Home > Motorcycle Man (Dream Man #4)(15)

Motorcycle Man (Dream Man #4)(15)
Author: Kristen Ashley

He threw his head against the back of my couch and burst out laughing. He had a great laugh. It was as deep and gravelly as his voice. He also looked great laughing. I’d noted both of these things last Saturday night. I liked them then but I liked them a whole lot better in my living room.

Oh boy.

“So?” I prompted through his laughter.

Tack’s laughter died down to a chuckle and he took a big bite of pizza, chewed, swallowed and looked back at me.

“She married a soldier then found herself tied to a general,” he finally answered.

“Pardon?”

“There are soldier’s wives and there are general’s wives. Naomi ain’t no general’s wife. She liked the flow, she doesn’t like headache. A general needs a wife who can handle headache, do her bit to make ‘em better, not make ‘em worse.”

I wasn’t certain I got this but I thought I did and I leaned forward to grab my beer, bowing my head to hide my face with my hair so he couldn’t see me when I asked, “So it wasn’t that you were cheating on her?”

“According to Naomi it was.”

I looked over my shoulder at him. He saw me do it, lifted his boots off my table and leaned forward too. Putting his elbows on his knees, his head turned to facing me and, surprisingly, he shared.

“I filed for divorce, Red. She fought it. She didn’t want to be quit of me. I don’t know why. She was miserable, she made me miserable and she was makin’ my kids miserable. Life’s too short for that shit. After she figured out that she was in a fight she wasn’t gonna win, she started bitchin’ about me steppin’ out on her, spreadin’ that shit far and wide and workin’ so hard at it, she convinced herself. Honestly?”

He stopped speaking and I realized he wanted me to answer the unspoken question of if I wanted the truth.

I held his gaze, held my breath and nodded.

He leaned slightly into me, his leg shifting so his knee touched mine and went on, “She turned into a bitch and I was pissed at her. What we had starting out was good. So good, I thought it would be that good for a lifetime. Not long after we made it legal, she started changing, it started goin’ bad and that’s all on her. She knew who I was and she knew what I wanted outta my life, it wasn’t me who changed. And it pissed me off that she made it turn bad. And it pissed me off more she made it turn as bad as it got which, darlin’, was seriously f**kin’ bad. What you saw was the tip of the iceberg with Naomi. She gets on a tear, she’s hell on wheels. So, I gotta tell you, I thought about it. I found myself not wantin’ to go home to that and wantin’ someone in my bed who wasn’t bustin’ my balls. So, I can’t say I didn’t look but before I found anything, I cut her loose. She was once a good woman but good woman or bad, no woman deserves that shit.”

Oh hell, that was a really good answer.

I let out my breath, nodded, grabbed my beer, took a sip then snatched another slice and sat back, lifting my legs to sit cross-legged on the couch.

I felt him lean back as I was flicking more sausage off my pizza, my eyes slid to him and I felt something should be said. He was a scary biker dude but he laid it out for me, honest and straight.

So I said softly, “That sucks, Tack. I’m sorry that happened and I’m sorry she’s still messing with your life.”

“Better mine than yours,” he muttered and that was a good response too.

“It still sucks,” I stated and his eyes caught mine.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “What sucks worse is in her mission to make me miserable she drags my kids into it. No hesitation. Now that sucks.”

I tipped my head to the side to communicate my agreement then I looked down at my plate and took a bite of pizza.

Then I heard him order, “Fire up the TV, Red,” and my eyes swiftly moved back to his.

“Pardon?”

“Turn on the TV,” he semi-repeated.

I stared at him then turned my head to look at my TV then I looked back at him.

“I don’t have TV.”

His brows knitted, his eyes went to the TV then came back to me.

Then he asked, “So what’s in the corner? A piece of modern art?”

I smiled at him because he was being kind of funny and answered, “No, I mean, I don’t have cable and I only get one channel, PBS, and it comes in fuzzy.”

He studied me then slowly asked, “You don’t have cable?”

“I don’t watch TV,” I told him.

“You don’t watch TV,” he repeated.

“No. I only use the TV to watch movies.”

“You don’t watch TV,” he said again.

“No, I don’t watch TV.”

“You drink tea, do yoga and don’t watch TV,” he stated.

“Yep,” I answered.

“Jesus,” he muttered, shaking his head, a small smile playing at his mouth then he ordered, “Then fire up a movie.”

“Pardon?”

“You got movies?”

“Yes.”

“Fire one up.”

This was not good and the reason it was not good was because this was good. I didn’t want to admit it but I was enjoying this. The beer tasted good, the pizza tasted great and Tack being funny, honest and forthcoming was even better.

I was in trouble.

“Tack –” I started.

“Fire up a movie, Red.”

“I –”

He leaned into me and I leaned back but his torso was longer so his face got in mine. “Fire up a movie.”

I looked into his eyes. They were really, really blue.

Oh hell.

Then without my permission my mouth formed the words, “What do you want to watch?”

Tack leaned slightly back. “Your choice. Put in your favorite movie.”

I stared into his eyes. Then I informed him, “I don’t think you’ll like my favorite movie.”

“Do they speak English in it?”

I couldn’t help it, I smiled again. Then I answered, “Yes.”

“Then fire it up.”

I sighed, made my stupid, stupid, stupid decision and murmured, “Oh, all right,” then uncrossed my legs, put my plate down on the table and went to my TV. I opened the cabinet under it and sorted through my DVDs, found what I was looking for and “fired it up”.

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