolled down his lips as I did my best to shelter him from the worst scene no kid should ever see.

That night, she trampled all over my boy’s heart and the scattered pieces of my affection. She went for Jake, half-naked, with the piece of s**t still zipping up his pants.

That night was the last time I would ever hold her back.

When I served her the papers, neither of us lost a mother, a wife, or someone we cared about, for she had left long ago. All those unexplained spa retreats and non-negotiable hours at the gym, shopping, wining and dining. Her me-time, she used to call it.

She sure played me like a goddamn fool.

Because the further Jackie was away from home, the better. And she would sour the minute she got back and saw my mug.

The jig was up, and there weren’t any more tricks to play or excuses to believe.

It was there in black and white. Her signature was so rushed on the dotted line, the ink couldn’t dry fast enough, and she didn’t bother to contest or even care about custody. Despite everything that went down, it was what Jake said—the second she walked out the door—that carved itself in my memory.

As sweet and damning as initials on a tree.

I can still remember it like it was yesterday, going down on one knee to console him, wishing I could repair all the damage that had been done.

His little hands cupping my face between sniffles. His bloodshot eyes, terrified of a woman who was meant to love him. Those dark tendrils of hair stuck to his tear-stained cheeks. Like a family curse I understood the albatross and the heart of a single parent with my momma, as Jake did with me.

And then he said what he said. “Thank you, papa, for being my momma and my best friend.”

So that jukebox—which cost me triple what it’s worth to fix—is worth the world to me. It’s my son, my pride, and my freedom.

How could my precious boy, cuter than a button, turn out so misguided? Where did that sensitive little guy go? Why did I let him slip away?

And when he gets back, we’re going to have a much-needed chat. Because we owe each other that much.

“Choose one, and come get your drink.” I say, indulging in the haloed view of an angel whose ethereal glow rivals the bright neon lights.

Goddamn, if I wasn’t surrounded by my brothers… I would’ve thought I died jacking off in the office, and only by some clerical error ended up in Heaven.

“Yes, found it!” The vinyl clicks in after tracking the record down, filling the air with a brief static that breathes the tune to life.

‘Trick Me’ by Kelis starts playing, and almost as if the turn of the vinyl is ingrained as a muscle reflex, her hips start to sway. And I don’t know who’s more in awe of her selection—me or her.

Did my flashback bleed into our synched neurolink? Of course not. But how the devil can we be so concurrently in tune?

I can’t stop staring as the blood rushes south, and in two long strides I’m caging and leaning into her back. The metronomy of the track, lending itself to the movement of our grinds and spiking our chemistry off the goddamn charts.

The f**k? Why am I thinking in puns?

“So, I take it you like what I chose?” Without stopping the sensuous, smoking roll of her hips, she brings her arms up to circle my neck.

“Mhm.” I huff, gripping those hips made for me, as my thumbs naturally settle into the Venus dimples that generation after generation of men would venture into space to conquer.

“Trick or treat, Little Bird? Although... come to think of it, after the stunt you pulled back there, I shouldn’t even be giving you a choice.” Slightly stepping back, not quite believing how well she fits into my hold.

The dulcet pitch of her sultry laughter, resembling that of a mockingbird cutting through the trees back home. And with her, I’m there.

“Always treat, Judge.”

Damn, the way she talks would make any man understand why cats purr.

“Moreover, who in their right mind answers ‘trick’ on Halloween?” Leave it to her brilliant mind to take the liberty to exhaust all possibilities.

I take an unashamed inhale of her alluring scent, regretfully breaking the spell of the music.

Before I can stop her, she slips under my arms and skips to the bar, but the smile playing on her lips lets me know she’s still in my domain. Teasing and testing that restraint.

I queue the next song, and turn to see her holding a bright orange drink along with a shot of champagne. She looks so excited it’s contagious, and I can’t help but laugh when I pick it up in my giant hand.

It looks child-sized in my grasp.

“Jag, I think we will need another two right away. If... this is as good as you say it is.” Entranced by the soft shimmer of those soft glossy lips— juicier and wetter than whatever is in the glass.

Fuuuuck, I bet that p***y glistens....

“Oh, it is. Salud.” We clink our glasses together. “Sorry, it means to our health.”

“Coming right up, boss!” Both their smiles say it all.

“Salud.” I down it like a brute. When I realize she only sips hers, followed by the mousiest sips of champagne.

That’s a mean martini, though.

“You meant to make it last.” She chuckles. “Some people pour the shot in the martini glass, but I’m no savage. It’s probably just me, though. I stay well clear of anything remotely similar to those dreadful Jägerbombs.”

“I’ll do that for the next one.” I smirk, watching her eyes light up at the insinuation.

“So… You... Liked it?” I nod at her hopeful tone, and she claps so happily I very nearly blush.

What the f**k is wrong with me?

“Good; do pace yourself, though. Because I can’t carry you to bed.” Although the mention of having her carry me to bed has me smiling from here to Sunday, I stifle it as she levels her hand with the top of her head to emphasize her tiny stature.

“Oh, don’t worry, Little Bird. If anyone is carrying anyone to bed, I’ll do the carrying.” A moment ticks by before she realizes it was her comment that brought back such suggestive talk.

I don’t miss it; she doesn’t miss it. Neither of us deny the attraction. Yet, she shakes her head, looking down on her curvaceous feminine form, which other women would literally starve themselves and kill to have.

“I—I…I’m too heavy, Judge.” She finally mumbles, poking at her barely there FUPA that makes me want to sink my teeth into my fist and growl with horny abandon.

I can’t believe she thinks she’s too fat to carry.

Oh Jake, what the f**k have you done, son?