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“What? What in the hell is wrong with you?”
“I was sixteen at the time.”
“Wait… I thought you had to be twenty-one to pledge.”
“Nope. Not anymore.”
I shake my head, the teacher in me coming out. “What’s your real name?”
“Mac.”
“Okay, that’s better. So, Mac… what were you thinking getting mixed up in an MC when you were still a kid yourself?”
“I was thinkin’ I was safer in Creed’s clubhouse than in my foster home.”
Stunned, I sit back in my seat and chew my food.
“Damn, you sure like to talk a lot. I’m gonna take you up on that shower now.” He throws down his napkin, suddenly seeming irritated.
“Hey, Mac… I was adopted. My mother gave me up the second she pushed me out of her body.”
“That sucks. Is your adopted family good to you?”
“Yeah, they are. I should call my mom.”
“What are you doing in Springdale anyway?”
“I needed a job. They were cutting teachers back in Chicago, budget cuts and all,” I lie through my teeth.
“Huh.”
“Which reminds me, after we plant my garden we got to get to work setting up my classroom at the high school.”
“Christ.”
“Towels are in the linen closet. Don’t use my expensive shampoo. And if you use my razor, I’ll cut ya’,” I say mimicking the slang that’s so common here.
He shakes his head, laughing as he shuffles down the hall.
I like Mac, I really do.
My motive at first was to see what info I could get from him about Dee, Creed, and Roger but now I genuinely like him. He’s only ten years my junior and with his lean muscles definitely not a kid anymore, but I’ve never been into younger guys. I’ve never had a type per se, but if I were to close my eyes and think of my dream man—I’d see a tatted beast with a beard, pale blue eyes that would chill you to the bone wearing a pair of glasses that gives him a sexy edge as he whispers dirty things in my ear while doing them with his hands.
The dishes clatter in the sink. I rinse my hands catching a glimpse of something outside, just at the edge of the woods at the end of the yard. My pulse races and I feel uneasy. I shut the sink off and stand behind the fluttering curtains.
My nerves are getting the best of me. There’s nothing there but a baby deer munching on a patch of wildflowers. This MC business has me spooked. The only crime that happens in my neighborhood in Chicago is when your parked car gets dinged, and the person who did it gives you the finger as they drive off.
Turning away from the window, I walk down the hall snatching up Mac’s pile of clothes that smell like beer, cigarettes, and exhaust. I put them in the wash, adding an extra cup of detergent. With a smirk, I add my lavender scented fabric softener. The poor guy has probably never had a drop touch his clothing before.
Humming to myself, I do a quick clean up and water my houseplants.
“Why aren’t you ready? He’s gonna kill me.”
“We have to wait for your jeans to dry. It’ll be fine. He doesn’t really need me there he’s just blowing smoke.”
“Girl, you are in for a world of hurt.”
“Don’t I know it,” I mutter walking past him as the dryer buzzes. “Here. All done. Try to keep yourself up. I can’t have my tail hungry and smelling like some homeless guy.”