No ring on her finger. Not that I’m lookin’, he thought.
“Here you go, unlocked and the phone app is loaded. Just dial and you’ll get your ass out of that hot water.” She smiled broadly, humor evident in her sparkling eyes as she introduced herself, “Vanna. My friends call me Vanna. Pleased to meet you, Truck.”
Accepting the phone, he carefully avoided brushing her fingers, not needing to know what her skin felt like. Another tactic he had employed for years, a way to keep people at bay. “Vanna,” he acknowledged her name quietly. Truck liked that she didn’t question the name he used, and as he dialed he mused about why that felt nice. Different, but nice. A moment of ringing then he heard a woman’s voice, thick with amusement as she said, “Cock house, only roosters need apply. Whacha need?” Laughter echoed in the background, and he heard the sound of a palm lightly smacking flesh, then a man answered the phone, still laughing. “You got Red, whacha need?”
Good, someone I know, he thought, as his chin came up, shoulders relaxing from a tension he didn’t even know he carried. “Red, man. It’s Truck.”
“Truck, long time no speak, brother.” The warmth flooding his friend’s voice made him grin. Based out of the Little Rock chapter, Truck had been out on one run or another for most of the past year. It was good to hear the brotherhood they held between them ran as deep and strong as ever. “Where the fuck are you this time?”
“Florida, man. Bought me a house.” Vanna made a noise beside him and he watched her retreat to the door, murmuring a quiet, “I’ll just give you some privacy,” as she went back inside. He kept his eyes on her through the glass, and then through the living room windows as she walked to a chair by the back wall. She leaned over, her jeans stretching tight over her ass and he took a good, long look, tracing her curves with his eyes. Beauty. Straightening, she held a book and a glass in her hands, and he tracked her across the room, past the door where he lost her as she went deeper into the house.
With a start he realized Red had been talking to him, but he hadn’t heard a word, totally engrossed in watching Vanna move. So fucking beautiful. Grunting agreement at the instruction to call in more often, he listened as the call disconnected, but kept the phone lifted, camouflaging his focused attention on the inside of Vanna’s house.
Pictures on the wall of her and a boy, some scenic shots taken from high on a hillside, and—he leaned closer—several pictures of her with men in black leather vests, very much like the one he wore. None of her and a single man, though.
“Done with the phone?” So focused was he on cataloging her life, trying to discover if she had a man or not, he hadn’t heard the screen door open. She was standing just inside, looking up, holding the door open, but not reaching for the phone. “Put it on the table if you are. If you have more calls to make, you are welcome to do that, as well. I was just making myself a sandwich, and it struck me that if you don’t have telephone or electricity at your new home, then you might not have groceries, either. I’ve plenty, and if you are okay with plain fare, and by that I mean straight ham and cheese, I’m happy to send you home with at least a meal.” Stepping back, the door began to close. “Take your time, and no offense taken if you’ve already eaten, I know it’s late.”
What in the hell? Tipping his head to one side, he reached out and halted the fall of the door to the frame, pulling it wide. “I’m starved, actually, Vanna. Everything in town was closed when I rolled through, so I haven’t had anything since I ate breakfast early this morning. This is certainly my lucky day. My lucky day moving in next to a beautiful miss who’s also thoughtful.” He frowned at her self-deprecating snort and followed her into the house and through the dining room, pausing to place the phone on the table as requested.
She moved ahead of him to the kitchen at the back of the house and he took another long, appreciative look at her ass in those jeans. Enough woman to hold onto, plenty to cuddle up to if a man was so inclined. His cock thickened, surging to half-mast and he mentally told himself, Down, boy.
He turned to hide evidence of his arousal, taking a moment to look into the living room. He stared at the framed images of her at what looked to be a bike club’s hog roast, squinting to see if he knew any faces in the picture. The frozen moments she chose to display on her walls were interesting. The fact they were framed meant the pictures were important to her, because people didn’t take the time or spend money in order to hang an image that was throwaway. He stopped, squinting at one of the men standing, arm around her shoulder. Fuck, I know him…